KICKIN'

Thursday, May 24th

Boy, did I get caught in the rain today. I checked the weather predictions before I left and did not see that torrential downpours were expected imminently.

Monday, May 28th

Yeah, that day I chose to brave the muggy weather in a short-sleeved shirt and flip-flops. No umbrella, No nuttin'. I had to walk barefoot to the subway as it was pouring and one cannot navigate with wet feet in flip-flops. Walking barefoot in New York City feels positively unnatural. But I survived.

I'm just not all that chipper therefore I am not all that forthcoming. Hanging on. Perhaps I will feel more inspired to write more on the morrow. But I'm still ... kickin'.

SPITTING DRIZZLE

What with the rain and all, I hadn't been outside all day. I applied for a couple of jobs and did some nosing around job listings without much inspiration or success. When the rain was a spitting drizzle at dusk, I decided I should take a walk just because I could.

I can't say that it cheered me at all. The beauty of the buildings on 8th Avenue is so pleasant that my spirits droop at the thought that I won't be here long. And that I don't belong here. This comfortable life is not for me. Of course one feels "on the outside looking in" when that is exactly what one is doing, looking into the warm light of family dining rooms, living rooms, and studies from the darkening street.

It may sound as if I am just whining. But I am struggling with even the notion of "my place" in the world. What does that mean? How does one know? Can adjustments be made?

And maybe the overcast day weighed on me, too.

IF THE THUNDER DON'T GET YOU

Starting this post from beneath a tree in Prospect Park. The weather and the light today are so spectacular; it felt wrong to stay indoors all day. I think I stay indoors partly because on some deep level I feel so insecure and unsure of everything right now, I am somewhat, sometimes, in a kind of paralysis. That, and the vague feeling that I don’t have the right to enjoy the neighborhood and the surroundings I am soon to be leaving.

But I did get out. I treated myself to a Ladybird weekend croissant and a latte. I found a tree on a hillside and finished my first reading of the Monsterwood script. With my headphones on and soft music playing, it is remarkably peaceful. I must be sitting at the foot of a good squirrel tree as one tentatively approached me, its mouth full of a still-wrapped Tootsie Roll. Wish I could have photographed that. 




LATER LATER LATER

Monday, Monday. You can't trust that day. From the glorious light of yesterday to rain and thunder. There might have been lightning, as there so often is, but I was mostly asleep, so I didn't see.

It's a tough day, but it is a day, so I am going to make an attempt to get some things done, find a job, and save my own life.

I did take a nice two mile walk in the late afternoon. I used the time to catch up with an old friend, spurred on by the news that another old friend was separating from his spouse. At least I feel good enough to talk to people, which for a few weeks, I did not. I also chatted with KH at length. So there you go.

And I do find this interesting. Even on a day of torrential rain, there are screaming children outside. Maybe they are just enjoying the deluge.

ONIONS AND ROSES

I did take a little walk today, treating myself to a pizza while I started reading the latest draft of the Monsterwood script. I need to get out of the house more and regularly, but so what else is new. The flowers are changing, not daffodils and iris; there were some nice roses on 11th Street. 

I'm not floating free and clear yet, just today had a short panic attack, but it was fairly short-lived. I was helped out of the funk by Cooder coming to sit on my heart and purr for a bit. After a few minutes of respite and reflection, I was back up and at 'em again. Cooder moved to the pool of sunlight on the pillow. I think this is as calm and close as Emmylou and Cooder have ever been. That's quite an expression in Emmy's eyes. She must have seen a bird or something.

I got to be the final word in the next selection of the book group's June book. I picked something challenging, although I had been the one whining for something relatively short and simple. I had started to read Lewis Hyde's The Gift any number of times, and it did survive the great library sale of April. It is not an easy read, not something to scan lightly on the subway after a beer, but I like it a great deal; it is already full of book darts.

"Every culture offers its citizens an image of what it is to be a man or a woman of substance. There have been times and places in which a person came into his or her social being through the dispersal of his gifts, the "big man" or "big woman" being that one through whom the most gifts flowed. The mythology of a market society reverses the picture: getting rather than giving is the mark of a substantial person, and the hero is "self-possessed," "self-made." So long as these assumptions rule, a disquieting sense of triviality, of worthlessness even, will nag the man or woman who labors in service of a gift and whose products are not adequately described as commodities. Where we reckon our substance by our acquisitions, the gifts of the gifted man are powerless to make him substantial."

Self-worth, self-esteem has been much on my mind these past few months. Today, in fact, it was central to a healing session I had. I am still mulling over these feelings and insights and perceptions, but something certainly rings true in Hyde's comment. CB mentions the layers of onion being stripped away to get at one's true essence. But maybe a rose is a good analogy or symbol, too.

WISH ME LUCK

I usually like the rain but today I feel as if I am in a jungle bunker, cornered and just listening to the incessant rain drip, drip, drip. What is up with me? Extra nervous for some reason. And missing the Spring light.

I'm back to working on the formatting part of my resume, which is good, because that means I am pretty done for the moment. And even though I am watching the Word 2011 tutorial on lynda.com, I just get antsy. Why why why?

This is what I woke up with next to my head. Very cute, of course, but has a tendency to nip hands when she wants attention. And, as you can see, those are some fairly serious teeth. She has sort of an overbite.

I am still in a non-internal state of mind. Or maybe I am just way too obsessed with Battlestar Galactica, but I am just not thinking very much. But the new, revised resume is going out. Wish me luck.

BAKERY BAR BEDMAKING

Who would have thought that a bakery and a bar nextdoor to one another would be such a haven for screaming and crying children? I kind of get the barking dog issue as folks go in to get a treat during their walks, but it is the miserably unhappy children that surprise me. And the awful bar across the street evidently has some wayward parents who drink while their children congregate on the bench outside the (closed) bakery. Sometimes they run up and down the street playing and yelling. Now, there is certainly nothing wrong with this behavior, except that this is at 11:00 p.m. Shouldn't they be in bed? (I know that's what I'm trying to do, sleep.) And it isn't once. I am beginning to recognize these kids at other times of the day as I have seen them out my window enough times.

If it isn't the screaming kids, it's the sirens, and if it isn't the sirens, it's the delivery trucks idling, and if it isn't the delivery trucks idling it's the motorcycles and if it isn't any of those things ... it's quiet.

Monday, May 14th.

I think that was from Saturday and I just forgot to finish and post.

Today, the weather went grey and cold again. I didn't have a great day, but not terrible either. I did get a few things done (further desk excavation and organization, cat food run, some further resume work, and I started another tutorial on lynda.com). Emmylou helped me make the bed this morning. It is one of her favorite things. Look at that ear hair.

CHILLAX SPRING DAY

Tell me this is not the expression of peace and contentment. Not my expression, of course, but Cooder is channeling a groove for me here. We had some good naps yesterday and today. And that would lead one to believe I am sleeping better. And I am.

I finished a working draft of the old resume! I sent it off to the career counselor for feedback and I will re-address the document tomorrow. What a weight off of my little mind. I just chillaxed the rest of the weekend, napping, hanging with the cats, watching Season 2 of Battlestar Galactica. I did make some significant progress on cleaning off my desk. And I even worked on the kitchen woodwork. Always so much to clean.

Today, I walked down 8th Avenue to Atlantic in the late afternoon. As always, there are new things to be seen and speculated about. I just liked the colors of these bricks.

SOME YEARS THERE ARE APPLES

Okay, so the struggle and the fight against myself continues, but the good "I" is gaining the upper, pro-active hand. And most of my procrastination is of the positive kind (I first wrote "sign"; I wonder what that really means) as I am cleaning up my downloads files and my iTunes; it does feel good to get that organized, even if it is not mission critical which is to keep my apartment.

Meanwhile, I stopped for a moment to read the daily poem from the Academy of American Poets and felt the need to immediately share it:

Gather
by Rose McLarney

Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come.

Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.

You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples.

I am expecting apples soon.

TASMANIAN HONEY

Holy Toledo! The sky doesn't look like this today! Well, I did see some blue for a bit after a day of rain.

A couple of quick things here as it is getting on to 8:00.

As the faithful among you know, I am quite intent on changing my state of being and to that end I have sought the help of two different schools of counseling, one traditional and one not so much. The not-so-much professors have me drinking a cup of hot water and honey each morning to remind myself to be sweet and nuturing to myself. Plus, I have kind of gotten used to it.

I used up the first jar of honey that I pulled out of the cupboard. (I have several jars, don't you?) Still on the shelf were a regular supermarket kind and a fancy Tasmanian honey that had been given to me as a gift three years ago and had barely been open.

So when it was time for a new jar yesterday, did I reach for the good stuff? No, I started using the lesser. It was not as tasty as the first. This morning, I realized that I often "save" the good stuff. What am I "saving" honey for? (Let's just set aside the catastrophic bee problem that might make hoarding honey a good idea in the post-apocalyptic world.) I do that: deny myself things and save them for ... what? (Unfortunately, this did not spill over into the world of finance.) I opened the Tasmanian honey this morning and began to use it. Tastes lots better.

Not to hammer him, but this was another behavior inherited from my father. He always discouraged us from driving, not because he was an early environmentalist, but to save wear and tear on the car. I'm sure there are other examples of this kind of ... parsimony? deferred gratification for an unknown event or rainy day or ??? This needs to be pursued further. What am I keeping from myself and myself from? What else can I avail myself of?

And then there was a long dream, (and I am sleeping more deeply for those keeping score, but I still wake up somewhat panicked), that had to do with going to a resort out in a California oak scrub kind of landscape. I had a white Porsche (my father had a Porsche, not white and this one was a later model). For some reason, I had a bunch of my down bedding in the car. As I was having some trouble driving, reaching the pedals, but I was managing. Then I was driving really fast and the bedding started whipping around the car, very much obscuring my vision. I did not slow down. I drove while wrestling with the bedding (more dangerous than texting, I am pretty sure) which was wrapped around my head. I vanquished one comforter (white with yellow roses) only to be assaulted by sheets.

I did manage to park at the inn, get settled in, only to find myself in the Porsche again with my mother and another old friend, in two way, Dolly is about 84 herself, driving to Palm Springs, and again, driving very fast with the sheets and comforter flying around and blinding me.

What do we make of that?

DANCING THROUGH THE CLOVER

I've no idea why, but I woke up with this Band song, Daniel and the Sacred Harp, playing in my head. Now, this is a bit of an obscure song for all but the deeply schooled Band fans, and it has not been a particular favorite of mine. Daniel, Daniel and the Sacred Harp/dancing in the clover. Turns out Robbie Robertson was a pretty darn good songwriter. (Daniel and The Sacred Harp)

Rain today. I suppose that is at least a change from the merely grey. But is is dark in the front of the house in the morning.

Later.

Writing this blog is not coming easily, or at least the impetus to do it. I feel as if I had lost my voice here at bit. I am still floundering around. I did the editing/consulting work I was supposed to do today but did not make measurable progress on the other issues. Feeling kind of down and crappy this morning, uninspired to do much, I left for Trader Joe's early. Well, the rain didn't help traffic at all, however, TJ's was so nice and quiet AND it was relatively easy to park. So that was a task completed.

In my procrastination, I have started cleaning up my computer. My downloads files are a mess. I have lots of music that has been sent to me that has not made it into iTunes, so I started importing that and organizing the playlists. And that led to me to my mail downloads where I had all sorts of documents from old jobs that ended up reminding me of what I had done at the last couple of job which is exactly what I need to write on my resume. So there. I did some important key research that will help me incorporate. For now, I will give myself this one.

Did some other psychic work with a couple of my counselors. That ended up kind of trashing me for the rest of the day. I didn't go out a get a flower, though. Hmmm.... Tomorrow morning. For now, this one will do.

WHY NOT CHENEY?

Today is Cooder's 14th birthday. That's getting up there in kitty years. She doesn't really seem to be interested in "celebrating." I'm sure she'd eat as many kitty treats as I would put out for her. And she did spend some time sitting in my lap. I spend so much time at the computer, the kitties don't get a lot of lap opportunity. When I had a couch and a tv, there was more latitude, however, Maria was pretty much ruling the laps in those days.

Today was one of the one step back days. I endeavored (CB quotes Yoda and says there is no trying or not trying, only doing) ... to work on the resume rewrite, but somehow it reduced me to depression and tears. I look forward to this phase being over. Am I just gloomy due to a vitamin D deficiency? With the exception of Sunday afternoon, it has been pretty dark.

I did see two red-breasted robins on my Sunday walk. One bird was so fat I suspected pregnancy. Come to think of it, I have never knowingly seen a pregnant bird. Do they get all swelled up?

Also, Meow, the overfed kitty died yesterday. Goodness. Why couldn't it happen to Dick Cheney?

SOMETHING LIKE A BIRD WITHIN HER SINGS

I did sleep better last night. And if I woke up at 5:00, the panic was calmed enough for me to continue to sleep. Perhaps last night's repose was the best night's sleep I have had in many months. Was it the trazadone, the dairy products in last night's pasta extravaganza, or a perceptual shift in my unconscious that maybe things are getting better. On the road to recovery instead of the road to nowhere?

My medicine chest is in serious need of re-organization. It is one of those (many) tasks I repeatedly vow to get right on as soon as I finish "x". Beginninging with an item or two, I dreamt that I had cleared it out, down to polishing the glass and throwing out things. And I had so much  more room in there than I had previously thought. Now what is that a metaphor for? We can clean our our medicine chests and heal ourselves?

Hmmm ... haven't had coffee yet, so I will end this for now. Another gloomy chilly day.

Later that morning! Huzzah! And there is sunshine. Working on resume, but will try to get out to soak up some rays before the day is over.

And here's a cool post from TEDx about vulnerability. There are elements here which are quite central to my current challenges and thinking. For instance, shame has always been an emotion that I have never gotten a clear handle on. I have never been able to untangle all of the feelings in that complex. I think she does a good job of teasing out a lot of it.

Monday morning.

I walked in the park for the first time in many many weeks, although by the time I got out the sun was largely down. It was transformed into pure greenery. I know this happens every year, but I have been so enmeshed in my own story that I had not been of an expansive mind and heart to enjoy the bursting and budding around me. And now the leaves and grass have settled into their warm weather splendor, except that the colors are sharp with newness.

And while my outlook on future finances and living situation is still entirely up in the air, the pain has lessened enough for me to move around a bit more normally, comfortably. I even IRONED last night. I also slept well, although I took some xanax to make sure. When I woke up, more like 6:00 than 5:00, I felt the dim pangs of panic instead of the jolt of terror.

Progress.

ERE I WOO MORPHEUS

One should likely not be inordinately proud of achieving basic reasonably maintenance of things, yet I do feel some prideful relief. I had not backed up this computer (the desktop) in about a year. Today, I had enough scratch to purchase an inexpensive terabyte hard drive and backed it up, which took several hours. I am surprised at my feelings of relief and accomplishment. Low standards, Sally Anne, low standards.

Not much else to report. I was so agitated by that regrettably bad play and perhaps by being out later than usual, that I could not sleep. I did essay to woo Morpheus without benefit of any drugs, so that likely added to my inability to sleep. That and the lunatics on the street ALL night. Yes, lunatics is correct; gearing up for tonight's full moon.

The sleep deprivation led to kind of a lost day for me. As John was out of town, I went upstairs to hang out with Melinda. I made her pasta with parmesan and butter which was too indulgent for John's tastes, but I knew Melinda would cotton right to it. We watched the first two episodes of Veep, which I highly recommend.

And now I think I will seek out some sleeping medication to insure that I do rest. Must re-write resume. Must re-write resume. All else takes lower precedence. Why do we have such resistance to these things. There must be a better way. I mean, can't we make resumes passe? Or is that what websites are all about.

Here are some pictures:

CALL WHEN MY

I love the fences in this neighborhood.

This sounds like the beginning of a poem or a letter, or an epistolary novel:
I will call when my first cup of coffee is brewed.

It has a certain cadence, no? Or perhaps after my many weeks of quiet, I am just encharmed with words and possibilities again.

Tonight I saw John Lithgow in the new play about Joseph Alsop, The Columnist. Holy shit, it was terrible. It might have been my worst theatrical experience since I saw a travelling production of Cats in San Franciso back in the 1980s. I was hard pressed to stay quietly in my seat when I wanted to stand up and scream "What the fuck?" Grace Gummer, Meryl Streep's daughter was in it also and she really needs to find another metier. Okay. Enough. I don't need to get steamed about it.

TAKE THE SECOND, RIGHT?

Let's see if I can get back into this. Meanwhile, thank you for all of your sweet and encouraging comments and some extra "kudos" from a old friend.

The trees are almost in full leaf which means the birds are back at it in full force. Having windows at tree branch level is great for bird watching. Emmylou sits in the window with all the concentration and rapt attention of a '50s child seeing Howdy Doody when television was new. The other morning I woke up in Brewster, New York (about 50 miles north of here, near the Connecticut border) and I noticed I was hearing different birds. I have no idea, of course, what birds (besides the ubiquitous pigeons) are here or there, but the song was not the same.

I have no idea why, but I have Baby, I Love You is my morning theme song. I love the horns, particularly the tenor sax, King Curtis and Charlie Chalmers. Check it out.

I need to get back to work this morning.

Later that same day.

Okay then. I did get some work done on the resume re-write, I did reach out to folks with whom I had not been in touch AND I even went to my book group even though I was so challenged these past weeks that I did not read the book. I had planned on not going, but realizing I was unlikely to get much more work done as well as knowing that I do not know how many more times I would even be around, I made the effort. And I had read enough of the book to contribute.

Much more to be done. And if you can't take the first step, take the second, right?

JUNE GLOOM IN MAY

Greetings.

I know it has been quite awhile since I have posted. There have been some serious challenges in my life of late. Writing about this part of the journey did not seem prudent in a public forum. I am by no means out of the dangerous woods yet, but I do miss the practice. When I check in here, I hold myself to a different accountability.

So, the short version is: still in Brooklyn (yay!), still looking for work. The cats are good. I've been downsizing in a good way and the process is becoming clearer and somewhat easier. I haven't been reading much, nor taking pictures, nor walks. 

I had a vintage item stoop sale.

Made some bucks and got rid of some stuff that day although I still have plenty of tablecloths. John and Betts helped me out.

Here's Emmy today. She actually jumped into my lap for a few minutes the other day, and this morning she sat on me while I was still in bed. Maybe she'll be a cuddly kitty after.

JUST MAYBE BUT

Whew. Today did not go as planned. I had thought I would have lots of time to work on a variety of  important things, but all I have done, all day, is mess around with my laptop. I had to clear off 26 gigs of music in order to back up my iPhone which needs the new IOs ... oh this is fascinating.

I'm tired. I'm cranky. And I have a few miles to go before I sleep.

But! Maybe just but! Just maybe but! I will feel accomplished! And I will sleep better than I did last night. And I will wake up full of optimism and enthusiasm, well slept and ready to face the week.

Cooder and Emmy are sitting nearby, both of them gently switching their tails as if they are idling their motors. What do they think they are getting up to?

I did finally find my missing winter shoe (not that I need it so much now) in a place I thought I had looked. I mean, it was an obvious place for it to be, so I cannot imagine I did not look there, although I suppose I could imagine that I did.

I'm losing what little clarity I might have had. I need to sleep.

Yesterday was not so good. Very down. Very blue. I read most of the day, which I suppose is better than engineering self-destruction. Today might have been a little better. I even got one of the B's to take a walk with me late this afternoon as I had not been out of the house in more than 24 hours.

LIFE OBLIGES THEM

One of my closest friends is a struggler also. Depression, finances, etc. More than once we have had the discussion, the "is-this-the-bottom-and-am-I-on-my-way-up-now" talk. We have looked for perspective and hope, a nascsent expectation that things have gotten bad enough, that we've been in enough pain, and that we've done enough earnest work to turn around our situations or fortunes. That the momentum will now go in the other direction.

Thing is, you can never tell when you are there. Or at least neither of us has been able to.

“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”

— Gabriel García Márquez

HOW LITTLE YOU GAIN

Stumbled across this little poem. I have some issues with being on time except for movies.   I've worked on this issue and am MUCH MUCH better. However, Louise and I were chatting about this and what it means to be extra fluid (And what is extra fluidity anyway? Seems as if you are fluid or not.) about social engagements (Something else that I/we see differently than others. )

It ought to be plain
how little you gain
by getting excited
and vexed.
You'll always be late
for the previous train,
and always in time
for the next. -

Piet Hein, poet and scientist (1905-1996)

And then, I got this blog email which I am including in its entirety. (Entirety is a good work. Very rhythmic, no?)

Extending the narrative

Did you wake up fresh today, a new start, a blank slate with resources and opportunities... or is today yet another day of living out the narrative you've been engaged in for years?

For all of us, it's the latter. We maintain our worldview, our biases, our grudges and our affections. We nurse our grudges and see the very same person (and situation) in the mirror today that we did yesterday. We may have a tiny break, a bit of freshness, but no, there's no complete fresh start available to us.

Marketers have been using this persistence to their advantage forever. They sell us a car or a trip or a service that fits the story we tell ourselves. I don't buy it because it's the right thing for everyone, I buy it because it's right for me, the us I invented, the I that's part of the story I've been telling myself for a long time.

The socialite walks into the ski shop and buys a $3000 ski jacket she'll wear once. Why? Not because she'll stay warmer in it more than a different jacket, but because that's what someone like her does. It's part of her story. In fact, it's easier for her to buy the jacket than it is to change her story.

If you went to bed as a loyal company man or an impatient entrepreneur or as the put-upon retiree or the lady who lunches, chances are you woke up that way as well. Which is certainly safe and easy and consistent and non-confusing. But is it helping?

We dismiss the mid-life crisis as an aberration to be avoided or ridiculed, as a dangerous blip in a consistent narrative. But what if we had them all the time? What if we took the resources and trust and momentum that helps us but decided to let the other stuff go?

It's painful to even consider giving up the narrative we use to navigate our life. We vividly remember the last time we made an investment that didn't match our self-story, or the last time we went to the 'wrong' restaurant or acted the 'wrong' way in a sales call. No, that's too risky, especially now, in this economy.

So we play it safe and go back to our story.

The truth though, is that doing what you've been doing is going to get you what you've been getting. If the narrative is getting in the way, if the archetypes you've been modeling and the worldview you've been nursing no longer match the culture, the economy or your goals, something's got to give.

When decisions roll around--from what to have for breakfast, to whether or not to make that investment to what TV show (or none) to watch on TV tonight, the question to ask is: Is this a reflex that's part of my long-told story, or is this actually a good decision? When patterns in engagments with the people around you become well-worn and ineffective, are they persistent because they have to be, or because the story demands it?

Now, if that ain't something for me to start my day ... (Well, it really started with Emmy butting up against every bit of skin she could find in the hopes of getting some petting.)

Old and new?

DOING WHAT IN THE WIND

Until today I had not really considered a job as a consumable, a commodity, something that some have and some don't. Something to be acquired. I had a whole other mental direction, a different take,  on work, on jobs. I thought it was something everyone, the general everyone, had or did. Of course not EVERYBODY had one, some didn't like theirs, etc. But looking for work on the internet is so impersonal. Talk about pissing into the wind. Yikes.

I don't know where this "consumer" mentality came from. Guess I will have to continue to brood over it.

This is from the Poem of the Week (274!) I sent this week.

The woman washed up on shore. No one could identify her. As

her body lolled back and forth in the tide, no one could tell if she was

arriving or departing.   


from Pears - Morton Marcus

I feel a bit like this.

At least it was sunny today. I was out, but so depressed or emotional than I can scarcely remember it.

BLOOMIN'

Foghorn day again. And no lightness of "leghorn" ... I was chatting with one of the B's about the weather. She said she did not mind the grey. I just find it extra oppressive when I am already down and struggling.

I just cannot get awake today. I did an early bedtime and was out of bed sometime near 7, although I did turn off the alarm a couple of times. I didn't want to do anything from the moment I hit consciousness.

But I did anyway. I drove to the post office to mail out the last two eBay items. (I didn't have the energy to post anything this week.) And then I went to the happiest place on Earth, Trader Joe's, for some groceries. It was so easy to park at 9:15 I thought something was wrong.

I had to drive around a lot to find a place to park in this hood. 10:30 in the morning is not a time a lot of people are coming and going. I had to settle for a Friday spot when I was hoping for a Tuesday. Then I wouldn't have had to worry about driving any more this week. Oh well, there are larger tragedies in life.

The trees are blooming. It's almost as if they explode. One day nekkid, the next sashaying above with blossoms galore. I didn't even see these trees go through the budding stage. With all that burstingness, it is hard to stay glum. But I manage.


And then I came home and kind of floated through the rest of the day. Starting your day early means you can fool around or space out more and still have time to actually get things done. I took a nap, but some part of me is still asleep.

So, here at 7:10, I am still trying to be productive. I stole Cooder's chair though and I can hear her on the desk, probably waiting for me to get out of the seat she wants.

This is what Cooder looks like when she sits on me during nap time. She wants lots of petting. Then she usually leaves.

I did do some work today. And I did finally vacuum the carpet in the front room and the office area. That had been a long time coming. I found a dessicated palmetto bug or something. I could have photographed it, but I cleaned it up instead. Dishes done. Ironing started. I even found the car insurance renewel so that I am driving around with the right papers.

Then again, I'll be driving around with an expired driver's license soon. It cost $80 to renew and it seems as if there are no options. At least that's what I think the form said. Best I get around to checking it out again.

Getting to be past my virtuous bed time. I wanted to take a bath and read, but that will be very late. Another night, soon. I have to be careful not to bathe, take baths, that is, during the day as I go into slower mode. For now, just washed face and brushed teeth, and maybe a little bit of reading or another episode of Portlandia.

THE POSTMAN ALWAYS

A New York Department of Transportation truck idled noisily, very noisily, outside my window at 6:30. I know about carpe diem and all, but that certainly felt inappropriately early. Cooder was cuddly, and goodness knows that is rare enough, but the racket, and then a surprise attack by Emmylou, disturbed her. Given that I am trying to retrain myself for earlier hours, I got up. The sky is foggy, showing no hint of yesterday's spring.

The coffee tastes good, though: it has depth, no bitterness, and a slight aftertaste of chocolate.

Somewhat later ...

A well-dressed father walking up to the park with a newborn-ish (in a cuddlyslingything), a post-toddler on a scooter, and a bull terrier: "We have to get ahead of the bird chasing initiative ..." Was he teaching his son about business? Some version of the early bird gets the worm? They were quite serious.

Yes, I'm shocked myself, but I did get a load of laundry started. I was the only one at the 'mat besides the owners who don't like me as I argued with them about a pair of pants they utterly ruined by bleaching.

Later that morning, still ...

Would it freak you out to be locked out of your apartment building in sweats and no shoes with no wallet or cell phone? I ran out to toss two packages in the mailbox. I grabbed the wrong keys. And found myself on my doorstep and no one home. I mean, what do you do? In my case, the realtor who found this place for me is around the block, so I thought I would head over and see if he could call my landlady who might be able to get the super to let me in.

Besides being on a schedule and having things I was trying to get done, I panicked because I didn't have a SHRED of anything to READ. Nada. What was I going to do if I had to wait until 6:00 for someone to come to the building? Color me freaked out.

And then I saw a postal truck. I asked the driver if he had the key to get into the front ... AND HE DID. He let me in. I couldn't believe it. He was so incredibly nice. I suppose I looked innocent, given that I was underdressed and barefoot. I am still so relieved I hardly know what to do with myself.

I wondered how all those postman got into all those buildings. Turns out there is a key box on all the apartment buildings. In the key box, voila! there is a front door key. K said that they aren't supposed to do that. Perhaps I looked extra-freaked out as the postman agreed to rescue me almost immediately.

When in doubt, prone out. I took a short nap. I woke up to a cat on each pillow.

They sure look a lot alike, don't they. the

WHERE IS MY SPRING?

Buds overhead.

My head hit the pillows at about 9 pm last night. While this level of exhaustion does appear from time to time, I rarely succumb to actually going to bed. More usually, I would waste time playing solitaire or watching something, but, as I could barely formulate a sentence, just going to bed seemed like the best option.

I didn't sleep all through the night, of course. The heater is still on, so at least one of my windows is wide open. At about 5 am, I heard, or thought I did, someone, in a nearly conversational tone, asking for 911 to be called. As I was deeply asleep, I waited for subsequent yelling, crying, or some other sign of distress to ascertain whether or not the request was real or my psyche in a panic.

Bench detail.

Much later ...

Well now isn't that interesting? I just saw an ad for a Filippina dating service on my site. One wonders how that might have ended up here. Oh well.

Bucking my usual tradition today, I took a shower and walked to the library before noon. My mood might have improved but my productivity is not particularly awe-inspiring.

I do think getting to bed early is a good thing and now that I look at the time, I realize it is 7:45 pm and I have not yet had dinner. I am sitting in my favorite trashed club chair watching the sunset through the branches of my still-naked tree and listening to Brad Meldhau. Trying trying trying to be of different cheer, to see possibility, to have hope, to find a job. Beating down the walls of what I know and how I do things to see how I might change and find an escape or a transition that puts me in a better place with forward motion and a new perspective.

Where is the sign of my spring?

But for now, food.

Sigh. Yes, I am trying to be good, to be different than I have been in ways that will lead me to be more secure and successful.

Yes. I try to make even a little bit of progress when I just want to disappear or freak out or space out.

I walked.
I returned library books.
I did the dishes.
I watched what I ate.
I did the hand washing.
And yet.
And yet.

There were many signs of spring in the park today. I tried to photograph the beauty of the budding magnolias and the patches of daffodils. I tried to enjoy the light and the air.

But the fear and the dread and the panic are near. And the confusion.

There was a time when I was not so bad. When my self-esteem and self-assurance were a bit higher. When I had confidence and felt I could do anything. I am at a loss as to where I went. And, of course, I feel as if it will never return or even be replaced.

I'm just putting it out there: Hey, Universe? It's time for me. Now.

THE THINGS WE DO

Up before daylight again. I had vaguely intended to move my internal clock to waking up earlier, but I don't think I had 5:15 a.m. in mind. And while drowsing and trying to get back to sleep before I actually got up, I had interesting trains of thought to follow for this morning's missal, I can't think of them now.

Now, at 7:12, after a slice of pizza and a cup of coffee, I am more ready to go back to sleep but I've got another day at the American Crossword Tournament. Will I look back on this and chuckle at the things I had to do to survive? I was on my feet a lot yesterday, picking up puzzles when they were finished. I am going to try to be a judge today instead. Plus, some of the other referees are weird in the way that subculturists can be: a bit Aspergerian and oblivious, a bit too emphatic and full of arcana ... kind of competitive and authoritarian about getting to the puzzler before anyone else.

And cheap hotels ... bad lighting, bad "art," uncomfortable furniture, ugh ... I don't enjoy being in those environments at all. I find them extremely depressing. Desperate.

Cooder has not gotten out of the rocking chair this morning; maybe it is too early for her. I have taken over her Victorian rocker, here in the dining room. Emmylou is perched in a semi-meatloaf on the edge of the dining room table (where she is not supposed to be) watching the typing. Perhaps I will be filled with more insights when I return later. This is supposed to be a half-day, so maybe I will get some sunshine and rest later. Now to shower, extra caffeinate, and get dressed ...

MORNING CROSS

I know the signal is preternaturally quiet from this place. Often that is a sign of despair. Given that despair is readily reasonable and available, I am working to avoid it by largely being out of the house. It was very grey and rainy yesterday and that worked hard against the chipper-rooney. I saw a show of Renaissance Portraits at the Met with Louise.

Today and tomorrow, I am working with one of the Bs at Will Shortz' Crossword Puzzle Competition as a monitor. Make a small amount of money, but that's how she rolls these days.

Later.