procrastinating some more

I love days when I am "with it" enough to experience small pleasures. I had a perfect cup of coffee this morning. I went to the library and sat it an easy chair, reading. Never mind that I still have one last paper to write before being utterly finished with this semester. Never mind that there are many pesky emails to be read and responded-to. I am kind of happy in my denial~like the time when my grandma bought eight beautiful hand-painted Christmas ornaments (I was twelve, I think) and refused to look at the bill. She made the clerk cover the total on the receipt as she signed it.

That is what I'm doing right now: blogging instead of writing a paper, and it's lovely. But all credit card bills must eventually be looked at and paid...all ignored final papers must actually be written...graduate classes must be passed. C'est la vie!

more poetry!

In my life, I do not make enough time to read poetry. Days cry out for it, like cracked dry ground cries for rain. More poetry! I am pausing this morning (procrastinating, more like it) to read a couple well-worn snatches before hunkering down to work.

Mornings like this. How heady
The morning air! How sharp
And sweet and clear the morning air!

Authentic winter! The odor of campfires!
Beans eighteen inches long!
A billion chances--and I am here!

And here I lie in this quiet room
And read and read and read.
So easy--so easy--so easy.

Pools in old woods, full of leaves.
Give me time enough in this place
And I will surely make a beautiful thing.

~from "Mornings Like This" by Annie Dillard

in the window of the 99 cent store

This morning is bright...almost glaring. The swing of things is picking up momentum, and things are rapidly needing to be done. There are students to attend to, papers to write, plans to make, coffees to drink. The complexities of life never cease to amaze me. For instance, how so many thoughts can exist in my brain at once and not pull in their independent directions and cause my head to explode. No, I can hold sorrow for my friend who's mother is having dangerous surgery, right along side excitement over buying an important, special dress. I can exist with the feelings of sympathy for my sister, who's computer died on her right before finals, and a superficial appreciation for yellow diamonds, and love, and doubt, and a regina spektor song, all sloshing around inside me. And I don't die. I don't even go crazy. I live....this is what it means to live.

On this monday morning, I am existing in the tension of all the facets of my life and the thoughts related to it. So many thoughts.

thoughtful list

Lots on my mind today.




Have to finish work, walk in the crisp wind, sit through class, drive, drive, drive, assess others' work, think about my own work, not enough energy: go to bed.

coffee with silence

Sometimes I wish that I had a quiet moment. I usually wish that when there is no chance in hell that I will have one immediately, or any time soon.

Ah, and just as I typed that, the swirl of annoying chatter around me up and died away. Thoroughly random, life. So, I'm now sitting here and tapping away with a cup of coffee by my side, a cozy feeling laying quietly all over the surface of my skin. I have been thinking this morning about flaws and perspective and comparison. It is a sneaky thing, comparison. I found myself sliding into it just last night, visiting friends who's lives and houses seem so much more put together than mine. Getting into that subtle place is so easy; getting out of it is nigh impossible. When comparing my life/house/relationships to other people, it almost seems like I'm getting a new perspective: here is what you're life/houes/relationship looks like *compared to*... But is that the highest that perspective should ascend? Cannot my view be vaulted even further up (for people are always around to be compared to) and show me that, yes, my life looks like "x" next to my friend's life "y", but that doesn't give more value to hers and less to mine. My life is (should I write it?) is entirely mine, my decisions alone. Taking responsibility for it is like taking a big gulp before diving off a cliff.

The utter committment it takes to own my life is scary. It feels adult, responsible. I have to stand up and say: yes, I have decided to do this, to be this, and I stick by my decisions. That means that I cannot go back and make the other decisions...and what if the other decision was the better choice?

Life doesn't work like that. I can only do the best I can, make the clearest, smartest decision possible---but I must make it!---and then live it.

cinder block

What could be better than green tea and nice music to accompany the soft tapping of my own fingers on the keyboard?

tea, with pleasure
stir dreams
with peacock feathers
sever the knot
from the taught rope
and sail
further than the sighted stretch
of glassy supposition
plunging into the depth
of opal imagination

Today is a day of Floating

And I can't seem to pin my mind down, to focus on things other than the nebulous worry. The Nebulous Worry is not friendly, and it will not let me settle down, buckle down, or get to work. The N.W. is a feeling of unease, that I should be peaceful but am not. It chops my head from my body like a balloon chopped from its string.
Floating.
Needing to work on....needing to task. Needing to sew back onto my body my lethargically floating head.



The demands of the day do not allow for personal squeamishness, nor will they tolerate the holding of breath.

monday morning poetry

If
If you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
But make allowance for their doubting too; 
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, 
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; 
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; 
If you can meet with triumph and disaster 
And treat those two imposters just the same; 
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, 
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
And never breath a word about your loss; 
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; 
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; 
If all men count with you, but none too much; 
If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
RUDYARD KIPLING

This morning is a morning filled with wonderings and waiting. I am awash in Monday, trying to piece it together and feel calm. There is a tremendous amount of work to be done on all fronts: I am awash in impending process. Process, process, constantly in process. No product to touch or look at except this hard, shiny diamond of promise~a ringing bell breathing bits of light.

transitions...

The end of summer has been coming for quite some time. I've felt it, creeping steadily towards me with the promise of fall activity and motion. I am almost sad to see the slow, sundrenched days leave. I am a person who makes herself busy by nature, but I had just about settled into the languid days where sitting on the porch, or listening to records, constituted the activities of the afternoon.

v. i. 1. to begin or set out, as on a journey or activity. 2. to become active, manifest, or operative; appear, issue forth, or come to life...to set moving, going or acting...to begin work on...beginning of an action, journey, process, etc.


During my recent trip to Chicago, I found this path in the middle of Lincoln Park. It caught my eye, because the asphalt had been picked away to reveal the stone cobbles beneath. Kind of a resistant act toward modernization, I thought, and I loved it. These pictures of the path are perfect for today, which is at the start of a new path in my life. And like this path, it leads forward and, I believe, upward (in whatever existential way that means). Finding myself calm, yet containing such adrenaline, I feel present and alive.
This, I think, is a microcosom of what life is: ever changing, moving, inclining and holding all the hope and excitement that I am willing to recognize.

jittery

This morning is alive. I am caffinated, and I start my new job today. I had the lovliest night's sleep, and woke up without once snoozing my alarm. I feel sharp, on the knife's edge of action, like all the adrenaline has somehow solidified into my body's equivilant to plastic explosives.

There is a song that I love, that is so melancholy, called "Waiting for my Real Life to Begin". Today is not that day; today, I am living, buzzing with "happenings". It is exciting!

That's all.

:)

new challenges

My mind feels like a sponge right now, full to overflowing. It needs to be wrung out.

I started a new job this week, and along with school, I feel like I've been cheerfully shoved into the freezing cold, choppy ocean. The first day was the worst ever. Rain. Power outage. Dead alarm clock. You get the picture.

Today was just jammed with information. And while I feel the capacity in myself to hit the ground running, I am moving slowly this evening. I want to give my brain some time to dry out, fluff up, and get ready for tomorrow. This is an important skill that I need to work on: taking time.

I don't say "making time", because time can neither be created nor destroyed (as much as I would love to create an extra five hours in my day, I just can't!). I say "taking time" because that is what has to be done. The time has to be wrestled from the stiff grip of my own perfectionism, the voice in my head that cries for progress, productivity, and the artifacts to prove it. To take time from that perfectionist, to say to it, "No, I am going to eat dinner and take a hot shower first." is to take charge of my own sanity. I think that it is the exact opposite of taking control in my life: it is realizing that I can't control everything. I can't control how exhausted my body gets after days and days of stress. I can't control the amount of hours that come in my day. But I can take a breath, close my eyes for a moment, and experience a bit of peace before diving back into the fray. And that is what I'm going to do this evening. That, and eat some ice cream.

winding down, winding up

Well, it has been a busy couple of weeks. I have been making some big, life-altering moves (literal and figurative). The summer is winding down and I'm trying my best to eek out the most evening light and laziness I can.

Do you ever feel like you are being sabotaged?
One of the most difficult things for me to deal with lately, has been my self. That's not really a "thing" per se, but it feels like something totally "other" sometimes. I consider myself a smart person, even logical when the occasion calls for it. I have no idea how it happens, but there is this Mr. Hyde part of me that will rear its ugly, irrational head. I will find myself doing and saying things that I would not normally do or say. The end result: some very important people in my life look at me worriedly, start to doubt my sanity.

Now, it has to be said that things are not moving for me at a consistent or rational pace lately. But are they ever? Does anyone ever get a long, smooth stretch of life where everything has time to settle properly and gain momentum? I haven't, at least not since elementary school, but I had bigger problems then...like gym class.

Just this morning, while sipping coffee and eating a slice of rasberry muffin, I realized: I iam just an awkward kid. I used to think, at one point, that I was poised and ready for the press conference podium at the White House. Not so much anymore. I am just this wierdo who like to read books and write things and take faux-artsy pictures.

The good news:
-the TIgers are winning
-I start a new job soon
-I have wonderful people in my life who love me, even if I am awkward.

So, chagrinned, I am starting to wind up for fall. Grad school and a new job await, as does the quickened pace of life with a jammed-full schedule. Adrenaline is buzzing in my veins. This must be what the major league batters feel as they approach the plate. A ninety mph projectile is about to speed toward them, and the proper response is not to run away from it~no. They take on the challenge. They come out with a bat in their hands, ready to slam it out of the park. To me, this seems both very brave, and very smart.

the end of summer

The summer is coming to an end. I can smell the barest hints of fall on the air. This fills me with the delicious urge to stretch and curl up for a nap. I feel like this is the perfect weather for book-reading, drinking wine on the deck in the evening, going without makeup. Heh, I've been doing the latter quite a bit, strangely comfortable in my skin these days...I think it's the stretched-out sunlight; I hear it's almost as flattering as candlelight.

Went to the beach only a few times this summer, one of which was last weekend. My sister, mom and I enjoyed the breezy lake Michigan shore and it felt like the height of something. The height of living, maybe? I had brought a nice, thick "beach read" but didn't end up reading it at all. I journaled on a beach towel for about three and a half hours, it was glorious and I hardly noticed my hand cramping up! There is something intoxicating about summer...it feels lazy and at the same time, invigorating. A leisurely kind of productivity.

A friend had a lovely brunch last Sunday. Everything she cooked was purchased locally or grown in her backyard, which I thought was great and action-oriented. I often have conversations with her about how much we love the city and want to support it, and here she was throwing a fete that did just that.
I sat on the stoop with my friends, watching the trees sway in the gently sparkling breeze, and I knew that I was experiencing a moment to be savored. I have been having this feeling more and more lately, like time is slowing down for a few beats and allowing me to really *see* things. It's bizarre, actually. I've always felt like I was going through life in a kind of haze, and I would have moments once in a while. In these moments, I feel very present. Everything snaps into focus with such clarity that I am a little startled, as though I had been walking around with my glasses perched on top of my head, and unaware of it, they suddenly fell in front of my eyes.
A lot of this might be due to the small spiritual changes I've been experiencing lately. A lot I will blame on the intoxicating, late-summer light. Either way, I am enjoying this sense of awareness, the preciousness I feel in the season and right now. I hope you are, too.

a night in

I taking time to rest tonight. Rest, nothing else. Maybe a little putzing is allowed...but I do not do this often enough. I am a go-go-go person, to the benefit of everyone but myself, usually. With the support of the bf, I am trying to take more deliberate actions in my life to say, "No!" and to take purposeful care of myself. I often wonder if this is selfish. I am often told it is not. Well, whatever.
Tonight, I am appreciative. I'm glad I gave myself permission to take it easy on a Tuesday night.

on the move...

hello, three a.m..

It is time for me to go to bed, but before I do, I'm going to muse a bit about balance. I've been thinking lately how balance is not really a static thing, but more like a stasis that evens out through lots of movement. Like a wave dipping up and down, or a fan oscillating, yet somehow covering the whole room, I feel like I must figure out how to move if I am to be truly balanced.

The weeks ahead of me are busy. I am standing at the starting line of a medium-to-great marathon of happy social events that I have committed to because I genuinely wanted to be involved. It's just that, standing here, quivering in the anticipation of the gun shot, I am a bit overwhelmed. All will work out, the universe will continue to expand whether or not I get through this month in one piece...I just have to roll with it. It's as though life were a crashing wave and I, the hapless surfer who must relax every muscle--though terrified--and allow the water to push me under, tumble me around a bit, and then leave me to resurface. Better take a deep breath now.

trapped in time

On the second full day of my recent trip to Gloucester, MA., I found myself walking around town in the pouring rain. We ended up ducking into the Gloucester Maritime Museum for shelter, and part of the museum was an "exhibit" of local fauna. It made me sad to see these few, sorry-looking creatures tossed into cement tanks...trapped.

Today I have been thinking about how much I identify with the starfish.

Humans live life in four dimensions; time is the fourth dimension. We are bound by time. It is impossible for me to go back to two minutes ago, I am forced by time to always be "now". It's frustrating and comforting at the same time. Ah, the bondage of the familiar.

Just think about what life would be with no time.

confrontation

It's not a well-liked word, or concept.

Lucky me, I find that confrontation runs in my nature, quite at home in between soul and spirit. I was reminded of this once again when tonight, feeling a bit askew after leaving my parents' house, I called my mom on the way home to ask her about the tension I'd sensed from her. Turns out, she wasn't mad; her feelings weren't hurt or anything like that. Unnecessary phone call? Maybe. I might never have known the whole situation, though, if I'd just kept to my assumptions.

A few of my friends are not like this: they would rather slit their wrists than confront a potentially uncomfortable situation. At times, I wonder why I am not more like them: they usually don't have uncomfortable or awful stories about confrontations gone awry. It might be easier to live in a "duck and weave" mentality instead of taking them square on the chest as I seem genetically disposed to. Just like when, in a game of laser tag with my high school graduating class, I snuck up on some jocks and literally just stood there while they plastered me with shots. Why? For what? I could've spent the whole game tucked in a corner or something. Never have been able to figure that one out.

This much I know: confronting things doesn't always lead to an absolutely smooth ride. On the contrary, it stirs things up, gets things moving. Whether or not the shaking and the stirring moves things into a comfortable place is not always known. But at least circumstances aren't acting on an inert target. Or maybe it's that moving around, confronting things head on, just makes me feel better. At least I know what's hitting me.

crafting a discipline

"The most important talent may be the talent of practice itself." --Atul Gawande

Hello. This is my first real go at this, and I'm a little nervous, but hopeful. I think that this will be a good spot to work on the daily discipline of not just writing, but writing with the knowledge that someone else might read what I've written...that scary word (for some): audience.
I have no real thought for direction, except to share my little musings and send them out into the world, for whatever that's worth. It may not be worth much, aside from my own catharsis. We shall see.
Today was not a particularly fun day. There were a lot of "have to's" involved: I felt mostly crabby or self-pitying as I drove around in the sunshine, to and from my sunday afternoon commitments. There was little traffic, and I happened to find some great music to listen to on the journey. I am thinking now, as I look back, that it was not such a bad day, after all. I am beginning to think about gratitude.
There may not have been anything about my day to blow my mind with happiness. Or was there? Yes, I had commitments that I didn't particularly relish. But I also had a smooth drive in the golden afternoon, with good tunes, and when I got to the event, they fed me. I had some nice conversations with lovely people. When I got home, I remembered a chocolate bar I'd stashed in my drawer. It was actually a great day, come to think of it.
...Of course, these little details I'm realizing I'm grateful for are nothing in comparison to big things, like the fact that my car works, I have enough food, I even have chocolate. I don't live in Darfur. There is so much to be overwhelmingly grateful for. It's funny how human nature, my nature, tends to push all that aside in favor of obsessing over the slightest wants and whims. But I guess that just comes with the territory of being human.