THE WORLD IS WHAT IT IS

 99 of #100daychallenge

Another day. Another day. Another day.

I fought the good fight against inertia and depression. Although I felt too down to be outgoing and, for instance, return a call to my brother, I was able to get a few things done. Not without some pharmaceutical help, however. I have a reasonable supply of Strattera, left over from when Janet was taking it. In an effort to break out of the malaise and focus rut I could not surmount, I tried one (after checking that it was compatible with my other meds).

I can't say that it felt good, but I did get many more things accomplished (packing things to send to people, cleaning kitchen, some laundry) than I have in quite a long time. This is not small. Plus, after another search of my car, just as I was heading to Costco to buy new ones, I found my reading glasses. Huzzah.

In the morning, I have a CT scan of my abdomen to see if I have a second hernia. This means I have to get up at 6:30 to start drinking some vile liquid. I need a shower from all my exertions. So this will be it.

from NOTES TOWARD AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

showing the desert to visitors

makes it real to me

when I say this is an arroyo

this a a palo verde this is a saguaro

these things exist

as if to support what I am saying

and the visitors believe me

but after they go back

to wherever they came from

and I walk through the desert alone

I know the truth about this landscape

it does not exist

I dreamed it

the inevitable consequence

of a well-directed life is death

and the inevitable consequence 

of a misdirected life

is also death

at night I keep telling myself

go to sleep nobody is to blame

we are what we are

the world is what it is

and eventually I go to sleep

but I never believe it.

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

ASKS ME FOR A MATCH

98 of #100daychallenge

So, the heat is back. Although it was 99 degrees, the air quality was pretty good. The depression sediments are solidifying a bit, so I felt like I walked around with a small rock chained to my heart. I could walk around and function though, so there was that. Christina and I did not have a terribly productive sewing day, she in particular being frustrated, but these days are bound to happen. Progress was made and our weekly practice was achieved.

I am. more bummed out because both pair of my prescription reading glasses are MIA. The last time I saw one pair was at Trader Joe's today when I was shopping, so hopefully I dropped them somewhere in there (they were in a case, too.).

I am going to try to get some early sleep and I am too dull to write anything worthwhile. Plus, I can scarcely read this type.

from NOTES TOWARD AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I am capable of giving rich gifts

when they are unexpected

but when someone asks me

for a match

I blush and fumble

embarrassed to give so much upon demand

______________//______________________

I have a good marriage

a good marriage

is how we resolve the conflict

between who we want to go to bed with

and whose bed we want to wake up in

it’s always a compromise

______________//______________________

my old poems come back as strangers

and gradually I recognize

a gesture a worn-out coat

a tired smile

these were my companions

when I had no one else and they

were kind to me

how could I deny them now

when others speak only of their faults

______________//______________________

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

OR THAT I AM NOT BECOMING IT

  97 of #100daychallenge

I really should not stay up late, even if I am not drinking and doing something kind of good, such as reading or productive puttering. I get up late and then the whole day is kind of ruined even if I am not hungover or dragging. Today was such a day. 

The temperature was just warm enough to discourage motion but not really hot enough to make you angry or suicidal. Those temps are likely on their way. But I certainly didn't feel like doing much as so I didn't, but part of not doing much was a near-constant self-nagging that I should be doing things. I did watch some interesting programs about 9/11 and the Afghan War. And I did work on my new needlepoint project that was designed by Vera Neumann, my favorite. It's a nice easy project.

The necessary cord for my printer arrived, and voilå, we are printing again. Glad I didn't follow my impulse to just buy a new one. 

I was out watering my rose bushes and trees. Four of out five cats were lounging around with me. Fox demanded quite a bit of petting. I am not watering much due to the drought, so I am more in survival mode in the garden, rather than flourishing. The black tulip magnolia, the Japanese maple, and the forsythia are kind of limping along. The honeysuckle in the back is blooming and smells great. 

So, the printer was attended to, I changed my sheets and washed them, I made coffee and oatmeal for my mom ... that's about the size of positivity today. I can feel the rocky and fine layers of depression in the sedimentary layers of my mood. Neither bedrock nor topsoil, I could see how I could revert to days in bed.

I am understimulated but don't have the energy or wherewithal to act decisively toward the more positive. Overwhelmed would be another layer in the strata. Self-induced boredom? Dopamine withdrawal? I recommend this podcast from Fresh Air about a new book, Dopamine Nation: Finding Balance in an Age of Indulgence.

Perhaps my dry spell of reading is over. I am nearly finished with Sinead O'Connors memoir, Reminiscences. I quite liked her when she first hit the scene and I have always been curious about her story. This memoir doesn't clarify much, but it does make some things make more sense. And I am listening to Patrick Radden Keefe's book, Empire of Pain about the Sackler family and oxycontin. Quite fascinating. 

I wish I could speak with Anita. I find myself wondering how death is going? She was in so much pain, I hope she got the relief she wanted so much. 

from NOTES TOWARD AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY

don’t expect smiles on all my faces

you won’t have to look close

to see what I am 

or what I want to become

or that I am not becoming it

if you see me from a certain angle

on a better than average day

you will notice I am the other one

not the one you expected

it will appear that I have chosen

my shadow for its good behavior

and that I am bored by those women

whose bodies are all

they have to say to me

I will seduce

neither your wife nor your son

but I must tell you

than inside every thin poet

is a fat poet trying to get out

I do my best to keep him prisoner

don’t offer me a second helping

of anything

___________/__________

when I remember where I cam from

and how much I owe my sources

it is difficult to continue

I see my life flapping over the ground

the shadow of a dark wing

with no bird to guide it

but this too is self-indulgence

like guilt

it would be better to say

I will do what I can to entertain you

and for what I lack the courage to do

please forgive me

I would prefer to be completely honest

but then you would hate me

you see of course that we all

lie for the same reasons

the hungry bat

in search of a vein is shameless

but more honest than any of us 

can afford to be

___________/__________

living in the desert

has taught me to go inside myself

for shade

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

DOWN A BRUISED ROAD TOWARD BLIND DECISIONS

 96 of #100daychallenge

Trying to fight off a toxic mood. I worked hard on a class tonight, which was the last of this series. Sadly, only three people showed up. I suppose this is just another day in the life of a yoga teacher and part of what you have to be flexible about. One preps for one thing and finds another is what is needs to be taught. At least I can use this class next week, if I even have any students. The next session starts Tuesday and I will have fewer students this time around. One of them will be my neighbor, Sally, and that will be nice. The others didn't come this week, so I have no way of judging their enthusiasm. I know I should not be discouraged but I am.

As I finally, after getting Janet to Dominoes (!!!), sat down to write, my freezer would not close. Even after jettisoning some things, I could not get it to latch. Nor did I have the time to really troubleshoot it as I needed to write the class. So I was grouchy and not in a light mood. Then I got a last minute text that I needed to pick up a friend who had a stroke and can't drive anymore.

And he is a story unto himself. I neither want to slag him nor gossip, but one sees the cost of being poor and growing old in this country with not much family. He self isolates (I raise my hand here, too) and spends almost all of his time looking at social media. And why not. I spend time every day looking for a little dopamine rush on ebay and etsy, scouting Vera Neumann needlepoint and stitchery kits (I have an adequate supply now). I just want the visual stimulation. I do this the way your car might idle, waiting for a direction to zoom into. And sometimes I play solitaire but it doesn't do it for me. I get stuck in an overwhelmed neutral.

But we weren't talking about me. We were talking about my friend who is losing control of his hands, who has lost his hearing, who doesn't bother to bathe or wear clean clothes and then comes to class. He's musty at best. His beard is unkempt and his hair is whorls of cotton candy. He is visibly depressed but too disorganized and proud to seek appropriate health care, although he qualifies. He doesn't always pay attention to my instructions, but other times, he does try although I can see it is hard for him. I am unsure of what to do. He has an older iPhone he doesn't know how to turn off and he kept getting texts today. His social skills have deteriorated to the point where he didn't remember the grace to apologize to the other students. 

Whew. I came home very concerned and therefore cross as I deflected my feelings of sadness. Even the salad I was going to eat for dinner was soggy so I moved on to a gin and tonic. 

I finally addressed getting my printer up and running. , As I bought it about six years ago, I don't have any CD-ROM or serial number so no luck getting help. I have scarcely used it so should work fine, but then there is that out of date thing. Well, I managed to get it plugged in so there is power, and then I ordered the replacement cord that got lost in the shuffle of painting this room. So, a little bit of progress on one bugaboo in my life. It sure would be nice to be able to print. I almost bought another printer, but convinced myself to cool my jets and see if I could make this one work.

McCoy thought he would keep me company at my desk.

THE PROPHETS

I keep pushing this

wheelbarrow full of ambition

down a bruised road

toward blind decisions like roadsigns

in a language I cannot read

with my brother the general

and my frenzied companion

the inner voice I have come a long way

but the dead do not

wait they do not give a damn

about any of us

I search for this lost faces

in a field of broken mirrors and find

only my eyes shattered

as usual vacant as usual

and all the time the dead

know that they are doing

they attend classes in forgetting

and come out with diplomas of silence

from nests in their ripe mouths

the aisles of teeth open like wings

and fly away

I shout to them across the distance I

tell them the worst thing

that can happen has happened

but they rise out of themselves

laughing silently watching

their fingers drip from their hands

letting them go

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

AS IF SHE COULD AFFORD THE TRIP

 95 of #100day challenge

My pomegranate. Not ripe yet.

Yar. I took one hell of a nap today. After having awoken early to get Maman to an early eye appointment we came home and both of us fell out. She woke earlier than I did. I was out for three hours. Part of a dream took place in a thrift store where I was so sleepy I fell asleep on a couch (pink velvet) and someone stole my shoes. Then I dreamt that a friend who notoriously does not like movies was going to a Tom Mix retrospective at the Film Forum. And such is the stuff ... I slept so deeply that it took me a good hour or so to even wake up enough to focus. This does not prevent me from being somewhat sleepy at 9:35.

And I thought waking up early might provide for a more productive day but this has not been the case.

And I still haven't reach out to the Domineers, but no one has called here either. Will try to do it tomorrow morning. 

My neighbor Sally who is one of my yoga students was out watering her lawn this evening. I took the opportunity to get some feedback about my class as tomorrow is the last night of this session. I admit to being nearly shock by the level of enthusiasm she showed. She loves it. And even though I haven't really taught much that is very deep, she is convinced yoga is for her. I don't think it gets better than that as a teacher recommendation. She says she will take my class as long as I teach it. That does give me encouragement to continue.

Not too much else to comment on. I get some brownie points for going into a thrift store for the first time in two months, finding things I liked, and leaving them there. Same with going to the Garden Department at Lowe's. I bought what I went in for and had no enthusiasm (that's the word today I guess) to get more. Small sounds of growth and control? I even started going through some of my vintage clothes and patterns so that I can open a store on etsy and eBay. My other career to get me through living on a meager social security.

I could comment on the horrible state of Texas, but it will only enrage and sadden us further. And we need to keep up our strength to fight on.

ON LAKE PEND OREILLE

All day the wind had made love

to the lake and tonight the water

takes up its bruises and moves

away to a safer distance

I am listening for the small

sounds of another departure.

Summer is leaving

as if she could afford the trip.

She stands by the road

in her ragged coat and fumbles

for her keys in the darkness.

At her pathetic signal

the aristocracy of leaves

will begin to let go.

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982

THEN I WILL POINT MYSELF IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION

 94 of #100day challenge

The lilac I thought I had killed comes back with a vengeance. (And some beauty.)

The days just go by, to my continued amazement. Four days since I last wrote? 

Weird weather day, overcast and spitting precipitation, quite unusual for ALMOST SEPTEMBER!!

McCoy just bounced into the room with his little bell jingling and tiny meow. He missed the first round of dinner and is likely reminding me that he would like some wet food before I go to bed. Which could be at nearly any moment.

The last five or six days have been up and down, particularly Sunday, which was a low, possibly due to having imbibed some old vine Zinfandel. As much as I love it, those histamines don't like me. A sad state of affairs, as I switch to white more and more. I have been improving yesterday and today, but I am dragging. I feel the weight of the pandemic, Anita's death, and the road trip up to Oakland, which was hella-fun, but tiring nonetheless.

Yoga teaching days are all about preparing for class. It takes me three or four hours to write a one hour class. Somehow, I think it would be easier if I were teaching a more standard Hatha class where I could make people lie down and stand up and jump around. I need to up my own practice in anticipation of teaching that class which will start in December. Meanwhile, I have two months of chair yoga to learn through.

Vera takes a dim and non-supportive view of computer work.

I finally finished reading a book. My dear friend Bill Groshelle wrote and funded Operation Dragon, a WWII noir with a splash of fantasy and a soupçon of romance. I opened it last night before I went to bed and didn't get to sleep until I had finished it, only stopping for some called-for popcorn to complete the entertainment experience. Perhaps that will have broken my reading fast and I can get back to my usual self.

The book group is abandoning Ulysses. All of us are in some sort of reading funk and have little energy for such a demanding undertaking. We can't really even decide on the next book (although we are working on it). We are kind of lethargic cats in a bag halfway fighting our way to a decision and a new book.

Perhaps I am slow tonight having led my yoga chickadees through 15 minutes of breathing and slowing down today. I must have internalized my own message.  Also and perhaps I am echoing the energy level of Janet. No yelling, more helping. I still haven't contacted the Domineers to see what is up. Haven't really had the energy.

In better news, death certificates for Anita are coming so that I can try to apply to get David the pink slip. One of my friends suggested an on-line grief group. I don't know that I am ready to try to get over missing her. It is sad and painful, but it should be, no? 

Nina Serafina Wonderley in a happy place.

AND THE SCARS WILL BE COVERED

responsibility fell at my feet

like a dead bird

and I left it for the collectors of feathers

now I am leaving these words on sand

for the water

and when everything is gone

a voice will say

that’s home

where two paths cross without speaking

where a lost shoe full of darkness

is curled up

under the roots of the snow

then I will point myself in the right direction

alone I hope

I was never much for company

and start off down an empty road

toward winter and a silence

which no one will ever repair.

— Richard Shelton, Selected Poems, 1969-1981, University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, 1982