From Death springs Life

Today is another difficult day. Today was better than most days. We played with the kids from the neighborhood in the street. Wiffle ball. Who says plastic can't be good for you?

Gobi and I went kayaking yesterday. I needed it. I needed her. Being in nature makes me realize that no matter how much depression hurts, life keeps going. We saw a tree on the river shore that had been completely uprooted and had fallen over. The tree was broken, dry, barren. Dead. And from that dead tree, new plant life was growing.

I heard on NPR a quote from a Danish geologist. To paraphrase:

The shift in plate tectonics caused the massive tsunami in Thailand and neighboring countries reeking havoc on life there. It killed thousands of people. Everyone thinks this is a tragedy, and it is. But we also forget that shifts in plate tectonics create life as well. Where do you think the land that we live on came from?

This reminds me of something Kurt Vonnegut once wrote about time. We seem to forget that in the grand scheme of time, don't even equate as a drop in the bucket. We're more like a drop in the ocean. I should remember that this too shall pass. It always does. It always will.

In other news, I have forgotten to work on my list of books to read. I plan on starting that tomorrow. I need to give myself something to accomplish. Books are easy.

Quote I heard today from a male acquaintance of mine:

"Female-female porn doesn't really do anything for me. I like couples porn. I watch couple-porn because there is a dick for me to inhabit."

Words that came out of my mouth:

"I don't know if I could ever be in a relationship with someone who wanted me to do things to them like pee on them or poo on them. Okay...I'd prolly drop a deuce on someone then be like..."I'm out--don't call."

I rode my bike to work the other day, like I planned. I'm always proud of myself when I say I'm going to do something and then actually do it, well...let's just say, It makes me feel good about myself. Who doesn't like that?

Until next time,
n.

I lack intellectual stimulation in my current environment. Most discussions turn into a competition. I intend on changing that. I intend on creating  a dialogue between us that is open to interpretation. There are such things as hypotheticals. 

Also, I'm starting my list tonight. I'll be reading selected works of Zora Neale Hurston. She's an author from the Norton Anthology I told you about. Tomorrow, I will get up and either go for a quick run or jump rope in my backyard for at least 10 minutes. If I opt to wake up late, I will ride my bike to work tomorrow. 

(And, Virgili needs a walk...he's getting portly for those little legs...)

Le Sommelier took me home from work tonight. We saw a man sleeping on the steps of the church on Pearl and Division. We both agreed that it was poetic. ...Sad. But poetic.

I find myself (again) on the brink of an existential crisis. I find myself torn between two cities; between a man I love and a city I've found a home in. Between two places to live.

On my walk to the bus stop this morning, I pondered at the irony of having to choose between two homes and seeing a man with no home, sleeping on the steps of a church.

I should feel grateful, but I am so consumed by the magnitude of this "crisis" that I feel almost nothing save anxiety. I should be ashamed. I am not.

The strength in me says that a true gypsy would find the courage to embrace a new path. I find it hard to believe that voice. But I can. And I will.

written 16.May.2009. I have since moved to my new city and daily, find myself longing for my home. This is not home yet. Obstacles appear in many forms and I have not fully nested. But I will. I always do.

My English 201 professor made us read a book called Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg it was very campy and a little too granola for me at the time. I was taking 12 credits of text-based classes that each required an average of 1.78 papers per class per week, working 40 hours and traveling an hour by bus to visit my boyfriend. I had no car at the time.

The point is, I didn't want to hear this granola writer telling me to "write anywhere" or "Elktown, MN" I don't even know where Elktown is.

But now. Now I give in to those dangerous thoughts. What if Goldberg was right? What if I'm narcissistic enough to actually give in to my inner monologue and write about the mundane things around me? At least then I could say that all that work this past semester may have been worth it. Goldberg said that you can't be afraid to write. Not every entry is going to be good. This one sure isn't. But if you're afraid to write, because it's boring or you don't have enough time or your hand hurts or you can't find any paper or a pen that's not out of ink (why are all the pens in this house always out of ink?) or you have to pee or! Or! OR! then you'll never be great.

And I intend to be great.

So I can't be afraid. And I'm going to be honest. Brutally honest. If your feelings are hurt, I'm not going to apologize. Honesty often hurts. And my post aren't going to be politically correct. I make that promise to myself NOW. I will however, change the names of those involved for their own safety. And probably my own. For now, I'd like to share a few things I've written in recent months.

Start Fresh.