SAIGON

"Saigon. Shit. I'm still only in Saigon."

Those are the opening words to Apocalypse Now, one of my favorite movies. When I had my first cgi job back in Los Angeles in the late 80s, MW used to walk in and say that. Waking up to the gulag weather this morning, that was the first thing that came to mind. Still the same old, well, Hell is overstating it but you probably know what I mean.

Much later.
Okay, there was some light. Yes, it was humid but there was some light to be had. Although I did not go out to the park to bask, I did go out several times and avail myself of the benefits to be had from the sun. There are supposed to be thunderstorms this evening, which are always cool, as long as you are not in a place to be struck by lightning.

Tonight was Betts' birthday dinner and lots of fun and alcohol was had by many. Mary G and I, with an important assist from Sharon did the many dishes and put away food. I was soaking wet, in another demonstration of my ability to be inefficient and sloppy. But the job was completed and every one is happy.

However, notwithstanding all the pithiness of the day which occured in my brain, I need to get to sleep so that I can get up and get meself to the volunteer thrift store gig.

ANOTHER DAY IN THE GULAG

Grey again. Or is that gray again? I am tempted to get into the car and drive until I find some sunlight. Drive South as John Hiatt recommends. He recommends it "if you are feelin' down and out..."

Not so down and out as oppressed by the damn weather. This Spring has the emotional feel of the Soviet regime.

Don't you love it when you find lists that don't make any sense. This one, who knows from whence:
cheese—mozzarella, parmesan & goat cheese
more fresh herbs — oregano, rosemary
brussels sprout
cat bed
garlic

Cat bed? Completely stumped on that one. Can't imagine where I would be shopping. Oh well, into the wastebasked


Spent the morning looking for some courses I am interested in taking that might well improve certain job chances. I want to take a beginning Photoshop Course, and one in graphic design. And I thought I'd look into some project management programs, like learning Visio. At the CUNY Schools, it is really difficult to navigate their interfaces, if all you want is a class and a price for it. Really. Who designs these things. Very frustrating. But the professional school for Visio was quite easy to navigate.

I suppose we best get used to frustration. With the world devolving as it seems to be doing, there will be more stupifying stupidity than less.

Time to pray to the sun god for some light tomorrow.

ARE WE DEAD YET?

Another rapture? Miep yawns.

Are we dead yet? Is this the post-rapture world? If so, I hope there is still time to do some looting after the Rapture Survivors' Brunch. I'd go back to owning a television if I could have a flat screen ... although where would I put it? I watch Netflicks on my iPhone these days.

 Looks like just another rainy cool day to me. If the summer would be mild, it might almost be worth not having any Spring, but I doubt the gods of fairness would weigh in on weather. Besides, I think they are hibernating as I haven't seen hide nor hair of them in ages.

Back in February, I wrote about taking the train up the Hudson River to visit Liz and Larry in the Adirondacks. (Going again on Thursday, this time with Timmy "the Fun" Lagasse and his missus Missy Johnson.) I mentioned the views along the Hudson. Today's NY Times has a slide show of one of the crumbling mansions, so I had to share: A Restoration on the Hudson.

There were four kitties at the Rapture Survivors' Brunch. Most of these are Spork who spent the most time with us at the brunch. I just thought you'd like to see some other kitties.

  

Another nearly rapturous event occurred when after the brunch, (with Becky Mac's Bloody Marys a delish treat in the midst of complete food largesse: savory bread pudding, homemade roasted breakfast potatoes, homemade coffee cake, mimosas ... I hurt thinking about it), we went over to the Prop Shop Film Recycling Center. I ended up volunteering to help them sort and price things. Me working at a Thrift Store ... fox in the henhouse? Hello.

I am Punkin.

BACK TO THE (BAD?) OLD DAYS

If I had a job in a fairy tale, there is no question I am most suited to be a sleeping princess. And yes, Sleeping Beauty was my favorite Disney movie. There have been times in my life when sleeping was my major hobby. 16 hours at a shot, over a weekend. I could yearn for sleep like an addiction. Since I moved away from Berkeley in the late 1980s, that level of sleep mastery was mostly in the past. But when I was working, particularly at FlickerLab about four or five years ago, I devoted one of two weekend days to resting.

When I was much younger I had a friend, Charlie H, who was older. He told me that as people aged they needed less sleep. Therefore, he got a lot of reading done. And I do find myself staying up quite late, 'til around 2 often, but I certainly don't pop out of bed at 6:30 or 7. And I watch more Roseanne re-runs (up to 96 episodes out of 228) more than read.

Today I got up at 8:45 or so to wake up enough to go to therapy. I came home, which was no mean feat given the transportation issues this weekend. I ate something, watched a little Roseanne, curled up with Cooder and left Planet Earth, although not in a religious rapture or anything. A repeat of  yesterday's  nap, although I didn't have any plans.

I've been up since about 7:00pm, I think, and I am ready to sleep again. I wonder what is going on with me. It really might be my body readjusting to life without pharmaceutical stimulants for focus. I am in a pretty good mood, and I have a reasonable amount of focus.

But, I hope I am not returning to the days of sleep slavery.

OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN

So, Proust is pretty great. We read parts of the third section of the first book, A Cote de Chez Swann, aloud. We all loved the last lines:

"The places we have known do not belong solely to the world of space in which we situate them for our greater convenience. They were only a thin slice among contiguous impressions which formed our life at that time; the memory of a certain image is but regret for a certain moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fleeting, alas, as the years."

One has to give it over to the work, though. Long and convoluted, it is. My man, Roger Shattuck says in his book, Proust's Way: A Field Guide to In Search of Lost Time, "Compounding the challenge of sheer magnitude and of an extended plot, there is Proust's style. His transcontinental sentences contribute to the appearance of a motionless plot." Damn straight. But a worthy endeavor nonetheless. And it is great to have some hella-smart fellow travellers to read and revel with.


Damn more rain. More. Rain. Gloaming. Gloomy. Blech.


The rain might be contributing to my current unusual state of mind. After many years taking medication for my ADD/ADHD, I have eased off. I suppose it takes a while to get through your system. The medication I was taking, Strattera, is too expensive ($465 per month) for me to take without health insurance. My good psychopharmacologist wrote prescriptions for Adderall, but I have mostly not been taking them this week. And I mostly can focus and I am mostly in good spirits. What is the word for "content" that does not imply any particular happiness and does imply or indicate moving along? 


I admit to some bad or regrettable behavior. I had a wrap party to attend for the ShweShwe Kids project. I took a nap at 4:30 and woke up at 7:45, a full 45 minutes after the dinner party was to begin. And this is not the first time such a thing had happened. I didn't think I would sleep for 3 plus hours. This is where my focus failed me: I failed to notice the invitation said "dinner party" and "7:00" ... I should have focussed enough to set the alarm for a reasonable time, just in case I went into a (n increasingly rare) sleep coma. Schmuck schmuck rude schmuck girl.


Oops, I Did It Again ...

A PERIOD OF ADJUSTMENT

Today was not a bad day but a lost day. And in the interest of making tomorrow a better day, I will be brief again.

Although I managed to drag myself out of bed around 9:30, after 45 minutes of turning off the alarm and cuddling with Cooder, I was not at all awake. After some coffee and some time reading the papers on line, I decided I needed to sleep more. I have no idea how long I was awake nor how long I was asleep, but I woke up at 12:45. That was just enough time to gather my wits, drink another cup of coffee and scurry off to therapy.

I had book group tonight. Yay! We finished the third part of the first volume. Here are Emily and June at Betts' house. My iPhone died, so I didn't get good shots of Betts and Sharon.

I'm okay. I have changed my medication fairly radically, after years on Strattera, to being on no ADHD medication. That might account for my extra sleepiness and wanting to eat eat eat. But I will be fine. Just a period of adjustment. On the other hand, "a period of adjustment" is another phrase for life, no?

Betts, Anna Jing, and I fooled around with the iPhone before it died.

IL PLEUT DANS LA RUE

For those of you who might feel that FB is a total waste of time, I stumbled across this quote, which I find useful for staving off some confusion and that feeling of being overwhelmed:

Hope doesn't come from calculating whether the good news is winning out over the bad. 

It's simply a choice to take action.

- Anna Lappe

Reasonable, right? Do something. Make A Move. Shuffle in a direction, even if slowly.

I am feeling better. The alcohol is out of my system and I am sleeping more easily. I am not waking up bright and early, but I "come to" relatively quickly. Today I had a bit of difficulty ramping up to looking-for-work-speed, but I did get there. And in the meantime, I worked on the ironing project (now half-finished) while watching Zorba the Greek (yikes! not for the feminists) and Hester Street (feminist approved).

The rain continues. I was caught out in it, although I was in my car and relatively dry. The rain fell so hard it was difficult to see to park.

My apologies for brevity here. I am not quite tuned for thinking and observation, but I am getting there. Meanwhile, Tina Fey's Bossypants is calling to me over in the newly-cleaned-off reading chair. Looks like it has already been occupied. The cats are reveling in the many cleaned off surfaces and largely eschew the cuddling that is their moral obligation and livelihood.

TUESDAY: GOOD NEWS DAY?

Rain again. Noisy shlushing of cars and truck on Eighth Avenue. I took a small amount of sleeping med last night which took a while  to work. This morning I slept until 10ish and I'm groggy. Also, my system is now fairly sensitive to alcohol, so the increased number of beers consumed over the weekend is likely affecting my sleep also.

I am writing and perusing the jobs on Mediabistro before I've even had any coffee. The "flow" of feelings might be headed downstream, but I am determined to get a move on toward positivity and success.

More later.

Today was absolutely better, although I am not yet at 100% energy. I remind myself to be more assiduous about picking up after myself right away so that the layers don't have time to accumulate.

I am still refocussing and stepping back into a swing that includes more outreach and concerted gig searching. I wrote some emails and made a call or two, began to research what is out there on the market, what I might need to get a bit more up to speed on, and just think about the work world.

Even the blog writing feels a bit rusty; startling what a day or two away can do to the rhythm. Perhaps some insight will creep in as well.

Back to bed after putting away the ironing board. I think I am through about a third of the pile. Still rain.

COMATOSE IRONING

The weather will only make a desultory effort today. Given my exhaustion, perhaps that is a good thing. I don't feel as if I am wasting a beautiful day inside while I am too tired to move. And too tired to sleep. An hour nap helped me both be more awake and aware of how tired I am. I keep thinking I should push myself to do something, but I end up spacing out again.

When I reach this particular level of exhaustion, it hits me in two places, my solar plexas and my forehead/third eye. Can exhaustion be localized like that?

And so to bed after making sure the kitchen was clean and doing some of my mountain of ironing. I did push through and get a couple of things done, notwithstanding my semi-comatose state.

More in the groove on the morrow.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOGCAST

May 12th

A whistler on the street woke me long before the alarm was to go off. I don't think it was a drunk as the air, neither what I heard or how it felt outside, was chipper yet controlled. My friend, DMF, has perfect pitch; whistlers make him crazy. It took me awhile to recognize the song. It was Deck the Halls With Boughs of Holly. Well, that was an odd choice for this time of year.

Lately, my dreams have been more like vistitations. I go through my days with the vague sense of having spent time with various people. I think I had a dream about Carl recently. I don't dream about him often; I never have.

May 15th
The blogger site was down for a day or two. And then I was in the rush of getting ready for the guests.
I didn't get everything done I wanted to, but the house does look pretty darn good.

L and L went out for awhile on Saturday evening. I was laying on the floor with the cats when they came in. They asked if I often laid on the floor. I replied that this had been my first opportunity as there was no room before.

The weekend passed in a fun blur. There was neither time nor fully sobriety to write. And now begins another chapter of sorts, more focussed on work than on cleaning my desk. I'll post pictures sometime later. For now I need to catch up on my sleep.

ANNIVERSAIRE DE TRISTESSE

This is the face I often wake up to. Sometimes, she tries to substitute the other end.

Grief is just one of life's hench-pitfalls that does not play fair. Anytime, anywhere is open season for a sucker punch or a steep slide into sadness.

Tomorrow is the second anniversary of Carl's death. I keep thinking it is not bothering me and then find myself zoning out in a myriad of ways. There's a hole in my heart, in my life. And it burns sometimes more than others.

Action shot of Tupelo.

Of course, May 12 is the birthday of about ten people I know, some of my closest closest friends.  If you are reading this, happy birthday. I love you. 

Anyway, ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch. I think loss of a sibling is so terrible that no one wants to even address it. I still have a parent, a rocking one at that. But, as I have observed, losing a sibling was losing a part of myself. Two years later it has not ceased being disorienting, unbalancing somehow. 

Only a day and a half left. I admit I have not been as productive today, again, as I would have liked, but the bathroom is nearly done, and I can see lots of surface space on my desk. And the evening is not yet over. 

Again, there are many things I might attribute to cause for mood swings, but I am swinging moodily. The down is not so very down, not unmanageably so. And I often have bursts of ... contentment or feeling accomplished. 

Miep thinks the bed is her domain. She will jump up and miao at anyone who approaches it.

I didn't take any pictures today. We (John, Mel, and I) got the car tuned up. I had a sweet sweet afternoon nap.

KATZENCHATTER

Not so much technology today. I had a glass of red wine and maybe that is helping with the sleepy part. Again, things accomplished, but not as much as I would have liked. Perhaps I am waiting for terror to set in. John came down and hung and re-hung art and pictures. I would photograph them but I am too tired. And Cooder is doing that thing where she picks at things to make me feed her or some such thing.

I killed time by playing with my Hipstamatic options on my iPhone camera. I am tired of organizing and cleaning. Oh! And I had to do some actual work today with Robert et cie for ShweShwe Kids so that took some out of me. I am going to go to bed soon, instead of staying up until 1:00.

This is Tupelo, the cat upstairs. 

His owner, John, says this is is bookjacket photo. He only needs a cigar.

Contemplative.

The wall near my bed. One of the areas that is clean.

Miep with a lens flare.

Perspective perspective perspective. I have scarcely been out of the house in this beautiful weather, although I did walk down and pick up the pizza I ordered for John and I while we did some redecoration.

I did take a snooze today. I am in the midst of changing my medication, which might add to some of my ... mood swings,  if that's what they are. I am in pretty chipper spirits for the most part though.

E, the falling man, is conscious and talking. In a lot of pain, but moving toward getting out of ICU.

TECHNOLOGY UPDATE

I am some sort of technology maven, sitting here with an iMac, a MacBook Air, an iPod Nano, an iPhone, a 750 gig back up hard disk, and two optical disk drives. Watch me work! Watch me waste time is more like it. I must admit it: I am enjoying the damn iPhone. I have been taking lots of pictures with the kitties. 

What I like about this photo is that Miep's expression is kind of like mine in the photo behind her head, taken was I was a wee thing. It is about my favorite picture of me, and it says it all: I am sitting in my underwear on the backporch, one shoe off, one on, with a big cat on my lap and an expression of skepticism.

Miep is hard to photograph because she always wants to interact with you. I was following her down. She went outside on the fire escape this morning, walked upstairs to John, Mel, and Tupelo's apartment, climbed in the window, and took a dump in Tupie's box. Perhaps for the novelty of it?

It's photosynthesis season for the cats again. Like Gerry and the Pacemakers, Cooder will follow the sun.

I almost never get any good shots like this. Love it.

So, only a couple more days left and this one was largely, but not entirely, unproductive. I'm in good spirits, though. That's something! And my mom has been reading my blog and I inspired her to throw away a piece of furniture that was ugly and dust-collecting, something I have been wanting her to get rid of for years. Huzzah. And tomorrow IS another day.

DISPATCHES FROM THE CLEANING SKIRMISHES

4:23
If Martha hadn't called at the entirely reasonable hour of 10:30 so that we could finally have a proper Sunday chat, I'd probably still be cuddled with Cooder and Miep, watching the day go from beautiful bright to greybreezy. Green and grey do look nice together.


After some solitaire, music research, and other fiddling, I finally set down to some real work. Having stumbled across many of my old mixes (and I have 100s), I put on one all, with the word "sweet" in the title. (This one is volume 3.)


I suddenly began to get very emotional. Yes, James Taylor was singing, as if you can't guessed the song. But I am violently ambivalent about James Taylor and, in general, don't get too emotional about old hits. But this one hit me.


Carl died two years ago this coming Thursday. Both my mother and I are wafting in and out of ... well, a sadness that abuts depression. (My father died earlier, six years and a day.) Carl was only 50. He didn't really understand that his passivity, negligent choices, depression, and terrible self-esteem COULD actually kill him. He ignored his doctor's advice to see a therapist or go on anti-depressants.  Instead of doing anything about his sleep apnea, he just didn't really sleep and was cranky to my mom. Instead of dealing with his kidney stones, he just took MASSIVE AMOUNTS of tylenol ... which ended up compromising his ... liver. His body could not take it. He died, not really wanting to.


At any rate, we had a hell of a wake for him. He would have loved it, no doubt. His close friend, bandmate, and musician soul brother, another David S., picked up Carl's favorite guitar and played some of Carl's favorite songs. And we all sat around, drank tequila, and sang and cried and sang and cried and sang and cried. Sweet Baby James.


Goodnight, my moonlight brother,
And rock-a-bye sweet little Carl.
Deep greens and blues are the colors you choose,
And we'll let you go down in your dreams.
And rock-a-bye sweet brother Carl.


We laughed some, too. So odd to have such a good time on such a terrible occasion. But it sold me on the necessity of wakes forever.


Here's a science experiment I pulled out of the refrigerator. I'm working on that project a little at a time.

I'll post a link to the sweet mix tomorrow, although I warn you, it is an odd mix.

WELCOME TO MOTH HAVEN

I've resorted to hummous, pretzels, and beer to motivate me through these last few days of housecleaning. The dregs, the odds and ends (as if that isn't mostly what I own) are always the craziest part for me.

My home now has a name: Moth Haven. I have so many cashmere sweaters and chewed up balls of yarn, there is literally moth shit all over. I wonder if it has any healing powers. I could sell it like rose oil or saffron. Having an organized space has not happened to me in so many years, it is difficult to understand what the reward will be. But I soldier on.

Those of you who know one another should probably be taking bets as to whether I will get done by next Friday afternoon. I don't know which way I would go.

Funny, I allowed myself three beers this evening, but I am not much liking number three. Guess I have had enough.

Here's another picture from Central Park on Wednesday. The shade got to be chilly but it was lovely when the sun was out.

I was thinking today that the last time I tried to do something every day was when I was maybe 20 years old. I resolved to listen to the Grateful Dead every single day. But then I took off for Mexico in the summer, so I had to give up that dream.

Saturdays are often a bit disjointed these days as I go to therapy at 11:30. The hours or minutes before that are absorbed with my trying to be focussed enough to get out of the house and be on time. When I usually get home, around 1:30, I am often exhausted or spacily contemplative, so I end up reading or napping. I suppose I was fortunate today in that I did get up and resume my quest for a cleaner apartment.

E seems to be holding on. L didn't post a report yet, but she did invite me up to hang out with her in Rhinebeck during part of E's recovery, so there is a good degree of confidence there.

Although there are more episodes of Roseanne to watch and 2/3s of a beer, I think I am going to join Miep in curling up ... once I clean off the bed.

BLURBBLOG

Well, well, well. It's getting on to blog-n-bed time, although I am not feeling the sleep coming over me. I changed my medication, and while most of the difference is positive, I might be just a little more amped up than I need or want to be.

Dave S. helped me get my mothership iMac all reconfigured, up, and running, so I am moving back into my desk to work. I had made a makeshift area, I am not sure why except that my desk was too big of a mess. I will post a photo, maybe tomorrow, of the cleaned up area, which looks pretty darn spiffy.

Here's the view looking up from my pillow in the morning. 

Here's what the cd wall looks like pretty much now, a little better.

Central Park yesterday afternoon between appointments.

Enough with the travelogue.

The day just cruised by what with the computer install and some random cleaning, but, given the emotional intensity of the week, I got some things accomplished today and am feeling pretty good. Thinking that after the push of this coming week and the visitors, maybe I will be able to turn on my brain and focus on writing again.

E is doing reasonably well for having fallen off of a ladder.

Another day on planet Earth.

FALLS, SUCKERPUNCHES, AND RUMINATIONS

Sometimes it is so lovely to just lie on your soft bed with kitties, lamplight, and the Cowboy Junkies.

Here's Miep in the morning sun.

This has been one hell of a week, I tell you what, as Hank Hill would say. The sweet husband of my close friend L fell 20 feet off of a tall ladder and has been in ICU all week. Events, occurrences of this kind not only sucker punch you in the gut, but they whack you upside the head, too. It didn't even entirely register for a day. Even though I am not close to E, I am close enough to L for this to put me into shock. L is good about updating us on E's progress, but there was a 36 hour stretch where there was no update and I was beside myself. (I and I take up quite enough room, thank you.)

As of this morning, E is making slow and painful, but steady progress. Say a good word for him.

Then I became embroiled in a family contretemps with Aah who is chronically ill, on steroids, angry, and afraid. It is all so so sad. And I find it painful to not be able to comfort close ones. I understand existential pain well. And part of this misunderstanding is the legacy of family secrets and problems. Another part is the culture clash of the divorced parents, my father raising us, his second family in boys' town; the other side, the divorced mother was from a vociferiously female cabal and the offspring there were raised very differently.

I am not explaining this very well. I spent my emotional savings account for this week. As I was thinking about Aah and how Aah cannot seem to find any forgiveness for misunderstanding nor is there much sensitivity to others' emotional position. Aah doesn't, at least at this point, recognize the human shortcomings and humanity of others. Then I thought perhaps Aah could not see nor forgive this in themself.

This is the view from my bed.

I'LL NAP INSTEAD

A leaden day. Save for the sprouting green lacy leaves on the tree outside my window, I could look out and think winter was still here. Ominous and oppressive outside. Or maybe that's just how I feel in here, I and I being I.

To those who responded to my cable tv post, I didn't have a television from 1972 until 1999, when the apartment I sublet required that I keep it. I caught up quite a bit in 11 years. But do remember that I work in entertainment, kids television quite often. So for me to not have cable television means I am not serious about my metier. I had a client at CBS who absolutely could not believe that I worked in television and yet did not own a television. Others would not be so sanguine about it.

I feel like hell. Some of it is the overwhelming task of going through my papers, which is not going to happen in the next two weeks, there is just too much. At this point, I am getting a feel for what I have and looking for a few things.

It, this absence of meaning, this pain, probably has more to do with the lack of light and the intense conversation I had with my mother today. It is nearly the anniversary of the deaths of my father in 2003 and my younger brother in 2009. And discussing the chronic illness of a close relative. And what did my mom think of the pornography my dad kept around.

I have two "scrap books" of my father's porn that I found while digging around his garage, probably right after Carl died. I didn't know what to do with it, and I didn't want my mother to find it, so I packed it and brought it home. It is behind a chair. When I told K about it, she couldn't believe I would have it.

Being that I value things of the past, I couldn't bring myself to throw away these old spank books. There are Betty Page era photos right up to the 21st century beaver poses. Why have I held on to them? Another skeleton in the closet? Shoved it under the rug ... behind a chair.

I think I will burn it. I considered asking my brothers if they wanted it or selling it. Wait. 
Wouldn't that make ME a pornographer?

Now I want to cry. But I'll nap instead. (Wasn't that a Beatles song?)

BYE-BYE CABLE TV

Nine days. I didn't get a lot of filing and housework done. But I did finally go drop off my cable box at Time Warner and became an official non-tv person, old school. The clerk did try to talk me out of it, asking if I really wanted to go without tv. I pulled the cable box out more than six months ago. I tried watching basic cable once or twice after I cancelled my premium but it was too frustrating. And now the place where the tv lived is housing something else. When I can afford a nice flat screen, I will reconsider.

John, bless him, came down to install some new curtain rod things from Ikea. Actually, it is a wire that comes with clips. I thought it might be nice to hang some of my vintage kitchen aprons, the ones that tie at the waist and don't do much good except for looking nice, in my windows. No one can really see in anyway. The building behind me does not have windows on that side (strange as they face west and would make for some nice light.) John huffed and puffed and swore at the Swedes, but he finally figured out the mechanism.

So before I go to bed tonight, I will try to put away what I have spread on the bed now. I continually have to remind myself that when frustrated, I must take one item at a time and put it all the way away. This is basic reprogramming.

On the other hand, I am excited by getting this project substantially finished (the minute organization of paperwork will take longer). I can't imagine what it will feel like to not be thinking about it, avoiding it, worrying about it. I'll probably grieve for my lost primary procrastination.

Or will I feel liberated? For now, back to the papers.

IN COUNTRY

Today has been a difficult one. I have scarcely been outside. I was barely awake for much of the day. And not only was it a warm spring day, the heat was on in the apartment making it nearly unbearable for me. Sheesh.

In my focus on getting some boxes emptied and my apartment arranged, I am deep "in country." One of my friends used to say he was "deep behind enemy lines" trying to live his life. This attention to the details of my life feels utterly foreign.

And yet, I persevered. I did not give up. I think I made progress, but I am too focused on what is left to get much of view of what has been done. Truthfully, I feel I am in some psychic wrestling match or "come to Jesus" moment that my consciousness doesn't even understand. Is that all about facing up to my pack rat mentality? The long unattended paperwork? The unfinished projects that may well stay that way?

One of the things that has come up is feeling like I am living my life without any map. A feeling that I was improperly schooled in a dismaying and overwhelming number of ways.

To get things done I am literally picking up handfuls of detritius from a shopping bag. I might have a length of ribbon, a vintage button, a safety pin, a half-bag of cough drops, some scrap of moth-eaten yarn, and a couple of receipts. I just take each item and deal with it, as each has a destination, a place. The trying-to-sort-everything-into-piles-and-then-put-everything-away method does not work for me, never has. So I need to take each button, or pin or missing earring, or unmatched sock and put it all the way away.

I'll keep you posted. Company here in 10 days ...

I treated myself to beer and chips. I had consumed one beer in about 8 days, so I think I am due for a motivator or reward.

I WISH I WERE THE MOON TONIGHT

As Neko says, "I'm so tired, I wish I was the moon tonight." Of course, I would say "I wish I were the moon tonight" because I am generally careful with that grammatical construction. Here's how tired I am: I can't remember what it is called ... conditional? Someone will know.

Worky worky worky as Miss Becky Mac says. Making lots of progress on the Spring cleaning and re-org, but it's getting down to sorting. I have been working as if I were a person possessed. Probably the Adderall. But I also feel motivated. I have mentioned it here before. I feel as if I am rushing to get ready for a new adventure. Something bigger than houseguests (not that that isn't important).

So, short for tonight. Hard to switch my focus to thoughts beyond "where does that go?"

So, we killed Quaddafi's son and grandchildren AND Osama Bin Laden this weekend. Somehow, I don't get the feeling that either of these things resolves anything.

DELICIOUS DAY

The air this afternoon was like the best dessert you ever had (without involving chocolate): fresh, sweet, delicate, and enough chill to be stimulating and delicious.

Unfortunately, I did not get to enjoy a whole lot of it as I am now in countdown to company mode. I have less than two weeks to get this place in shape for visitors who have never seen me in my native habitat. And it is not so much that I don't want them to know how disorganized I am. It is that under recent (and historical) conditions, there isn't a comfortable place to even hang out, much less for me to find floor space to sleep on.

However, through the miracle of modern psychopharmacology, I was able to make great strides. There is still much much much to be done, but if I just focus on putting the piles in boxes for later sorting, and continuing to clean I might just be in reasonable shape for houseguests.

Along with that, I have been listening to music all day. Hardly any computer or solitaire breaks. I might not have even stopped to eat if the kittehs had not reminded me from time to time that food was necessary.

And I did treat myself to a late afternoon latte and sticky bun from Ladybird. I sat on the bench across the street and enjoyed the air. Then, back to work.

It will be a big deal if I get this accomplished. Then I can move on to other things. Wow.

SOME THINGS ARE WORKING (EVEN IF I DON'T HAVE A JOB)

Earlier today I had so much to say. What happened?

Here's a funny story. I took 2.5mgs of Adderall today, thinking it would help me push through the dregs of my house ... yes, we are getting to those things that niggle you to death. They're around simply because you don't know what to do with them.

Shortly after I medicated myself, I had to move my car for street cleaning. I had a short list of car errands to run, going to Fairway to buy as much Mash as I can afford as I drink it every day. And then there is the never-ending pile of library books.

Off to the library I go, virtuous returning books I had not finished with, but had not paid attention to in weeks. Slimming down the checked-out books I thought.

I found the book I had on hold and began to peruse the new books as I often do. I pulled down a pile, sat at a table and considered whether I really needed to check out 11 or 12 more books. I whittled out two. I returned them to the shelves.

Several minutes later, I realized that I had begun to straighten and re-organize all the books on the new books shelves. (They were in a big big mess.) What was I doing, I asked myself. And then I remembered the Adderall. As if I need to go out to find a mess to clean up.

I found that hugely amusing. Maybe you had to be there. So like me to take on the world at large, instead of my smaller one.

In other news, even though I have not been consciously dieting or paying a lot of attention to what I have been eating, I put on a pair of summer pants that had previously been a bit tight to find them looser and more comfortable.

Some things are working.

MARGO BY LAMPLIGHT

A cool yet steamy night, the room suffused in lamplight, and Margo Timmins and those Cowboy Junkies waxing poetic and mournful ... that's the setting here on 8th Avenue.

Cats asleep and happy as I opened another can of tuna ... and did not put it down on the floor. I think there are cat magnets in tuna. They aren't like dogs, (my cats at least), who are generally on the watch for anything falling from human hands. When gravity pulls the tidbit down, dogs are generally right underneath to receive and gulpingly consume, ready for the next. Cats, on the other hand, are waiting to be convinced, interestedly lingering nearby. But when tuna get on the plate on the floor, a smooth, and quite gravitational forces impels them to get right to it. They don't break stride, regard the tuna progentitor with gratitude, or inhale the food. (Allright, I have seen some cats do this, mine don't.)

Embroiled in a bit of an emotional storm this week. This has slowed but not stopped me. I have not made a lot of organizational progress, but I haven't spent the week eating, sleeping, or spending money I don't have, so that seems like a plus.

I had to give up on Skippy Dies. Call me old. Call me feminist. Tell me you don't want to fuck me and that I don't have a sense of humor, but I am pretty tired of boys-in-boarding-school books. Especially ones that feel like Lucky Jim at the beginnning, if they are not, indeed Lucky Jim. I don't need to read about another disaffected, lost boyman in his 20s about to cheat on his honest but not exciting girlfriend who rescued him for loneliness and thorough jerkhood, soon to have her heartbroken. I do not fault the book for being caddish and derivative, because it boring. (Although not badly written.) And I am really quite tired of sex-crazed teenage boys on drugs. Not interesting at all.

So, I picked up Elegy for Iris again, and although it is sad, it is quite the opposite side of the coin.

Upon seeing Piero della Francesca's The Resurrection,

" ... the picture is not only supremely satsifying but also electrifying. It inspires awe. We ate our spaghetti that day with a sense of high achievement, for who can see a great picture or read a great book without taking some of the credit for it himself..."

I find Bayley's musings on marriage quite comforting and sweet and a different language of what draws people, or drew them together.

"Iris seemed to be in a reverie, too. I took her hand and it pressed mine. What was she thinking? I had no idea, any more than I had in the case of Kafka, and I knew very well there was no way to find out. But this realisation reassured me deeply: it made me happy as the hypothetical woes of Kafka had made me feel sad. Such ignorance, such solitude! They suddenly seemed the very best of love and marriage. We were together because we were comforted and reassured by the solitariness each saw and was aware of in the other."

And later:

"So married life began. And the joys of solitude. No contradiction was involved. The one went perfectly with the other. To feel oneself held and cherished and accompanied, and yet to be alone. To be closely and physically entwined, and yet feel solitude's friendly presence, as warm and undesolating as contiguity itself."

HOWLING IN COMPLICTY: SOME DRUNKARDS TALES

Loud drunks across the street again, even though it is not so pleasant outside. I am predicting a dog's mouth summer, with many sticky days. We've lived through them before. I find it early in the year for mugginess. The neither-here-nor-there-weather is making it difficult to get dressed again. Just bring a shawl. More practical than almost anything else. I dislike being overheated and carrying a bunch of things. Cranky. Shirty.

I would that moods were more readily described like geologic layers or perhaps making a lasagna. There's the base mood and then various nuances of other things making a hefty whole. My base level is deep, somewhat sad, and processing some slow information. As computers can do. I am emotionally "rendering" on the bottom layer, in the background. When I stop or I am by myself (which was not all the time today), the other layers or processes stop and I just feel slow and emotional and not entirely focussed.

What were the metaphors for this before computers?

I am a techno-slut at the moment: my laptop in bed (no-no that that is), iPhone charging next to the bed, and an old iPod playing through an alarm clock dock.

I had to take some bendadryl for my allergies, so sleep is rising up.

However, I did want to note an article in the NY Times titled

Culture of Complicity Tied to Stricken Nuclear Plant

and point out that the culture of complicty is tied to all sorts of bad shit in this world. Hel-lo. Nothing new there. 

Susan, I am sorry I forgot to wish you happy birthday yesterday.

Anon, mes amies.