ETC ETC ETC

 92 of #100daychallenge

Trying to clean the house for the cat sitter, pack, get Janet out of the house, and plan a yoga class.

Two days later.

It wasn't pretty but here I am in Watsonville. It is so weird to be wearing black with no cat hair on me. My sister-in-law is allergic, so no felines here. I messed up the remote and now David is playing punch the buttons as I messed up his tv control.

About to step out for breakfast with my old friend, JD.

And a week later than that.

JD and I had a great visit, of course. He's a yoga teacher, too, so we could chat about that as well as mutual friends, how we survived the pandemic (so far), and always always music. As I had to get up to Berkeley that day, I could not linger too long so although we spent three hours chatting, it felt a bit cursory.

Of course, again, of course, I didn't leave early enough to really miss too much traffic. Driving through my old town and by my old haunts always ... upsets? depresses? discomfits but comforts me? I am well, not haunted, but maybe visited by the ghosts of what could have been, maybe should have been. Particularly given where I am now. 

Kit was home when I arrived and we speedily settled into a conversation that last five hours without much breathing time. I guess we missed one another. She showed me all of her lockdown sewing efforts and they were impressive, particularly a very nice PLAID (matched!) coat. (So hot here today, coats seem obscene.) I have no idea what else we spoke of, but by the time I left her on Saturday after a few more hours of chatting, we still didn't feel we had covered everything.

Writing is not coming easily or happily or even comfortably at the moment. I am in a light but sustained depression. I feel as if I am slipping on icy ground, fighting for my balance before I crash. Although everything feels like a chore, and much of it is, I am getting little drips and drabs of things attended to: cleaning the litter boxes, deep watering my poor plants who are burned and drooping, trying to get caught up on the laundry, writing and teaching a yoga class, such is the fabric of my day.

My life here feels so 2 dimensional whereas the Bay Area and New York feel like a full three dimensions. Everything here is flat and so I am in. What a gift to be so close to so many I love so much, with whom I share so much history and so many books. There is a deadening rhythm to being here. Make the coffee, do the dishes, make the oatmeal, go to desk and do one of a million tasks that need doing, go out to check the water ... etc etc etc. 

Maybe going to bed early is a form of self-care to which I should aspire.

Lowell George: Twenty Million Things