LOOK WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN

 July 13th

I have tried to write this year. I sat down several times after the installment (coronation??) in January, but could neither find coherent thoughts or even words to express the internal and external devastation, the reeling loss of balance, sanity, and hope. I had nothing at all to offer in terms of pleasure, joy, hope, or even interest. Other than dragging myself to teach yoga, I cannot remember anything going on, save for fear and a depression so deep I doubt that there is a word for it in any language ... maybe Eastern Europe coined one when Hitler came into power.

Now is not much better. I find myself unfocused, not just out of my usual struggles with ADHD, and concomitant disorganization, but purposely turning off higher functions out of self-protection. A spiritual and intellectual keeping my head down. Sometimes, it feels heady like those moments before passing out where things spiral and fade out of view. I prolong that mind-evacuation in self-protection.

I am not sticking my head in the sand. I stay aware of the hailstorm of devolution and calamity, I just can't inhale it. I scan The NYT, The New Yorker, The Guardian, etc., but the lead bullets of detail I dodge. I already feel so heavy, I need to keep my ability to do some movement.

On a good day my depression slows me down. The despair has a rather dissociating effect. I can see something need to be attended to, but I have to get through the veil of "why bother" to be productive. I often need to pay a motivational game such as "Do ten dishes and then eat a popsicle." Sometimes the right music, an absorbing audiobook or podcast, or an in-depth telephone chat might mask enough of despair for me to be able to function to do multi-task into productivity. Sometimes I just watch clips of how to restore old wedding dresses or house renovations. 

All that said, I am finding it harder to talk, to think ... even to read. Writing helps me focus, connect, and keep my thinking skills somewhere in working order, hence I plan to make more effort to keep this blog alive.

The Kermit Place Readers (Brooklyn book group of many many years now) is reading Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South, which I read many years ago. Such is the beauty of re-reading very good books that one finds more and different nuances and meanings in them. As always, there are books piled high around my bed. I have read or listened to some good things in the past six months, some of them just "lit lite." Among the noteworthy:

A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy - Tia Levings

Just interesting to see again what we are up against. Not great but good.

A Calling for Charlie Barnes - Joshua Ferris

A good look at male ambition, re-invention, and family dynamics

Still Born - Guadalupe Nettei

About two friends and their choices about having children, and the consequences. This one was longlisted for The Booker Prize if you care about such things.

The Dream Hotel - Laila Lalami

Stuck in bureaucratic limbo, and authoritarian prison (is there another kind?) Also a nominee for several awards this year.

The Frozen River - Ariel Lawson

Would not have read this if not for my friend Kaye who passed it along. A surprisingly compelling story/mystery that takes place in 17th Century New England. I ate it right up and have been recommending ever since. And everyone has loved it. 

Currently watching Ten Pour Cent (Call My Agent) before it leaves Netflix. Great for French practice.

Musically, I am in my usual "all over the place" mode. My friend Martha and I were talking about music we listened to as teenagers. Martha mentioned John Mayall's Blues from Laurel Canyon. I have listened to Mayall's Turning Point for decades but had not looked elsewhere much. I picked up a copy of Blues from Laurel Canyon and listened to it four times straight through. Mick Taylor is the guitarist so how could you go wrong? This one also fed into my '60s British blues fascination. 

I've also been spending time with Andrew Hickey's The History of Rock and Roll in 500 Songs podcast. This is like heroin and whipped cream for me. Nice place to get lost in  and/or comforted by.

And so off to dishes and popsicles and feeding the hungry cats.