1964 Borges

I
It is not magic now, the world. Alone,
you will not share the clarity of moonlight
or the placid gardens. Now there will be no moon
that is not a reflection of the past,
mirror of solitude, a sign of sorrow.
Goodbye now to the touch of hands and bodies
that love brought close together. Now you have only
your loyal memories and the empty days.
We only lose (you vainly tell yourself)
what we do not have, what we have never had.
But, to learn the fine art of forgetting,
it is not enough to put on a brave face.
Some sign--a rose--can tear the heart from you
and a chord on a guitar can do you in.

II
I will not be happy now. It may not matter.
There are so many more things in the world.
Any random instant is as crowded
and varied as the sea. A life is brief,
and though the hours seem long, there is another
dark mystery that lies in wait for us
--death, that other sea, that other arrow
that frees us from the sun, the moon, and love.
The happiness you gave me once and later
took back from me will be obliterated.
That which was everything must turn to nothing.
I only keep the taste of my own sadness
and a vain urge that turns me to the Southside,
to a certain corner there, a certain door.

Oh man.

More later.

HOLY RAMPAGING INSOMNIA BATMAN

Man, if I could just bottle my anxiety and sell it I would be a rich girl. No-Doze+Dexatrim in one nice, compact, rattling, jittery, internet-scanning, sitcom-DVD-watching, driveway-pacing, room-cleaning, 18th-century-novel-reading, incoherent-texting, obsession-filled evening/night/morning/whatever...and shut the hell up, bird, it's 6 am and I'm trying to sleep.

Anyway, don't worry, my meeting is not till 1:30 pm and I am armed with lip gloss, a palm-pilot, Professional Pants, and Klonopin.

Dun Dun Dun

that was a noise of doom. Fateful meeting is tomorrow. Gulp.

But I had a delightful evening watching the Red Socks get spanked by the Yankees. :( Stupid Yankees.

And eating delicious cake.

Edited due to insomnia:

Here is a very interesting article about reading. I've been reading a lot more contemporary fiction lately (though, natch, I just finished my 114th reading of Northanger Abbey about five minutes ago, so remember all measurements are relative) and I am continually frustrated, but for some reason I press on. I've read some good books lately, but they've mostly been poetry. And come to think of it, they've also mostly been old.

Holy Emergency Dental Surgery, Batman!

I even have a poem for that:

Because some tortures are physical and some are mental,
But the one that is both is dental.
It is hard to be self-possessed
With your jaw digging into your chest.

etc. etc.

~ Ogden Nash.

And that is that for now. (O joy to have a hole in my tooth and in my bank account all at once. Curses, foiled again...)

PS: Interesting site where they explain what's up with a root canal. Here is what they did to me to help today:

"On the other hand, some people present with what we call a hot tooth. A hot tooth is one in which the nerve is alive, but badly inflamed. The tooth is generally already very painful, especially to hot or cold stimuli. These are the ones that require multiple shots to get anesthetize. A vast majority of these will numb out with a few carpules of anesthesia administered in the normal way. A few, however, are so inflamed and acidic that the anesthesia cannot diffuse into the nerve fibers well enough to totally destroy the sensations generated by the nerve in the tooth. In these cases, we may resort to intrapulpal anesthesia. In this procedure, we will drill very quickly directly though the top of the tooth into the nerve chamber (a few seconds is generally sufficient time) and deliver a quick squirt of anesthesia directly into the nerve inside the tooth. It's fast, and always effective."

Roethke

Someone once sent me this poem at another hard time in my life. I have very little to say, so I'll give you a poem. As usual.

The Waking

I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree, but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

~Theodore Roethke


This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

Hurting

I'm hurting pretty hard today, but some good friends saw me through it. Ugh, ugh ugh ugh ugh.

I'm so ready to NOT be hurting, you know? More Margolin:


Here a word of terror, there one of regret.
Here I cried out, there in sorrow I paused.
You transformed the roads into Golgotha,
and my blood runs in all the streets.

Here I wept. The dank walls
roared out the stern judgment at the weak and the lost
while many lords and ladies looked on
as the woman walked through the dusk in tears.

Pleading, raging, regretting,
now the last terrible note of life
blares forth, sinking into the dust.
And yet, O God, O Tormentor, I do believe:
With dying fingers, I will yet touch a star,
and I will hear an eternally profound,
an infinitely tender word.

It seems every time I am hurt it's as if I've forgotten just how hurt I can be. The pain is terrible, but here is a difference: for the first time, I feel the pain, but I don't want to die.

This is bittersweet. The thought of suicide can be an addiction, an out, an escape "if things get too bad I can always end it." But now I know I won't, and so I have to endure, which is both a triumph and a torment.

Well

I'm not even sure what to write about these days!

My mental health is really holding steady, which is almost scary. It's amazing what happens when the right drugs get together! Obviously we haven't figured out the sleeping drugs yet. I am one of those rare beings, a true insomniac. I remember thinking lots of strange thoughts at this time in the morning, even when I was a little child. My brother Jonathan was a sleepwalker...I rarely do that. (though I have , sometimes with unbloggable consequences!) But I do just stay awake. I have some sleeping pills but I have to remember to take them very, very early, and I rarely do. And If I take them after say 10pm then I'll just sleep through the next day. In fact, pretty much anytime there's a missing day on this blog that's the reason.

While I'm thinking of it, I'd like to ask for some prayers. I've been out of partial hospital, on disability but looking forward to returning back to work for several weeks now, but I've been given cause to worry about my job security. I really, really want to go back and show them how competent a properly treated, medicated employee I can be. I really don't want to deal with unemployment/SSDI right now, when I am feeling so much better. Please pray they'll give me a chance.

In other news, I had to make a really hard decision and defer my reapplication to my dream school by another year, in the name of reality and sanity. I so wish I was super-girl. There are so many things I want to do, so many things I KNOW I can do, that it's so hard to wait. I am really smart. I know that. I have a lot of minuses, but that's one of my pluses. You can count me a certified "genius", so I ought to be able to do and be whatever I want. Instead, I'm mud-wrestling in the trenches with my mental illness. I've been doing a lot of research, though, and apparently very high IQ coincides with a very high incidence of mental illness. I'm not trying to brag, I'm just trying to come to terms with who I am. For so long I've wondered how I could be so smart and still be such a screw-up, and I guess now I'm getting my answers. But I really, really, really, really hope that I can overcome the mess to be what I want to be.

What do I want to be? I think I want to be a doctor. Honestly, though? I'd be just as happy as a housewife. I think. So far my yeehaw IQ hasn't been much use to me.

Should I aim for somewhere in between?

I ask God, "what do you want from me? You made me really smart. You also made me able to bake a cherry pie, change a diaper, kiss away a hurt, sew a dress, knit a scarf, plant a garden, milk a goat...what do you want? What part do you want? Do you have a plan that uses all of it? Huh, God?"

But then, I've been asking God to tell me what I should do/be since I was 9. God doesn't write self-help books. He doesn't co-author "What Color is Your Parachute."

Phooey.

But I can tell you something cool: I've met an awesome new friend who is making me smile every day. Tomorrow we're going to St. Anthony's Festival in the North End. I may be a Quaker, but I still pray to St. Anthony. He's been my best heavenly friend since I was a child. In fact, I can talk to St. Anthony much, much more easily than I can approach any idea of Jesus. So I think that's a sign of goodness.

Okay, let me find you another Margolin poem. I bought the book for a friend, so I have to milk it while I have it.


Drowse on, my beloved, drowse on.
You are like new brown forest earth.
Your eyes are full of sky.

I your peace and I your sword
now watch over heaven and earth.
Every star in amazement hears
what I whisper in your sleep.

More Margolin

I have wandered so much, beloved,

through strange and dark lives,

through hearts like wastelands--

be kind.


Known a thousand deaths, beloved.

My bad blood,

the iron rod of desire,

has chased me an entire lifetime.

Man of velvet and of steel,

man, with quiet voice,

hover over me,

shield me from the world

and from my own blood also.

Be kind.

Full of Night and Weeping

A silence, sudden and deep
between us,
like a bewildering letter
that announces a parting.
Like a ship going down.

A silence, without a glance, without a stir,
full of night and weeping
between us,
as if we ourselves
had bolted the door
to a Garden of Eden.

~Anna Margolin

Oh man I missed Sunday again

but I had a good day. Got to hang out with a whole cartload of super people and only cried twice. The meds are still working and I am having a lot of fun. Somehow I got myself snagged to play makeup artist at a random photoshoot. Because of my theatre experience I used to make some extra money around Halloween doing sfx makeup and that sort of thing. I don't have my full kit any more but hopefully I can scrounge up the last bits somewhere. Not getting paid straight up but there is apparently a sales cut. I won't be holding my breath for that, but it should be fun. I'm a little nervous, though. It's been a while. We'll see what I can do!

HAPPY

Yay, my iPod seems to be feeling better. You can all let out your breaths and life can continue. Who knew there could be so much joy in consumer electronics? Walking around in my iPod I feel like I may have sucker-punched Plain. Hmm.

Simon(e) is in high spirits today.

It is very windy.

I need a nap.

SAD

Suddenly my new iPod won't take it's charger. Misery.

Not much to say about today. Still not feeling depressed, which is awesome, still feeling hella sad, which is not. :( Bah.

Okay, that's it for now.

In praise of music.

Hey hey! So I never got to do the game where you write down the first 10 songs when you put your iPod on shuffle. I've got a lot of random crap on there so it should be interesting. A little commentary follows each song.

1.)The Heathery Hills of Yarrow --Bothy Band (Oh saaaaaaaad song! Sniffl.)

2.)Jazz Police -- Leonard Cohen (Oh god, that's rank! Blagh, horrible.)

3.) For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her -- Simon & Garfunkle (This is the song that indelibly fixed my idea of romance, somewhere around the age of 4.)

4.) Tear Stained Letter -- Johnny Cash (Bitter! Bitter! Bitter!)

5.) Loveless Motel -- Jill Sobule (Meh,not a bad song, not one of my huge favs. Try her track Mexican Wrestler for the good stuff.)

6.) The Loving Time -- Mary Black (Holy cow, I really ought to buy some happy music. Though my last purchase was Johnny Cash. That's not exactly happy but it's not very mopey either.)

7.) Where The Trees Have No Name -- U2. (No way! U2? Me too!)

8.) The Beauty of The Rain -- Dar Williams. (Man, I have listened to this song about 6000 times in the last few weeks and I just am never tired of it "she says you've known her deepest fears/cause she's shown you a box of stained glass tears" Oh yeah.)

9.)A Summer Wasting -- Belle & Sebastian. (Ooh, nice:

Seven weeks of reading papers
Seven weeks of river walkways
Seven weeks of feeling guilty
Seven weeks of staying up all night

Summer in winter
Winter is springtime
You heard the bird say
Everything will be fine)

10.) Little Sister -- Elvis. (Random...)

So, last night I had a mock gallery opening and a few friends came by, we looked at the stuff I've been making and I served limeade in tiny paper cups. It was nice. Two other friends swung in from Vermont the night before. and we got to have some really fun times together. I already have weekend plans! My room is clean, my laundry is done, and I have a working to-do list and a fetal budget. It's really shocking how much better life gets when you have the right medication. I kind of feel like a normal person. I'm bracing for the downswing while trying to enjoy what's here. It's a delicate balance.

I am beginning to be certain that Simon is actually Simone. Whoops. That explains the fussiness and non-tameness. I may have to get her a boyfriend because she's unlikely to bond to me. Only boys really do that. Gah.

My mom has a little widget on her blog that lets you listen to music. I wonder if I can figure it out so that you could go over to the sidebar and click on the songs I keep posting.

Also, loneliness is better with a soundtrack, cleaning is better with a soundtrack, exercise is better with a soundtrack, making art is better with a soundtrack. I may just have to marry my iPod.

PS: I just did it. It makes my blog ugly so you'll have to forgive me while I figure that out. In some cases I had to make do with an inferior version of a song, some songs I couldn't add at all, and so on, but click play and pick a song to enjoy some of the mopey and less mopey things I've been listening to!

I know it must seem

as if I cannot make a post without quoting a song or poem. I was thinking about that today. I got a free second hand iPod, through a pair of lovely people, and in celebration I bought an older Belle and Sebastian record on iTunes. I was listening to a specific song, and as I experienced it, I thought "wow, I should really share this on my blog..." Upon further reflection, I think it's just that right now I am living quite intensely inside my poems and music, leaning on them, and they are very relevant to how I'm experiencing the world. Here's the song that grabbed me...

Fox in the snow, where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Cause the word out on the street is you are starving
Don't let yourself grow hungry now
Don't let yourself grow cold
Fox in the snow

Girl in the snow, where will you go
To find someone that will do?
To tell someone all the truth before it kills you
They listen to your crazy laugh
Before you hang a right
And disappear from sight
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book
What do they know anyway?
You'll read it in a book tonight

Boy on the bike, what are you like
As you cycle round the town?
You're going up, you're going down
You're going nowhere
It's not as if they're paying you
It's not as if its fun
At least not anymore
When your legs are black and blue
Its time to take a break
When your legs are black and blue
Its time to take a holiday

Kid in the snow, way to go
It only happens once a year
It only happens once a lifetime
Make the most of it
Second just to being born
Second to dying too
What else could you do?

I pronounce today "BE NICE TO ME DAY"

So I am.

(PS I began this post 12 hours ago, stopped somewhere in the middle of the poem, and now I'll finish it....)I woke up in such a good mood I was almost nervous. "What the hell is this?" I thought. But I decided to run with it. Anyway, I got up, went to the bank, rescued my checking account from peril, and bought some good healthy groceries. I've been eating like an obese lazy bird recently. I made plans with a sweet friend for the evening and went about the rest of my day letting myself do exactly as I liked. Poor as I am, I let myself buy some $2 books of poetry from my favourite homeless bookseller guys. I used to have quite a collection of poetry but it's one of the things I left behind when I ran away to NYC. So I've been slowly picking things up here and there. I bought Ariel which I haven't read in a long time. My passion for Sylvia Path had cooled considerably by the end of my adolescence, and I pushed the poems away as so much trashing about and moaning. Going back over them with a (slightly!) more mature eye I am understanding a bit more of what is so good about them. But there's one poem I never stopped loving, and all of its meanings are new and different to me now. It has some of the most evocative and heart-piercing images I've ever encountered in a poem:

The Moon and The Yew Tree

This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday the bells startle the sky--
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness--
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness--blackness and silence.

Okay I am still counting this as Monday so there.

Well I have a lot on my mind so I'm just going to keep typing and we'll see what comes out.

I have been dealing with some of my loneliness by going out and talking to strangers. I met "Mayor Marmaduke" at the Davis Square station tonight. He told me he liked my shoes, and that in his native Senegal, everyone piles on a bus and talks together and that it's too lonely to ride the T without someone to talk to. So we went ahead and piled on the T and talked together, and it was lovely.

I met another new friend tonight, too. We went out for a beer and then watched Becket, a 40 year old film I could have sworn I'd seen before but never had. It was really moving: a tragic love story, really. My friend, not familiar with Western history, kept saying it was a comedy and I was like, "Um. I don't think so. I really don't think so. I mean, maybe, but that would be pretty creative." There were some funny moments in the beginning but in the end it was as I thought. Some good heart-wrenching moments..."My heart! My heart! It is my heart! It is too fond! Too fond!" It really hit home for me in a lot of ways: first, it made me nostalgic for the church of my childhood, and it was also a story of the misery wrought by conflicting loyalties. (not to mention frustrated love.) I don't write much about my experience with the Catholic church here as I know my family reads this blog and I love and respect them and their deep faith so much that I am always afraid to give them pain, but it is a real and ongoing issue in my life. I was so deeply religious as a child, and so convinced of my truth. My mother, knowing I was feeling down, recently wrote me a very loving letter. She ended it with "though you may have strayed from the cradle of your faith, you have never strayed from our hearts." Though I chose to take it in the spirit it was intended, it was still painful, at least before I had given it a lot of thought.

Sunday, I was sitting in meeting in a lot of pain. It was nearly a silent meeting, and I was able to center quite deeply, something that's been extremely hard for me for a very long time. As I sat, the words to a song I haven't sung in over ten years popped up in my mind.

I will come to you in the silence,
I will lift you from all your fear.
You will hear my voice,
I claim you as my choice,
Be still and know I am here.

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I am hope for all who are hopeless,
I am eyes for all who long to see.
In the shadows of the night,
I will be your light,
Come and rest in me.

I am strength for all the despairing,
Healing for the ones who dwell in shame
All the blind will see,
The lame will all run free,
And all will know my name.

I am the Word that leads all to freedom,
I am the peace the world cannot give.
I will call your name,
Embracing all your pain,
Stand up, now walk, and live!

Do not be afraid, I am with you.
I have called you each by name.
Come and follow me
I will bring you home;
I love you and you are mine.

I didn't have all the words right, but it was close. I was deeply moved to have this song come to me at such a black, dry time. When I learned that song I was 14, visiting the Daughters of Saint Paul. I was sure I wanted to be a nun. I was secure in my knowledge of God's love. Squirreled away in a vacant nun's cell after a busy day of vocational activities, I'd sneak out of bed, past my snoring roommate in the middle of the night and secretly pad my way to the adoration chapel in my nightgown and kneel there for hours in ecstatic prayer. In fact, at that time my main objection to joining the order the moment I turned 18 was that the third Star Wars movie would not be out and I might miss it, being busy with nunly duties. If I had known then what I know now about the third new Star Wars movie, I might be writing to you from under a veil.

But I "strayed." Did I? I certainly wandered. I've certainly spent my time lost. I've traveled aimlessly through deserts in my time.

The specific words of that hymn touched the most broken parts of me. I sat there, lost in thought and memory for a long time, until I was sure that I was being led to share them. I felt a great pain. Never in my life have I felt less like singing. I was afraid I would not be able to deliver the message without bursting into tears. I shakily stood and sang the best I could, very low and very trembly. I was soon released, and sank down to my bench in gratitude and fatigue, shaken and still grieving, but at peace. I didn't cry until I sat down, and then not very much, though other sobs broke through the silence. I was disturbed for a moment, worried I had done the wrong thing, but I was assured. All of our tears were between us and God.

I have been nostalgic for my "cradle." And it was a cradle. I grew there. It is still a matter of pain to me that I cannot see any way forward to reconciliation with that church. I was driven from it by force, in miserable circumstances, but by the time I began to grope my way back towards God, I found that I could not reconcile my conscience and my revealed truth with certain matters of church teaching. Watching Becket struggle silently, in agony, with the contest between what he had been shown was right and his love for his king brought back to me all the pain of this conflict. It is a hard path, being rocked out of the cradle and onto the ground, expected to stand up, walk, and live.

My friend and I listened to some Leonard Cohen in the car.

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Oh man.

I think I had more to say but I'm drying up. Good night, good morning, and good luck.

I wish my bird were friendlier

We have been cheerfully yelling at each other all day but he hates to come out of his cage and I hate forcing him. I've been sitting on my bed for 90% of the day. There are practical things I could be doing but instead I am just sitting here yelling at my bird (Even though he's just a parakeet, he's still a parrot, and so to him loud=HAPPYHAPPYHAPPYHOORAY plus I yell nice things at him like "HEY YOU STUPID BIRD YOU SURE ARE GOOD LOOKING, TOO BAD YOU'RE SO MEAN THOUGH, I GUESS YOU REALLY LIKE THIS JOHNNY CASH SONG HUH!") and reading and staring at the computer.

I am not used to being along so much. I have lots of awesome friends but company requires planning and calling and scheduling and things. No more just sitting in the same room with someone all day, doing your own thing but talking. Unless you count the bird. I'm not feeling sorry for myself but I am wondering how to adjust. When I lived at home my life was the obvious other extreme--never alone at all. When I lived in Brooklyn there were several standing dates around town, so company didn't require coordination, and here I was spoiled by being in a relationship. I've always been good at doing things alone, going to dinner with a book or a movie by myself, but it's the in-between stuff that smarts. For some reason I've always pictured myself as a loner but I really don't think I am. I always thought I was an introvert but I think I may just be an atypical extrovert. I think I am happier when I have someone to focus on besides myself or the silly yellow feathered thing over there. I don't know if that makes me co-dependent or simply a functioning communal mammal.

sob whine snivel.

Last night I did go to a party. I got to hold a very enormous, friendly, warm and cuddly python or boa constrictor or something. He was seriously lovely, would look you in the face very intelligently and then lay his pointy little head on your shoulder. He could have eaten me for dinner but he just liked snuggling up to my body heat--I was like a well upholstered rock in the sun as far as he was concerned. A very classy reptile. It was an odd party, tattoo artists giving tattoos in an upstairs bedroom which seemed a little dubious (beer + tattoos = just don't.) though everyone came down looking fairly un-maimed. In case anyone is alarmed, I remained happily unmarked. I wouldn't want to go to a party like that every day, but it did pep me up a little, reminded me of the life I had back in NYC. I wouldn't want that life back entire, but it's nice to know I can still go out and rock the fishnets and all on occasion. I didn't sleep at all though, so that wasn't very clever and may have something to do with my miserable mood.

Something (not the snake) bit me at some point last evening and raised a horrible stinging welt. It's swollen and painful even now. I should put something on it maybe. I have no idea what kind of bite or sting it could be. It's so severe it's bruised in the middle. I'd say spider but my spider-studying friends mock the blame-the-spider approach and say spider bites are outrageously over-reported. They may be biased, but they are probably right. Whatever the hell this thing was it was mean. Ow. Whine.

I need a new playlist. These songs are killing me. I have about 3 happy songs in my entire collection. I should go outside (I've only left my room for meeting) and I should eat something (I've only had some sunflower seeds so far.) There should be some sunshine left, and maybe I'll get a sandwich and eat it by the Charles. I can pick one of my books I haven't read yet or recently and bring it along. That might be nice. My dumb bird is not invited.

There will be shooting stars tonight.

Boring boring boring

Not much to report today. I'm on duty at the MH, waiting for a concert to get out. They were supposed to be done 1/2 and hour ago. I just went over and got assertive with them. "I'm the official party-pooper...' Okay, not that assertive. But hopefully they'll be wrapping it up soon. Good music, though.

La lala

Hooray it is done!

Yay. May I never see the inside of another psych hospital as long as I live. *superstitious spit*

Don't have much today. Talked to some school people who assured me that they do not send the "call us and try again" letter to many people. It looks like I am going to have to dive headfirst into math and science, without any warm-up, so I am a little scared,and need to take out all my workbooks to prepare. Still, I am not stupid, and I am sure that especially with help I can manage this.

Also I've been feeling that as long as I have the scaffolding up around my life I might as well continue renovating. I've still got lots to pull down, build up, scrape away, paint over, replace, etc. Onward, self-improvement.

After that spasm of bad temper

Here is a nice bit of poem:

Now for a breath I tarry,
Not yet disperse apart--
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
~A. E. Houseman

Well, yay

I "graduate" from my full-time therapy program on Friday. I'll have a few weeks of disability left to get steady on my feet and all. I may not be traveling after all, who knows. It doesn't really matter what I do, especially since some people in my life seem to think that these past months have been a tropical mickey-mouse-island-hopping vacation, and I really have to push down my anger. I'll trade places, people. See how you like being shuffled in and out of hospitals, warehoused with angry addicts and criminals, spending all your money on pills that make you fat or give you headache, staring at the ceiling every night praying for sleep or death or something in between, losing the love of your life to the ravages of mental illness. Oh yeah, it's been awesome.

I'm not really that bitter, at least not every day, it just comes out sometimes. I was on the phone with some college admission people today and they wanted to know how I'd spent my summer. I so wanted to tell them I'd done a semester abroad, or an intensive summer program at Harvard, or interned for some fascinating lab, or even "just working hard." I couldn't tell them everything I've been doing. All I could say was:

"I've been ill."

and those few words just don't cut it.

Gloom and doooom.


This is making me laugh, though. You may have to be a certain type of nerd to understand why. Thanks, SKB!

http://www.notablogtm.com/category/lolcat-bible/

Okay

The bird's name is Simon. No offense to the real Simons I know out there, it's just that he reminds me of a mumbling cranky character in the (potentially quite offensive) Adult Swim cartoon Frisky Dingo. New season at the end of this month, yay. You can check it out on YouTube if you are curious.

Spent the day sleeping, knitting Christmas gifts, reading, talking on the phone. This Much I Know is True ended with every loose end tied squarely in a neat bow, which worried me, but I can't say I know what I would have preferred. I still recommend it highly. I am planning a trip to San Fransisco and ignoring well-meaning acquaintances who recommend I renew my online dating account. I can see it now:

Hi! I am an overweight, insane, rebounding 24 year old divorcee. I've got lots of dirty baggage and three hospitalizations under my belt, and I'm ready for friendship and much much more!"

Gag.

Blaaaaah. (this is Snoopy's noise of despair)

Maybe later.

A lovely friend in England sent me a bunch of gorgeous wool. I am dreaming up patterns I'd like to use it in. It's a deep sage green with a metallic gold thread running through it.

God bless knitting.

Budgie-Face

Maybe that will stick. I don't know. I keep accidentally calling him Percy, the name of my first bird. I don't think he was actually mine, I think he was a birthday present to one of the little kids. But I'm the one that trained him and cleaned him and hung out with him as long as I was home. I don't speak Budgie so I am not sure if he is happy to see me when he makes these crackly static noises and puffs up his face. From the poop-patterns (sorry) it looks like he hasn't moved around much. Poor Budgie! The people on various budgie forums assure me that many budgies take weeks to settle in. I don't know if I was more patient or Percy was more personable, but I don't remember him being such a sad feathery lump. Poor Budgie-Face!

I think I love my Dr. Please Fix It. She did! She didn't yell at me for deep-sixing the horrible medications the horrible doctor at the horrible hospital gave me, especially since I kept the important one that I'd been on all along. She agreed with me that the other pills were inappropriate. She also appreciated my saying that I was feeling terrible but okay, that given what was going on in my life it was hard to separate which "symptoms" were pathological and which were situational. She gave me back my sleeping and anti-freakout medications and said if I was happy off the rest of it then I could

(hey! Budgie just chirped at me. You talkin' to me? Hey he just did it again. Maybe the static noise is him imitating my keyboard! Wow, he's making all kinds of pretty noises at me. Yay!)

stay off. And oh my I just saw that she gave me all kinds of refills. Huzzah for Dr. Please Fix It!

According to a Bird Body Language Dictionary (nobody ever said I wasn't dedicated), Budgie-Face is feeling okay:

Preening themselves when receiving attention
May be initiated when you scratch their neck or just when they are sitting with you. "Thank you. For you I'll make myself look better."

Opening up the feathers on face and neck
Head may appear puffed. Symbolizes calm contentment - happy, pleased.

Now that makes me want to puff up my face, too.

Three Posts Today, Whee!

Well, my little bird is looking a bit better. He even scooted a few claw-lengths nearer to me while I talked to him tonight. If he doesn't die I think I will call him Pistachio. Pissy for short, because, well, he is.

Back to meeting today for the first time in a long time. Very empty, nearly everyone off at Yearly Meeting. I choked back a message that wasn't ready after a rather heated internal debate, and was glad--that was right. People talked about the gospel of Matthew. I've spent a lot of time in there lately, and noticed that Jesus had...a few problems. I was reading it for the healing stories...in the past I have compared my illness to the possession stories, or even the story of the woman with the hemorrhage. Most of the healing stories are almost interchangeable: Son of David/Have Mercy/Your Faith Has Healed You/Go In Peace/Tell No One. But there are a couple of odd ones in there, ones you don't hear about very often. One that always chills me is this:


Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, "Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon."
But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, "Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us."
He answered, "I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."
But she came and knelt before him, saying, "Lord, help me."
He answered, "It is not fair to take the children's food and throw it to the dogs."
She said, "Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table."
Then Jesus answered her, "Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish." And her daughter was healed instantly.

I wonder if that woman was being humble, or if she was reproaching Jesus. I wonder if he felt ashamed for a moment when she answered him like that, if he blushed, swallowed, looked away. If he broke eye contact. Was she old enough to be his mother? Was she young and beautiful? Was she angry? Did he regret what he had said to her, then, thinking about the suffering daughter? Did he realize he had basically called this suffering stranger a dirty bitch and then repented of it when she called him out? Had he forgotten for a minute his mission of peace or was he still learning about it? Was she relieved? Frustrated? Humiliated to be publicly scorned and insulted by this famous Rabbi from the dirty little town, this wild-eyed young preacher with the magic hands and magic words? Did her love for her daughter overcome all of that?

I don't know. Could be the scene never took place. But it haunts my heart. All of the famous intersections of suffering and humility and faith are curious places. Is it a dog's faith that God requires of his Friends? Take a kicking, bow our necks to the blows, go howling away and then come whinging back to the table, tails between legs, pleading for crumbs, endlessly forgiving, endlessly loyal, endlessly patient, dumb suffering beasts? I don't think so. There's much more there, crammed far back out of the reach of theology. There's deep marrow in these bones.

"Yes, Lord, yet even the little dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters' table."

Still awake, still reading, still typing. Feeling deeply lonely on the one hand but warmed by the invisible presence and thoughts of far-away friends on the other. I took myself to a funny movie today and cried, then laughed at myself for crying and then cried some more. I wasn't keeping score but I think I'd have to say the laughing won this round. Thank God.

"Lord, help me."

I have been singing to the bird

and also playing him Elvis. He seems fairly interested by these developments, and he will step onto my hand if I gently poke his belly, but he's just not thrilled about life. I'm like, "Little dude! I have treats! Eat this!" and he just stares at me. And if I don't come up with something soon his name is going to be Little Dude.

I could name him Pistachio, another delicious green thing I have been eating lately, but the point is to convince him that I DON'T mean to eat him, so maybe it's not a super name. He's yellow and blue, and supposedly will become green with age. He looks like he might be grooving out a little bit to Ain't That Loving You Baby.

I could just name him Elvis...

Oh dear

I missed a Saturday post by one minute. I could cheat and turn the time back on the post but that's not fair.

I had a day very full of friends and a new little feathered friend who does not like me very much as yet and has no name. But he has a big beautiful cage and may eventually forgive me for abducting him from parakeet paradise in a small takeout box.

I am deadly tired, eating watermelon (not green! except on the outside) and reading I Know This Much Is True, a veryvery sad and veryvery good novel by Wally Lamb about a middle-aged man and his schizophrenic identical twin brother...and much more. It is such a good book and such a long book that I am constantly clutching the pages and wishing loudly in my head "don't mess it up! don't mess it up!" I am not sure what I am more afraid of, some sunshiny plot twist, or some melodramatic tragedy when the book is already pretty much pure tragedy.

I smell and need a shower. Yucky.

Pretty much all my friends and compatriots have now fled to NEYM. I can't make it this year, as I said, just too many things going on. I'm feeling pretty sad about it tonight though it was the right decision. But I am praying for them and their very difficult work this year. If you have an extra prayer or thought, I am sure they'd be glad of it, too.

As would I.

Oh my

It is almost the end of this day but I don't want to write about anything. I ate a bunch of falafel, which is also green, and so mildly disturbing. And now my friend Sarah is here and I would rather talk to her than to the computer so this is all I have to say.

Better things

A fairly pointless day today. I woke up (finally slept at 4:30 am) with a sick headache and knowing the heat of the day was only going to make things worse, called into my program and spent the day tossing and turning in front of my fan. I did go out and buy a little healthy food, some eggs and cheese and wholegrain crackers. Despite my constantly ballooning weight, I am have a hard time eating. The mere thought of any food but granny smiths and limeade (It's not easy being green?) serves to turn my stomach. Gah.

A tearful day. I am literally sick of crying. It's not healing or relieving any more...it feels like I have the emotional dry-heaves. It's horrible. I am sure that part of it is the sticky heat but right now everything nauseates me: food, crying, moving, sleeping, conversation. It is tedious and gross.

I've been thinking of the first day in New York after I'd left my husband. I'd just turned twenty one but it seemed like my life was over. I had sobbed myself sick (though I am sure the wine and cigarettes had played their parts) and I was an exhausted damp heap leaning against the headboard of my friend's bed. I will never forget it: she played this song for me, and somehow a little sunshine worked its way into my heart, just when I thought I would never see the light again. I've been listening to it over and over, and while it's never had quite the same effect, it's still helping a little.

Here's wishing you the bluest sky
And hoping something better comes tomorrow
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses too
Follow all the doubt and sadness
I know that better things are on the way.

Here's hoping all the days ahead
Won't be as bitter as the ones behind you
Be an optimist instead,
And somehow happiness will find you.
Forget what happened yesterday,
I know that better things are on their way.

It's really good to see you rocking out
And having fun,
Living like you just begun.
Accept your life and what it brings.
I hope tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

Here's wishing you the bluest sky
And hoping something better comes tomorrow
Hoping all the verses rhyme,
And the very best of choruses too
Follow all the drudge and sadness
I know that better things are on the way.

I know you've got a lot of good things happening up ahead.
The past is gone, it's all been said.
So here's to what the future brings,
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.
I know tomorrow you'll find better things.

I am determined to sleep like a normal person, or as near as I can get, tonight. My medications are all a mess. (Luckily I get to see my own Dr. Please Fix It on Monday after the clown parade I've been dealing with lately) I am not taking the useless benadryl nonsense they've given me for anxiety. It does bugger-all for anxiety and just takes me from anxious and panicky to tired, stupid, anxious and panicky. Awesome. But I might take advantage of the tired and stupid part and see if it will help me sleep.

Wow

this no sleeping thing is really getting old. Here is my link for the day. I expect it will probably be pretty apt:

Ouch.

Drained

It was a pretty grueling day. I will say though that I am experiencing a lot of gratitude lately, especially considering how beat-up I'm feeling.

Mostly I am grateful for my friends. I have a large handful of amazing, kind, loyal friends. It is hard for me to realize this sometimes as I've been so used to thinking of myself as someone who has a hard time making friends. And I am making more friends, in therapy, which has surprised me hugely. There is a certain type of hothouse intimacy that springs up in group therapy and hospital environments that is dangerous and which I have tried (successfully I think) to avoid. Considering how guarded I've been, it is a delight to me to discover that over the course of this program I have made three wonderful new friends.

These people are amazing in and of themselves, but there's a added bonus--we know each other's yuckiest stuff and nastiest secrets. There is no need for preambles or disclaimers. Unlike interaction with "normal" friends, we don't have to worry about the "Dementor Effect" (I promise to stop making Harry Potter references) because we KNOW that we are all depressed and dealing with a lot of negativity and that some days we just feel awful and that's all there is to it. There are no apologies necessary for needing to hide or flake out or freak out now and then. And when we are feeling good, we can have so much fun and silliness without the burden of worrying when it will end, or if it will end at an inconvenient time, because we just know it will, and that's okay. We don't have to talk about how therapy is going or our prognoses, because we already know them, and we've already had those conversations. And it's such an honor to be friends with these women. We are all strong, beautiful women who have each come nose to nose with some of the worst the world has to offer, and we have each chosen to fight the good fight and rise above. I am grateful for their presence in my life.

I am also grateful for bunny rabbits. There is a family of cottontails living somewhere in the meeting house yard and every time I catch a glimpse of one the sight very gently pats the sore spots in my heart and comforts me.