Today the Pema feed was about choosing just to observe & experience, not capturing anything (e.g. by writing).
I shall have Friday off work. This is different for me. When I was thinking about that again this morning on the way in, it popped into the mix that Arthur won't be here either. Arthur won't be here cuz he's dead. I felt fondness, not sad.
"Do not publish them in the MR," writes Roman L., just now, of remarks. And we shall not.
Imagine the piece as a set of disconnected events
I'm working on it.
"Masters of Sex" is getting tense, as interpersonal conflicts start to come to the surface.
My kitty cat Mochi, I realize I haven't said for the "public" here, is still alive. She still seems to be feeling better than she did when I took her in, though she shows some signs of not being fully well. Have to consult with the vet about what's next in terms of palliative care and what to be watching for, but it's not looking good for her in any version of the long run. Meanwhile she is more affectionate than usual and sometimes still interested in playing fetch, which she taught me.
I've told several people now the bit of wisdom handed to me recently about the opposite of neglect, and what it's not, and what it is. I'm still floored at how much I feel I've learned in that one little nugget. And it makes perfect sense to me, now that I understand more about my relationship to neglect, that it sinks so deeply into me. That it rings so true. That it means so much.
Among other things, I'd like to spend more time in water. :)
In another window Paul, our new choral director (and our former piano player) is singing Miss Celie's Blues's alto 2 part. Was heading to bed early, but with one thing and the other on the computer here it doesn't look as if I'll be snoozing particularly early tonight.
Paul has a smooth voice.
When I was a kid I thought more people knew how to play the piano than do.
Did a lot of physical stuff today. The most accomplishment-y was mulching the leaves in the yard with Bert's lawnmower.
One of my neighbors got his new roof today. It's this old-lookin' style of shingle I've wondered about whether you can still get. Diamond-shaped. I've seen 'em on older houses downtown. I like 'em.
There was something absorbing about watching the guys tear the old roof off yesterday. The dog and I just stood there staring at them. It wasn't fascinating. Just hypnotizing.
I'm exhausted from this day. The shock, partly. The uncertainty don't help. And the kitty, clearly not feeling well.
Cancelled dinner plans. Didn't do the grocery shopping either. Did get the dog out a little. I think I'm just going to go to bed, and maybe get up for a midnight bone-and-walk for dog, along with a check-on-cat.
For at least a little while I'm looking to have to do that dance with fear that involves not worrying ahead of facts and not burying head in sand either. Staying where I am, staying with what's true now. Good practice in general, yes. I just hate to get it this way.
Sometimes I got lost and had to check the map.
-- Lou Reed
I woke from this one before it got heartpoundingly terrifying, but it was bad enough, the fear. An element of a sort of betrayal abandonment. Plot thickening right & left.
I knew I'd better not go back to sleep too soon.
Do you have some of these?
There's in link in there to the paper that prompted the article, too, if you want to read the McCoy. It doesn't seem too thick, but I've only glanced at it. I do like that it refers to "the memory literature." I like that that's a collection of sciency stuff but also a kind of poetic-seeming construct, taken as, say, the collection of one's own memories (in whatever current state of episodic and semantic they are rattling around, wafting about, being touched to activation or not, etc.).
Got the dog very tired this afternoon and evening.
Got me pretty tired too. Which is good. Presuming I go ahead and go to sleep soon.
Maybe I was just going to post dog pictures.
I'm good sore.
It's a steady rain night. I did put a load of laundry through the washer, but I'm not drying it tonight. It's good to be home and doing nothing much.
Feels later than it is. Dog went to bed early. I still can't seem to win at Rummikub. My snooker's off tonight too. Didn't watch any more film festival submissions. Just listening to the rain, playing, reading, and getting slowly wearier.
Oliver Sacks is 80. How about that. The other day I was in a conversation in which he came up. I can't remember how much of Musicophilia I read, but I wasn't conscious of weird vamps of tune & rhythm that loop in my head, or have been, a lot, lately.
Something I saw talked about deprogramming. That has me thinking about trying to snap out of the control of IT. Maybe I oughta read that book again. That's a grand love she has for Charles Wallace. And her dad--- her dad is as tender, in his way, as Mrs. Whatsit. Or maybe I oughta try another book about them. I've never read any of the others.
So yes, here it is, that timeless sort of feeling. Available, as if indefinitely, if I just stay up. But lots to do tomorrow, and sleep is good. Such dreams I had the other morning. Such crazy modified Gertrude Stein House dreams. A new dream theme emerged, to join the one in which I remember I can fly and the one in which I am part of an egress of a final sort, out and up and to the left, as someplace crumbles. This is one in which there are many more rooms to the place--- rooms that I was (or we were) shown but that are now walled off to our apartment, in the giant one-floor flat. This time with a wide ramp leading up to the green grass roof. And my coworker in what looked like my underwear. And all the being foiled in getting back to the room for sitting and talking. So much foiling, such a variety of foiling, foiling so absurd as to be a belly laugh if it weren't so frustrating and sad.
Yeah, dreams. Maybe there'll be dreams.
Or maybe the dog and I will get out early, taking advantage of a nonwork morning with just the two of us (besides the cats).
I think I'm going to set the tumblr to tumble cards/poems out automatically from the queue. That way they'll keep coming for a while if I up and die. Not that much of anyone is looking. But somehow that's not the point. Anyway I don't think I'll do it until after the weekend. I like the one I have at the top right now:
It was the shortest of all the replies. Nonetheless it raised rather a rumble from the crowd.
Rainy day today. I kinda liked it. Got done the grocery shopping, long put off. Well, I got part of it done. Forgot a few things, need to go to TJ's for a few others. Skipped an evening activity in town. Which was good, cuz I re-discovered sooner that I'm screening for the film fest, and got a few shorts in. Plus I made a decent dinner.
What I really want to talk about is interpersonal relationships (always) and experiential avoidance (which I've been reading about) and the way my mind keeps coming back to the same stuff and the snips of vamp-like song that I catch it in (my mind, that is) and engagement & flow but I guess I also should mention the way left-right body symmetry and OCD came up in a character in one of these shorts I just watched. He's a copy editor. And we've already figured out that he's a little off when the moment comes that I see all too easily what's next, when he's been hurt on one hand and is staring at his hands because.... yes.... he wants to hurt the other one, for symmetry.
Quirky is sort of a polite word, isn't it. Our quirky minds. That's what she called them.
Both my quirky mind and my crazy heart are also in the mix with my self-abandoning drive toward even an illusion, if it's a good hit. Besides, there really are real people involved. She says.
Going to the storyslam this week, or gonna get in line early at least, hope to get in. The topic: Rules. I don't have a story in mind, but maybe I'll come up with one tomorrow. It seems like I oughta show up with a story & put my name in the hopper, take my chances. Just cuz.