June1 2003 I
was talking to Mom last
night. She was telling me
everything that she doesn't
like about what Bush is
doing. She did vote for
him. But she isn't happy
about his environmental
policies and she thinks
the tax cut is ridiculous.
She
does think he and Laura
look like good people.
Picture
me with my eye fluttering,
my jaw dropped and my head
rolling around on my neck
as if it has just snapped
loose.
I
got a bunch of writing done
in the morning and then
went for coffee and dinner
with Renee. So I was in
a pretty good mood when
I was talking to Mom. When
she says things like that
I go into a kind of tilt
mode. I managed to shake
it off and get some more
writing done last night.
I am really enjoying the
work.
But
there is a cycle. I'm thinking
about the structure and
I'm moving things and rewriting
parts and adding and subtracting
and it's feeling good and
then ..................my
brain just stops. Or I hate
it all so much I can't look
at it. So far I keep coming
back and re-engaging. It
feels like this.
Heh.
No. Not really. I just saw
that at Mood
Swings.
June2 2003 I'm
eating French toast with
bananas & mangos. I
only eat French toast when
I have left over baguette.
Which I have today because
Abeer came over for dinner.
We ate some cheese
and olives before pasta.
The pasta was spelt
with kale, corn and roasted
tomato. And we ate ice
cream.
Which flavors? Peach &
Champagne. And Chocolate
& Rum.
Ya
know Zeebah
has an idea for a recipe
blog. (Which I can't link
directly to because Blogger
is so dumb these days.I
mean really. I can't pages
to load. I can't get perma
links to work. Sheesh.)
Susan's
talked
about one. Dru
has one.
But I don't really cook
from recipes. Maybe we could
have a group food writing
blog. Or some kind of pass
around meme.
I
went swimming in the morning.
It was probably good for
me to get away from the
computer and the writing.
And today I got some stuff
to do that might keep me
to busy. But there's a buzz
in my head about the writing.
I wake up thinking about
it. That has to be good.
In
my morning blog crawl I
read Dru
posting about Jeanne
D'Arc posting about events
in Burma.
I read this
yesterday.
I started to write about
it and then I stopped. I
felt this overwhelming sense
of futility and sadness.
When I read Dru it felt
like some blood returned
to a place that's been cut
off. Because I was feeling
like I had nothing to say.
That other people were saying
it better. And that may
even be true. But there
is something important in
just speaking it.
It
is hard to keep the faith.
When things
keep
going ... uh ... badly.
June3 2003 This
makes me giggle. It is just
too much fun. Dru is welcoming
all. And what would be a
good name? Full belly?
This
was my first experience with the mighty MT.
Now I see what every one is talking about. It is very
cool. And I love being notified about comments. It seems
that Zeebah
might be moving.
I could certainly understand anyone wanting to bail
from Blogger.
Mike
posts news about Amina
Lawal.
And it would seem that her appeal has been postponed
again. Amnesty clears
up
the confusion about how they are involved with support
for Amina and the call
to action
is still going strong. My thought is that, with the
new August date for the trial, a new batch of letters
might be a good thing.
George
does this thing in a side bar where he points to things
with a few words. He's pointing to a
post with a bunch of links
about the FCC
give away
of the public media with the words: "Relaxed?"
Closer to euthanized. Exactly.
Amp
has a cartoon
up
and it isn't even Wednesday. Does that mean we'll see
two this week?
June4 2003 I
didn't sleep that well Monday night and it was hard
to focus my tired brain. But I did get some writing
done. But after a while I caved.
I
watched John
Q.
I was worried about that the movie would be too Hollywood.
And it was. Complete with relatively happy ending. But
it did dramatize the problems with our health care system.
I cried through a lot of it.
And
then I worked some more. Until my brain started to disassemble.
And then I watched The
Lord of the Rings.
My compliments go to David.
I read these books in high school and some of the story
seemed familiar and some did not. I used to wear a button
that said Frodo lives. So I enjoyed the film.
I
do always have trouble when the mutant bad guys have
dark skin and look like Aboriginals and the good guys
all have light skin. But I guess it has to be seen in
context, relative to the book. I just didn't love that
part.
The
Netflix thing is cool.
Having movies around at all times is kinda fun.
I
got more sleep last night. So it should be easier to
work today.
Susan
linked this bit about Janeane
Garofalo
who needs e-mail support. And while I was there I saw
this
bit.
I used to watch MSNBC a lot more than I do. When this
guy
got a show I knew things were going down hill.
June5 2003 Writing
my book may be fucking up
my blogging. I was reading
my post from yesterday I
had to wonder how many times
a person can say, "And
then..." in one little
bit of writing. That is
how I was feeling when I
wrote it. And then. And
then. And then. I wasn't
really on the page.
But
this
might bring me back. So
the government can ask me
to sign a contract with
my doctor to eat a more
balanced diet and exercise
more? Oh. Wait. I don't
have a doctor. I can't afford
one. Well. That takes a
load off my mind. I do realize
that the article is from England but if they're doing
it there ... well. Do I seem paranoid?
Yesterday
I listened to the Congressional debate on late
term abortion. The rhetoric was extreme and repulsive
and, ultimately, successful.
This is a procedure that is rarely used and generally
used when the health of the mother is at great risk.
But do we care about the health of women? It is a horrible
procedure. I think few woman would opt for it in anything
less that dire circumstance. And make no mistake. It
is one more step toward dismantling the right to choose.
There will be a
fight.
And
it's the government walking into the doctors office
and telling them what they can and cannot do. Do I still
seem paranoid?
The
truth is I can't even get it up for a good rant. I'm
too preoccupied. All my thinking is about solving the
problems of organization in THE BOOK. Which, I suppose,
is a good thing.
And
I did get a lot done yesterday. In the evening, when
I was beginning to melt down, I stopped, made a Greek
salad, poured a glass of wine and I
watched The
Shipping News.
I remember when I saw the
trailers for this movie.
I thought - no way. I'd
read the
book.
How were they going to capture
the quirkiness of that book?
They do a pretty good job.
And that's in no small part
due to Kevin Spacey. But
they make New Foundland look
beautiful. In the book it's
just grey on grey.
The world is not a pretty sight. Each day we are assaulted by random terror;
opportunistic diseases; the threat of economic instability. Aids devastates
families, communities and economies in Africa and beyond. We hear the rhetoric,
and see a bit of money flowing, but it's all so far removed, in countries "of
which we know little". And while we don't have to live with the consequences,
why should we know? - Bob
Gedolf
I just
filled the tea pot with water. Put it on the stove.
Did NOT turn on the gas. Fixed some fruit and yoghurt.
Poured the NOT hot water into the glass with the
tea bag. Ate the fruit and yoghurt. And took a sip of
room temperature tea.
What
is that about?
I
didn't really work on writing yesterday. I talked on
the phone in the morning. Renee picked me up at 11:00
and we drove up to Craig
and Adrienne's. They hired Renee to help paint a room
and I thought I'd just tag along. We stopped at Andonicos
and got a bunch of cheese and fruit and smoked
trout and smoked salmon and olive rolls and rosemary
rolls and arugala, radiccio, frizee and olives and ice
cream. AND lemonade. So we sat around and ate and not
much work got done. I'm not a good influence.
But
it was nice to be away from the screen and sit in a
lush green place with dogs and cats and lovely friends.
Cheryl
came over for dinner. I
made a shrimp and sausage
and frizee salad. I had
a couple of salsas
and some blue corn chips.
Cher brought green tea and
ginger ice cream and wine.
Good. good. Good.
In
the course of my morning reading I came across
a few people
questioning why they write a blog or expressing
a general state of ennui.
I don't read the blogger who wrote the post that Ray
linked to. I have a few times but not regularly. No
reason. And I did not read the blogger that she referrers
to who left a goodbye note and quit. I used to read
a blogger who recently did the same thing. Left a note
and quit. When I read it I thought about how that would
feel in a ...uh ...off blog relationship. I mean there
are folks on the web who I go to visit every day. I
couldn't do that off blog. I couldn't even have that
many phone conversations. But I can stop by and read
a post or two or ten. And I have some strong feelings
for some of those people.
But
just like in off blog relationships I don't comment
as often as I should. I don't let people know that I'm
there. Reading. I don't communicate my affection. And
I don't respond to comments unless there's something
specific to respond to. And then I may write a whole
post in response. But even in off blog relationships
I tend to rely on the feeling between me and the other
person.
It's
complicated. There are bloggers who I felt connected
with and lost that feeling. I blame them. Heh. But really.
I've written a lot about coming across a blog cluster
and really trying to court and woo them. And I got limited
response. And I got my feelings hurt. And at a certain
point I felt like I needed to back away from the screen.
One
of the ways a blogger relationship is expressed is through
links. That may be about wanting hits but it's also
about wanting to have your part of the conversation
included. I would write a big ol thang in response to
some on-line something, it wouldn't get linked, I'd
feel bad. I didn't like it. And my solution is to not
participate in some conversations that I might have
jumped to a year or so ago.
I
felt a little lonely when I was doing the
100.
I was really grateful to the folks who let me know they
were reading. I don't think people do online writing
with no hope for response. Or rarely. But I do have
to manage my emotions around it all.
The
question that I find compelling in the Dainty Dirty
post is what do we OWE each other. It's compelling because
it's something I think about in my off blog relationships.
Most
of my friends are in families. They have husbands, wives,
partners, children. They have jobs. They are busy. What
can I expect in terms of time and energy? What is asking
too much?
As
far as blogging relationships go I find them as complex
and rewarding and vexing as my off blog relationships.
There are people who make my heart ache. There are people
who piss me off. There are people who just leave me
a little note every day. Sweet. Uncomplicated. Just
a little note full of news. When a blogger says
goodbye it's sad. I still check Bigger
Hand
to see if he's back. But I have too many friends who
I just don't see as often as I should/could.
I
don't know. Most of the time I have to remind myself
that I do this writing for me. And when someone reads
it and likes it I get giddy with joy. But I have to
keep tracking the value back to my own intention.
I
think I owe the people I read on line the same things
I owe the people I know off line. I try to tell the
truth and come from love. If I have issues I try to
be up front with those issues. But there are times when
I feel like those issues might be more than I (or they)
can take on. So if I can't say something nice I try
not to talk out loud.
I will never be someone who writes only about bird song, although I admire
birdsong highly - but not enough to withdraw from the historical world, for the
historical world is fascinating. What really interests me is the interweaving of
the historical and cosmic world. The cosmic world is unmoving - or rather, it
moves to a completely different rhythm. I shall never know how these worlds
coexist. They are in conflict yet they complement each other - and that merits
our reflection - Adam Zagajewski
(via Casandra
Pages)
June8 2003 I
thought this was funny in
light of yesterday's post.
You are an enigma wrapped in a mystery, you blog for yourself. You have your own reasons for doing what you do. We are still glad your here!
I
got it from Dru.
The quiz. Not the attitude.
Heh. I don't really feel that self contained. I do care
if people read me. The question in the quiz about what
publishing tool you use is funny. There is a feel.
I
meant to add a link to Monica
yesterday in the post and I forgot. She posted a Clarice
Lispector story that seemed to fit in to the conversation.
Unintentionally. But apt none the less.
Cynthia
stopped by yesterday with Cappuccino and ginger cookies.
That was fun. I was working on a section of writing
that was giving me trouble. I'm still chewing my lip
over it.
This
is what's great about the work right now. I'm thinking
about it all the time. I'm problem solving in my head,
even when I'm not in front of the screen. But it does
mean that I'm preoccupied.
June9 2003 When
I was 19 I walked into a truck. Yes. It's true.
I
lived in Washington D.C., right on the edge of Maryland.
I was going to college in Takoma
Park.
So it was morning and I was walking to a class and a
German Shepherd came running across a yard and onto
the sidewalk. I thought I'd walk around him and I stepped
off the curb. The mirror of the truck hit the back of
my head and I went under the truck. Well. My right foot
went under the wheel of the truck. I was pulled down
and dragged a little bit. There was a hole torn in the
side of my ankle.
And
then there was a long surgery and a month in the hospital
and a month on crutches and a scar that looks as if
a bite was taken out of my ankle. It's a gruesome scar.
But I never think about it. And I can know someone for
a long time before they see the scar. Unless you come
to my house when I'm not wearing socks you might
never see it. I'm not hiding it. But I don't really
wear sandals in SF.
But
of course at the swim people see it. And again, I forget
I have it. So every once in a while someone asks about
it. Which happened yesterday. It doesn't bother me.
It kinda makes me laugh because I do forget and it is
so gruesome. It seems like it might be hard to forget.
As
an event it was significant because it happened at a
time in my life when I was trying to get my life together
as an adult. Er sumthin. I was studying psychology.
I wanted to be a therapist. I needed therapy. Heh. But
I didn't go back to college. I moved west. First to
SF and then to Boulder.
Sigh.
Yesterday,
before I went to the swim, I was listening to Sunday
Salon
and they were talking about blogging with a few folks,
one of who was Rebecca.
I was calling in to say something and Deb rang
the buzzer to get into the apartment. Sometimes the
buzzer doesn't work. So I had to hang up and go down
the three flights of stairs to let her in. And I got
really pissed. Not at her. But because I couldn't say
my thing on the radio. I couldn't call back because
we needed to leave for the swim.
It
frustrates me that I got so pissed. I really felt this
great need to be in the mix. And I feel like I lost
some balance. No one suffered because I was pissed.
I wasn't yelling at Deb or the buzzer or anything. But
I felt all this frustration. Over a local radio call
in show.
Which
I think is about needing to feel like I have something
to say and that people will want to hear it. It's fine
to want all that but when the need is so kicked up it
makes me feel ... yucky.
Back
in the days when I was sitting in a hospital waiting
for my foot to heal I felt stalled. I wanted to be out
in the world. And I think I've always felt stalled.
Or held back. Or not seen. Or heard. Or something not
quite clear.
One
of the people who commented
on my
post
is one of my oldest friends.
Someone who I've known for
close to half my life.
We
stopped being friends a
long time ago. We're sisters
now. She is my family.
I've
been thinking about her
and that post and the notion
of comments and what function
they serve in on-line community
and what people OWE one
another.
Like
I said in my post, I don't
always comment. I don't
write. I don't call. I don't
send flowers. I bristle
at the idea of proving my
love. But I know that relationships
need care.
I
fight depression a lot.
And I don't write about
it or talk about it sometimes.
Sometimes I do. Sometimes
I think I won't have any
friends someday because
I've been isolating and
feeling bad and not communicating.
And sometimes when you haven't
talked to a person for a
long time there's a funny
feeling, a shyness. And
when that goes away it feels
like you've never been apart.
But
I never feel like I owe
my friends. And I always
feel like I owe my friends.
Both things are true.
There's
a tension in being close for a long time. Especially
when you're someone who doesn't really trust love. For
me it's never like ...oh you say love me...well OK.
It's more like ... we'll see how long that lasts. We'll
see how long you love me if I'm not there for you every
time you call.
It's
fucked up. I learned it early. It's an old habit. Now
when I hear those voices I try to talk back. I try to
open my heart and be willing.
The
friend who left a comment and I have been through some
things. We've trusted each other. We've not trusted
each other. We've laughed at our own crazy hearts. We've
talked about it all. Months go by and we don't talk
at all. But there is almost never a day in which she
doesn't cross my mind. That's the thing with a sister.
They become part of you in a way that will not
be ignored.
We've
survived conflict. I'm not sure that's what makes our
friendship so strong. Our friendship is rooted in shared
humor and intellect and attitude and bad behavior and
recovery and our quest for truth and our love of the
mundane. And those roots survived both storms and neglect.
I
don't think on-line relationships are limited. Last
night in therapy I was talking about how real I think
on-line relationships can be. How passionate. And a
lot happens in a comment box. But I'm not always willing
to process in a comment box. So if I have an issue I
may just back away from the screen. Or not.
And
look. Community is a many splendoured thing. There are
people who challenge me emotionally, intellectually,
politically. There are people who I go to for simplicity
and the joy of the day. There are people I've been reading
every day for a year or more who I never e-mail, never
leave a comment to, some who don't have comment boxes
and I have feelings for all of them. The other day,
when I realized that Cyndy
was back, I tried to leave her a comment and the Haloscan
server was not letting me in.
But
there is something about going to a blog and seeing
a closed sign. I don't really blame people for wanting
to stop writing on line. There are many reasons. And
I read people who have taken long breaks. I'd go to
their blog every day just to check. Imagine doing that
off line. Imagine walking past someone's house every
day and looking to see if they're going to open the
door and say hi.
And
yet. I think part of loving someone is learning how
to endure absence.
I
meant to add this part of a Lispector story posted by
Monica
the other day. "Already at this stage, the first signs of tension between us began to appear.
Sometimes one of us would call, we met, and had nothing to say to each other. We
were very young and didn't know how to remain in silence."
Cyndy
wrote a fantastic metaphor in
a post
that has my forehead knitted and my jaw tight. She points
to another blogger goodbye, which I won't link
but you can find it easily enough. It's another example
of someone who I only read a time or two and I liked
but didn't add to the roll. There really was no reason
for that other than I don't get through my blog
roll as it is.
So.
If you do read Cyndy and follow the links you will read
what has me all tight. I am hesitant to write about
the feelings I am having. I had my own unpleasant exchange
with a blogger who is referred to in the whole story.
They were on and off my blog roll in less than a few
weeks. I didn't talk about taking the person off my
roll. It didn't seem important. And I'm still not going
to get into a detailing of why I stopped reading the
person. This is all quite surreptitious and I am not
someone who likes to prevaricate.
But
how do we handle conflict?
When
someone comes to my blog and leaves a comment that is
an argument with something I've written I will respond.
When someone talks shit about me on their blog I might
respond. I might not. It would depend. When someone
talks shit about someone else ... it gets more complicated.
And
I will admit that when someone is writing stuff that
pisses me off there's a 50/50 chance that I will back
away from the screen. I've taken on a few people. When
I do my desire is to hold us both in some frame of dignity
and tell them my feelings as directly as possible. Occasionally
I lose my cool and mouth off. Once I said something
that really hurt someone. I felt like they took me the
wrong way but I felt like they were entitled to their
feelings. So I didn't argue. But I didn't really work
it out.
And
what am I doing in this post? I'm trying not to jump
into the fray and be happy that someone who I found
disturbing is getting some criticism. But I am jumping
into the fray by writing the post. In part because I
like Cyndy and I think she's making a good point. Enough
already. Yeah. I feel that.
But
how do we handle conflict?
It's
a big topic and worthy of a lot of discussion. And I
doubt there are easy answers.
I
try to write from my heart and my head. Sometimes things
get wonky. But it is quite amazing that people are so
willing to care about one another. Out loud. In public.
And there is a lot of love. A lot of love. But
ya know ... sometimes we bump into each other and I'm
not always sure what to do.
The
last few days I've been going to bed late and trying
to sleep in. But my neighborhood is not conducive. Yesterday
the garbage truck, which makes plenty of noise on its
own, was parked by a car with a very sensitive alarm.
The alarm went off every time the truck loaded more
garbage. This morning my neighbor had a sneeze attack
that must have lasted twenty minutes. Oh well.
So
I have to get a chunk of writing in the mail today or
tomorrow so that I can meet Stephen next week. Must
work now.
June12 2003 I
should do laundry. Should I do laundry? I'm not really
in the mood.
Every
time I print out any of the book I get big ol smile
on my face. Writing on a screen is great for editing
but holding the pages in your hand .... ahhhhhhhhhhhh.
It's too easy to feel like I'm not doing anything. Even
after six hours of writing. So I printed stuff for Stephen
and I need to get it in the mail. And I need to keep
working. But I'm not really in the mood.
I
finished Autobiography
of a Face
filled with sadness. And I haven't shaken it. But I've
been trying to keep it at a distance. It's like I'm
circling it. Watching. Yeah I see ya. You won't swallow
me up again.
In
the later part of the book Lucy
describes having men see her body and begin to
flirt with her until they see her face. And then they
would recoil. I had exactly the opposite experience.
Men would see my face, maybe in a car or something,
flirt and then see my body and hurl cruelty at me. It's
all too sad. It's too sad a thing to think about the
world.
I'm
working on section of writing that's about my early
twenties. And it was a time filled with self doubt and
fear. I worked my way out of it. But. In some ways
the doubt and fear never really go away. You just circle
them. Watchful. You position yourself. You keep them
in their place. And when they get lose and hit your
body you feel the shaking and you take big breaths
until it stops.
I
did not do the laundry on Thursday. But I did do it
yesterday.
Listened
to the news. Colin
Powell
said something about pushing for peace. Pushing. It
wasn't even the dumbest thing I heard yesterday but
it did make me shake my head and say a few bad words
of my own.
I
use the word push. I talk about pushing against the
dominant paradigm. I think about push
hands
and the need for balance. But the idea is to push just
enough to keep your balance. Not push with tanks.
And
I may have lost all faith in the
Democratic party.
I think I say that about once a week.
June15 2003 I
get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons
that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things
that I feel the need to hold close.
My
Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town
in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still
smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always
been ... who he is.
When
I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and
left my father. We lived with her mother and father.
Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would
explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned
that people tell the truth that they want to hear.
I
met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems
to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has
one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him
but I never really had him.
Ya
know?
I
can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant,
longed for mystery.
I
sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It
has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple
acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now.
So
I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I
never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I
have to work to accept what can not be changed. And
I feel adolescent and moody and miserable.
June15 2003 I
get the blues on Father's Day. For a variety of reasons
that I'm not gonna write about on line. There are things
that I feel the need to hold close.
My
Dad is in a senior citizens home in a small town
in Missouri. His list of ailments is long. But he still
smokes. Knowing that always makes me smile. He's always
been ... who he is.
When
I was three months old Mom and I got on a train and
left my father. We lived with her mother and father.
Grandmom told me that my father was dead. Mom would
explain that Grandmom didn't believe in divorce. I learned
that people tell the truth that they want to hear.
I
met him when I was eight, or nine, or ten. There seems
to be some confusion about that. I'm confused. Mom has
one idea about when it was. I have another. I met him
but I never really had him.
Ya
know?
I
can't imagine the feeling of a father. Only a distant,
longed for mystery.
I
sent him a card. It's always hard to find a card. It
has to be simple. No gushing gratitude. Just a simple
acknowledgement. I make on the computer them now.
So
I mourn a little on Father's Day. For what he and I
never had. And I feel a little pissed at how hard I
have to work to accept what can not be changed. And
I feel adolescent and moody and miserable.
June16 2003 There
are things in my book about
my fathers. I had more than
one. The only absolute connection
between being fat and having
the biological father that I did was
his gene pool. Which isn't
actually where I got my
fat genes. But I did get
my height and big boned
body. Mom and her Mom and
her Mom's Mom were fat.
When
I thought that fat was a
pathology (as opposed to
a body type) I thought that
I was using my weight to
protect me from men. If
there was any truth to that
notion it was that being
fat doesn't really protect
you from heartache. There
are so many fat people with
so many different life experiences
that I'm uncomfortable drawing
correlations about fathers
and daughters and problems and
body type.
However.
Our
fathers were cooked in the
patriarchy. Some of them
may have made their daughters
miserable about their bodies.
My father said things to
me about my mother's body
but when it came to me he
said something like ...
all the more to love. It
might have been a good thing.
Except. I never believed
him. He wasn't there. Loving
me. So.
There
is such a frenzy of fat
hatred these days. I worry
that fathers use disapproval
of their daughter's bodies
to try and manipulate them
to lose weight. For their
(cough) health. I've heard
stories like that. I've
heard a story about a father
who locked his daughter
in the bathroom to keep
her away from food
when she gained weight.
And when she was old enough
to leave home she stopped
dieting, gained weight,
struggled with self hatred and eventually learned to
accept herself. Hard won self image. But. I've heard stories
of loving fathers who only
see beauty when they look
at their daughters.
Scoop
Nisker was on KPFA
yesterday interviewing Robert
Bly.
It was interesting. Sweet.
Scoop's daughter was there.
She read him a poem. It's
nice to listen to men talk
about self work. And I have
always wished men did more
of the work of articulating
feminism. That wasn't exactly
happening. But there were
some emotional moments. Talking
about fathers.
There
was one call-in comment
for Mr.
Bly in which the caller
said he had been in one
of Bly's seminars years
ago and he felt that Bly
had been sexist and homophobic
and he asked him for an
apology. Bly said he wasn't
going to apologize for making
mistakes when he was young
and still learning. It seems
to me that an apology is
a very small gift to give.
And it can do so much to
heal. Bly is such a scrapper.
Meanwhile.
Thanks to Dru
I figured out what was hanging up my page yesterday.
I couldn't figure it out. The All Consuming site seems
to be down. Bummer. I took out the code until it comes
back.
June17 2003
I really do want someone
to buy me this.
I want to be an expat. I
want to live somewhere else. I want to live next door
to a man who writes poems and songs. I
don't really want to meet
Leonard. I just want to
know that he's next door.
Or that he was once next
door. I will admit the
bathroom
looks a little bit scary.
But if I got a bag of money...I'd
be there. And I would invite
you to come and visit.
We could read in the garden
and cook with olives and
lemons. And we could listen
for Leonard. And giggle.
Sigh.
I
was reading this
article
about the relative health
benefits of exercise and
I was struck by the sentences
that say that men were most
likely to die if blah blah
blah.
Um.
As opposed to?
I
mean clearly the writer
meant die sooner. And still
I have to ask ... as opposed
to? It's not that
I think people shouldn't
exercise. I think exercise
is cool. And I think it's
good to take care of yourself.
But I also think that people
are beginning to believe
that they can avoid death.
Maybe
we can.
But. I don't think we get
there with paranoia and obsession.
Some
people are going to work
for a high degree of fitness
and that's all good. And
other's are going to be
happy taking a walk every
day. And some people are
going to smoke and drink
and sit on their ass and
live long lives.
There
have been times in my life
when I did formal exercise.
Mostly I just worked in
a kitchen, on my feet, lifting
pots, slinging hash. And
I've always walked. And
I want to move more than I
do. I like the ritual of
exercise. But, other than swimming, I haven't got
a ritual of my own right now.
It's
a crazy article because
it seems to be saying that
people who begin to do some
exercise aren't doing enough.
Jeez.
Take
a walk. Do some yoga. Swim.
Dance. It's fun. But fuck
the people who want to fill the gyms with paying members
lined up on tread mills, obedient to the social injunction
of being healthy. Health is about a lot of things. Sitting
in a garden, eating food that's made with olives and
lemons, talking to a friend you never thought you'd
get a chance to meet, or a friend you haven't seen in
too long, listening for the humming of the poet next
door, might be a very healthy thing.