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Archive for September, 2009

 lgmp0361+piglet-a-a-milne-s-winnie-the-pooh-mini-poster

I think I have the piglet flu. Mild, but irritating. I think I have had it for days, but I am just now accepting that is isn’t as transient as hoped, and it isn’t allergies. It is triggering the recurring conviction that I will never feel better, a conviction that began during an 18-month recovery from mono when I was a teenager. The conviction is unrelenting when it takes hold. I will have to allow the conviction to have its arc, its life.

It is said that we have pools of stored energy around certain emotions. The pools are made of all the thoughts and emotions that we shut down, that we did not allow to live the entire arc of their lives. The pools look for opportunities to be tapped, so they can finish their arcs. The energy released when we tap into these pools can overwhelm us and make us overreact. Whamm. Pow. Bam. It comes out before we know what is happening. Observing the overreaction while we hang on and try not to destroy other peoples’ love and life is our only recourse.

I bundled up and went to Walgreen’s to buy a thermometer. They were all out of thermometers. I am clearly a member of a large, invisible community. I went next door and bought cake, ice cream, and mashed potatoes from the deli. I feel better.

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Observing an emotion through its arc can eventually change one’s reaction to a stimulus.

I am tired at the end of the work day. I just want to do nothing, really do nothing. The desire is anything that is the opposite of movement, anything that allows me to close down and turn in. The problem is that I usually go to yoga on Tuesday. I try to get to the gym twice during the week, and yoga on Tuesday really works well in the schedule. I tell myself that I will feel better after yoga. The voice of heaviness and turning in is loud. I close my eyes and watch where I feel the voice in my body. It is a head to toe cocoon pressing in. It has a denser core running from my throat to the base of my spine. The core is constricting, then expanding. It constricts and expands again and again, getting thinner with each cycle. After five minutes the core, now only a thread, dissipates and is absorbed into the cocoon, then the shell of the cocoon peels away. It used to take an hour, then half hour to reach this point, that is if I ever did reach it. I open my eyes and the small, but solid voice that knows that yoga will make me feel better, happier, more content through uncertainty is not loud, but it is the only voice I hear. I get changed and drive to the gym.

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Tonight, this blog has has officially announced itself as a meditation, a repetitive discipline that tries to maintain continuity while the world around it rapidly changes. The temperature dropped, the sun suddenly set early. I feel as if the external isolation of winter is wrapping around the house, just as my skin wraps around a core that turns in on itself and wants to sleep hours before I am tired. I am greatly affected by sunlight. My motivation to communicate and my ability to accomplish seem to be tied to it. When the deep darkness holds the air hours before the normal 11 pm bedtime, I live in a lengthening purgatory each day until the equinox. Tonight, my thoughts echo against a world that does not seem to be laughing, moving, or creating distractions, often what I use to keep from being lonely. I don’t feel like writing, but a meditation is to do consistently, watching the sameness and differences as time passes.

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The people I work for are all collectively going crazy. They are under so much pressure that they are not acting at all like themselves. I am getting carried with them because of backpressure, the fear that things won’t get done by a certain time. the backpressure creates noisy loops of voices that keeps one from effectively concentrating, executing, or just plain remembering. They are fear-of-the-future thoughts, and they are destroying each moment right now. Then they switch to anger at the past thoughts when the moment passes and things did not get done. It is profoundly noisy, and exhausting, and it isn’t doing anyone any good. Today is Sunday, but the echoes ring.

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Sometimes on Saturday morning I go to a writing group. In this group, we write from prompts, then read what we have written out loud. We write fast. We write free. We write without editing. We write stream of consciousness. We write thoughts given permission to just be what they are. The thoughts run. The thoughts circle. The thoughts recur. The thoughts morph using strange connections of meaning, alliteration, and oddly connected details. The group open to the public. I knew no one the first time I went. There are new people all the time. The group and the writing have permission to be whatever shows up.

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I am at peace with throwing out the suitcase. I have spent $30 on cat pee eating enzymes and $20 on a black light called a Stink Light. It all adds up to what I pretty much knew from the beginning–I have to throw the suitcase out. It is the price of the joy of mammals, whether they be cats, dogs, lovers, or children. Things get ruined. Things get smelly. Things get thrown out. New things arrive. Some stay for longer than others, just like thoughts.

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I am waiting for an answer. I am waiting for a call back. I am trying to find things I can do outside knowing the answer. I am getting frustrated. I am getting exhausted. My brain is shutting down. I want to sleep. I want the answer. I am not being successful at observing my frustration. I am just frustrated with my frustration.

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