Friday, February 21, 2014


Cooder soaking up some rays.
Just getting y'all caught up on the Sallyworld.

All in all, I am pretty good. My mood and outlook have improved substantially, although, of course, there is always the fear that the pit is just steps away. The more productive attitude has continued for the better part of a week now. Oddly, I am not being as actually productive as I need to be, my "to do" list being quite substantial.

My sleep has been better, though I still wake up during the night. I haven't taken much in the way of sleeping medication all week, and when I have woken up, I can "see" the fear and mantra of disaster on the horizon of my barely-conscious consciousness, I have more acknowledged than embraced those feelings. 

Cooder and Emmylou have been programmed to drive me crazy today for some reason. There is no end to their BOTH wanting greenies, attention, and other food ALL DAY. They've swarmed me on the kitchen table, followed me upstairs to my desk where they circle and linger like sentries from a boys' gang or something. Emmy is back to scratching on the basement door, although she has been down there about 200 times today. Am I missing something? Cooder has apparently been appeased by having some "people" canned tuna and is napping in one of her usual places.

And how did it get to be nearly 10:00? So much for getting some "work" done tonight. 

I "tore through" the audio book of Meg Wolitzer's The Interestings, although in retrospect, I am not convinced it was time well-spent. I started listening to Jeffrey Eugenides' The Marriage Plot, which at this point, three discs in, seems asinine, and remarkably shallow. For all of my better mood, I don't seem to be able to concentrate and properly read much. 

It's always challenging to be contemplative in the kitchen where the big noisy clock clearly ticks off seconds of your life. The kitchen table is just at a better level than the desk for some kinds of work. (Emmy is now playing hockey with a beer bottle top.)

So, my current task might be to refine my attention-paying skills. This is related to, I think, the slow down-move forward resolution of the year. I am out of honey for my morning meditative drink. Twice in the last 24 hours I have gone out to buy more, assiduously picked up containers and placed them in my basket and twice they have not made it through the checkout and into my bags. How strange is that? At Trader Joe's, I generally have my own bags and focus on getting my shopping items arranged so the line behind me keeps moving, but I must admit I was pretty ticked today when the gal somehow missed it in my basket. Fortunately, on neither occasion was I charged but I still have to go out and drive over to the store which is not particularly close. It seems odd or prophetic or something that honey, my morning meditation aid and the actual purpose of my shopping expedition, is the one thing I was not able to secure. I stopped paying attention to it as soon as it went into the basket. 

The weather and my schedule have not conspired to have me exercise enough and I feel I am not paying as much attention to my food regime as I should. I haven't been cooking but mostly snacking and eating leftovers. On the positive side, alcohol and over-indulgence in utter crap have not been problems either.

Okay. I hope to write more substantively in the days to come, but I rather thought to start somewhere.


Haul your paper boats
to the parched shore, and then to sleep,
little commodore; may you never hear
swarms of evil spirits putting in.

The owl flits in the walled orchard,
a pall of smoke lies heavy on the roof.
The moment that spoils months of labor is here:
now the secret crack, now the ravaging gust.

The crack widens, unheard perhaps.
The builder hears his sentence passed.
Now only the sheltered boat is safe.
Beach your fleet, secure it in the brush.

— William Arrowsmith

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