I am well aware that one cannot second guess a cat’s reason for where it chooses to sleep, as this, of course, has been well-documented. But I do wonder why Emmylou chooses to sleep at the top of the stairs. Perhaps it is because she can see me through the crack in the nearby door. More likely because it is a crossroads and gives her many options of where to go. Cooder prefers the pillows, or the end of the bed near the window, or, when it is cold, under the dresser where the heating vent blows.
Later that same day.
I started this day in a fairly philosophical okay mood and now I am in another frustration funk. Some of it has to to with accounting for the company I tweet for. There seems to be quite a discrepancy between what I think they owe me and what they think they owe me, and it takes a lot of forensic bookkeeping to figure it all out. Rage, rage against the dying of the ... ? sane and secure? Regular income?
Perhaps getting out of the house for awhile will change my mood. I have mostly been home for days, although Albert and I did go for a good walk yesterday.
And then, goodnight ...
Dialing down the anxiety. A couple of posts back, I quoted something about hurry sickness. I've tried to be aware of that common state of being. I know I have to be careful to not fall into my delusional passive/avoidance world, either. Methinks this is the inbetween area of breathing deeply, being in the now, and moving forward as best and as reasonably as one can. And you can feel like you are hurrying even when you are not doing a damn thing. And that I would call counterproductive.
Wish us luck with the "life belongings shuffle" tomorrow. I do feel a bit as if I am stepping off a cliff and I am a bit scared about the future, near and far, but so far, no dementor problem.
I went looking for some poetic solace, but the usual suspects are all packed up and awaiting transport to storage. There are only a few books left here, but one of them, (which I am considering letting go of) is Phil Cosineau's Prayers at 3 a.m.: Poems, Songs, Chants, and Prayers for the Middle of the Night. This gave me a soft shot of solace and comfort:
... This morning I woke at four and lay awake for an hour or so in a bad state. It is raining again. I got up finally and went about the daily chores, waiting for the sense of doom to lift—and what did it was watering the house plants. Suddenly joy came back because I was fulfilling a simple need, a living one. Dusting never has this effect (and that may be why I am such a poor housekeeper!), but feeding the cats when they are hungry, giving Punch clean water, makes me feel calm and happy.
Whatever peace I know rests in the natural world, in feeling myself a part of it, even in a small way .... To to with, not against the elements, an inexhaustible vitality summoned back each day to do the same tasks, to feed the animals, clean out barns and pens, keep that complex world alive.
— May Sarton, Journal of A Solitude
Sometimes, it is hard to refocus and remember where one really is. Those real but perhaps momentarily extraneous anxieties end up being the whole road and not just something that needs to be regarded, remembered for later safety, but stepped over right now. I get a kind of "ant mentality" where pebbles seem like rocks or boulders.
But that "feeling myself a part of it" is very challenging when you are looking for work and looking for your place in the world, when there is no fall back, hunker down position that feels right or safe. Fortunately, a book at hand can pull you back out into the larger world.
I need to learn how to do headstands again, but that was always good for re-orienting and re-energizing the world.