I
seem to have ground to a halt. I was thinking about
it last night. Trying to find words for the way I've
been feeling. I just don't have them. They all feel
too dark. Or not dark enough. What I've been feeling
Is too tired to be drama.
Years
ago I knew a new age self help type guy who said that
double binds are about resentment. I certainly have
my basket of resentments. I sit with it and take them
all out. Reexamine them for meaning and purpose. And
the whole time there is a part of me saying knock it
off. Let it go. Bury them. Burn them. Toss them in the
sea. Usually I put the basket back on a shelf and try
to forget that it's there. Really. I'm bored with
them. I'm exhausted by them. I'd just as soon forget.
There
was another episode of Grey's
Anatomy in which the health issues of fat people
were somewhat well represented. I was gong to write
about it the night I watched but I knew my feelings
weren't clear. The story line was about a fat woman
who comes into the hospital with an enormous tumor.
She thought it was just fat and she had a fear of hospitals.
Part of the theme for the episode was procrastination.
There was also a story line about a man with Parkinson's
not wanting to have surgery. A doctor says something
disparaging about the woman's weight while she is having
an MRI. I guess he didn't realize that she could hear
him.
When
I was nineteen I was pulled under a truck and needed
a really long surgery to patch a hole in my ankle. I
was in and out of consciousness during the surgery.
At one point I heard the doctors and the nurses discussing
what a shame it was that I was so fat. The anesthesiologist
noticed that I was hearing and gave me a look of chagrin
and then knocked me out again.
On
the show the woman dies during the surgery and the man
with Parkinson's decides to have his and it works. I
was pissed that she didn't survive. But I kept thinking
about it. She was cool. Smart and dignified. She just
didn't like doctors. When they do the stats on the rise
of health care cost related to obesity I wish they'd
mention how the fear of health care keeps fat people
from seeking out early prevention and how the bias of
health care professionals causes them to discard the
first do no harm promise in their zeal to create a one
size fits all world.
Maybe
I'm being harsh. I have recently been to a clinic in
which I was treated with absolute dignity and care.
And my feelings about the show were complicated by the
fact that it was portraying stuff that happens. And
they weren't being crude, or going for an easy joke.
Mostly they kept asking the never useful question -
how does a person let themselves get that way? It wasn't
even always clear whether they meant her weight or the
fact that she had this huge tumor.
Sudden
weight gain may signal something bad. So how does that
fit into the
revolution? It is a problem in the fat community.
In our zeal to make the world fair to fat people we
tense up around any idea that weight gain may be a bad
thing. Things are always more complicated.
I
sound like I'm down on zeal. I who am stuck in idle.
I'm not. I like zeal. I just like perspective better.
But that might be why I'm so stuck. I'm so full of on
the one hand and on the other hand and I'm not taking
any action.
Fear?
Well. Sure. But I've feared forward before. Lots of
times.
So.
This
morning I woke up early and DN
was playing Ohio.
Kind of a great song to hear first thing in the morning.
It is the anniversary of Kent
State. Allison
Krause went to the high school where I did my junior
and senior year. She graduated the year before I arrived
so I didn't know her but I feel like I did. Our school
was rocked by the event, as was the country. I went
to protests at the University of Maryland and watched
the perimeter of National guard with a terrified but
defiant eye while Dr Spock spoke against the war on
a make-shift stage. At six o'clock this morning I was
singing. Gotta get down to it. It felt so empowered.
A
few days ago I
finished writing a post and the computer crashed.
I lost it all. The reason I'm laughing? Well...
I was writing
about reading The
Center of Winter. I like the book. The things I
don't like are things I almost never like in writing. There is
lots of dialogue. Well written dialogue that draws the
characters and tells the story, which is in the best
show don't tell tradition of writing. But not my thing. I often
feel like I just want to be told. There's
probably a balance of both that is just right. Anyway. I was close to the
end of the book and it was becoming a Rorschach test.
The
arc of the book is about a very bad thing that happens
and toward the end it seems that things are working
out but there is some potential for more badness and
I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It made me
think about whether I am given to a negative point of
view. Do I expect the worst?
I
don't really believe in positive and negative people.
I think we are all a bit of both and I think there's
a time and place for everything. But I do think that
there is a way in which we all have a default mode.
I tend to like people that expect the worst. They seem
more grounded. And yet ...
The
other day I saw a homeless man being interviewed on
the news. He said that he knew that something might
happen to him that day that had never happened before
and he meant it in a hopeful sense. There he was, an
older man, wrapped in rags and blankets, all of his
worldly goods in a shopping cart and he had a sense
of possibility. That's the real real.
So
the post was me musing about positive and negative and
being a doubleGemini
with a Libra
moon. (I found some cool links that I can't find
now but the new ones are OK.) And my first reaction
to the crash was to swear and shout and be annoyed.
My second reaction was to notice my reaction in light
of the post and laugh. I tried to go back and rewrite
it but I got distracted and I lost the groove. And days
went by.
A
minute ago I was sitting on the bed putting on a sock.
It's been raining. The windows are covered with glistening
drops but the sun is bright behind the clouds and light
is pushing though. I had just opened the window a bit
and there was the smell of clean air and the sound of
birds and the occasional car driving by. I sat there
on the bed with my shoe in my hand just being blown
away by the light and the peacefulness of the moment.
It's
not that I've been in a terribly dark place. But I have
been in a place that is a hybrid of tension and denial.
I think it's important to feel through the difficult
things. Anger. Sadness. But I think it's important to
be blown away by light and drops of water on the window.
And I think I was saying that really nicely the other
day and not quite as nicely today but ... oh well.
I'm
thinking a lot about why it's been so hard for me to
write lately. It's not just one thing. It's this big
muddy thing. Even now I type a sentence and then just
drift off. It's not a good thing but the thing that
has been getting me worked up enough to write has been
Grey's
Anatomy. I'm not even sure that I like the show
that much but every week they do something that speaks
to the issues of health for fat people. Last night wasn't
exactly about fat people but they did a take on gastric
bypass surgery.
So
there's a thin girl who has gone to Mexico to get the
surgery in an effort to please her never satisfied fat
phobic mother. The surgery was botched and her digestive
system was trashed. One doctor asks the another if the
girl is fat and the doctor says - no, she's normal.
Picture my clenched jaw. The perilousness of the surgery
and the stupidity of fat phobia were well drawn but
it wasn't completely satisfying. When thin girls start
get the surgery and having problems the medical industry may
get some negative reaction but when fat people get the
surgery it's understood as being better than being fat.
Makes me wanna scream and yell. And I think it will
happen. I think we will see the surgery being done on
smaller people as a preventative measure.
And
what I really want from culture is positive, serious
roles for at actors like we once had with Camryn.
I like the number of fat women on Gilmore
Girls and I like Sooky
a lot but the lead characters are bone thin women who
eat a lot of junk food. What ever.
TV
blog. Yep. That's what I've become. And, I'd rather
not write if that's all I have to say.
But
I dunno. The sun keeps coming in and out. Kinda like
me. And I feel more ...uh...here than I have in awhile.
I'm awake. I'm showered and dressed. I've eaten some
eggs. I'm writing a post. I'm going to do some yoga.
Incremental movements toward an uncertain destination.
When
M & K were here for my graduation there was a doorman
at their hotel. When we asked him how he was in the
morning he always said, " Remarkably life like."
One
of my first thoughts, as I was waking up, was - whenever
I read Don DeLillo. I wasn't, as far as I can remember,
dreaming about books. I did read Cosmopolis
not long ago. I didn't love it. I thought the writing
was good and it was the writing that got me through
the book but I never connected.
Similarly
I just read A
Moveable Feast. Party because I'd always intended
to and party because Kristina
was reading Hemingway for a class. The writing is just
so him. And I like that. But it does wear on me. Another
plate of oysters. Another glass of alcohol. Yeah, yeah.
I'm
not sure why I woke up with such an abstract thought
about a writer I don't particularly like. What would
Freud say?
I
am reading and loving The
Founding Fish. I don't fish. I'm not that interested
in fishing but McPhee makes me want to be interested.
He always has had that effect on me. He writes that
a male shad is "all show and no roe." It may
be a colloquialism and not something he came up with
but it makes me want to know more.
Mostly
I'm trying to catch up on magazines. They tend to pile
up. I've let go of most of my subscriptions. Every so
often I get a mailing from The New Yorker with a really
cheap subscription price. I'm always so tempted. But
I've subscribed before and they really pile up.
I
can't finish the sentence about when I read DeLillo.
I've only done it once that I remember, although I'm
always thinking I've read other stuff by him. And, truth
be told, I don't much care about what Freud would say.
But I'm wandering around thinking about why I like what
I like.
The
Founding Fish is mostly about shad fishing but he
talks to lots of fisherman and biologist and such. One
of whom used to raise tropical fish.
Mom
and I lived in her parents house for the first twelve
years of my life. K bought me a fish tank when I was
about eight, or nine. Or ten. I don't really remember.
We got some black
Mollies and soon one of them was ... uh ... with
child. So we got a little trap, something like this,
and watched while she popped the wee ones.
My
grandmother was not happy that I was watching. I'm not
at all sure why. My memories about it are fragmented.
It's funny for a kid to have a message come from you
elders, the ones you love and respect, that you
should know about a thing. Most of the time they encouraged
learning. School, the library, Sunday school. But watching
little baby fish pop out of their mom was not good.
I
wonder about all those prohibitions and the layers of
learning they established.
I
am always always always amazed when I do yoga after
not having done it for awhile. The first day is hard.
Joints hurt and I can't hold the pose for very long.
The second day is better and by the third day I'm starting
to notice things.
Tadassana.
So basic. Don't just do something, stand there. But
if you engage the front of your thighs the pressure
on your knees lightens. If you engage your abs the effort
in your thighs isn't as strained. If you drop your butt
the tightness in your back is loosened. It's all so
subtle. Same thing with tree
pose. I'm not able to put my foot on my leg (as
it is in the picture) but the closer my foot is to the
arch the other foot the more I feel the front of my
thigh on the supporting leg and the whole process of
noticing everything else begins.
When
I was younger and more able I did the pose and wished
I were anywhere else doing something. I couldn't track
the subtleness of any of it. It's one of the gifts of
my age and lessened ability. I'm more awake in my body.
I
resent having to pay attention to my body. I always
have. I think that's because my body was problamatized
for me at such a young age and for so much of my life.
If I could get this one message through to people with
fat kids I could rest in peace. Don't make their body
a problem. Support them in having a positive sense of
their bodies. That's not about letting them eat tons
of crap food and not moving. It's about not making it
about how much they weigh. It's about telling them how
beautiful they are. It's about lighting up when they
come in the room, no matter what size they are. And
it's about advocating for them when they are being targeted
and helping them to learn how to advocate for themselves.
And
that begins with the way you talk about your own body
and the food you eat and how often you take a walk.
There's nothing wrong with being a sensualist. Eat too
much every once in a while. Saver and relish and delight.
And pay attention.
I
took a cab to my chiro appointment yesterday. It was
fiscally dubious but my knee was hurting and I'd already
done a lot of walking. Just as the good feelings move
from one part of my body to another when I do yoga the
bad feelings move when one part of my body is not working.
When the knees gets too bad I walk funny and that messes
with my back and then my hip and the bus cost five bucks
more than the bus. It just seemed like the wise thing
to do.
The
cab driver was an older African American man. From the
minute I got in the cab he began to tell me how good
I looked. I get this from older African American men
from time to time. There was one Russian cab driver
who spent the whole ride looking over my body in such
a salacious manner and telling me how much he liked
my body that I got close to decking him. The fellow
yesterday wasn't crude. He was charming in a kind of
loopy way. His compliments were all about how strong
and pretty I looked. When I was in India men often told
me I was - "looking very healthy today madam."
I was as confused by being called madam as I was by
being told I was looking healthy.
These
moments always remind me that there are men who like
fat women. It's not necessarily comforting because I
suffer the romantic notion that love is the real arbiter
of beauty. Despite much evidence to the contrary.
After
my adjustment I felt stronger so I took the bus home.
Stopped at Gira
Poli for a chicken. I used to do this a lot because
I walked past it on my way home from work. I can make
three meals out of one chicken. They give you chard
and potatoes with peas. I had a plate last night. Today
I'll pull all the meat off the bone and have a salad
with some chicken and tomorrow I'll finish the greens
and potatoes with the remaining chicken in a kind of
stew. So good.
I've
been reading The
Schopenhauer Cure, which I got because I so loved
When
Nietzsche Wept. But it was 1992 when I read it and
I wondered if I would like another book by Yalom.
Lots has changed in all those years. In some ways getting
an MFA made me a cranky reader. Hard to explain. There
is a part of me that is always thinking about the writing
and not just reading. Which is, frankly, a bit
of a drag. But I am enjoying the book. I'm enjoying
it so much that I carry it from room to room and gave
up on sleeping six times last night because I wanted
to read.
The
two central characters in the book are the narrator,
a psychotherapist who has just learned he has a fatal
form of cancer and one of his former patients, a man
who is dedicated to a life of the mind to the exclusion
of any personal involvements and with a deep affection
for Schopenhauer. Braided into the book is a kind of
psychological biography of Schopenhauer. The book
is a conversation about attachment and detachment. Does
a life that seeks to focus on the inner world and release
attachment to the outer world lack passion and involvement?
I
identify with both characters. There is a part of me
that wants to be buried in books and never leave my
apartment. But I value my relationships and the experience
of the body.
It
is not a political book although there is a nod to Marx
at one point. In the descriptions of the group therapy
sessions there is an awareness of sexism, looksism and
class. All my favorite things in one easy read.
And
what do I mean by easy read? It sounds so diminutive.
The book is narrative, uses description mostly when
it's germane to the plot; the language is somewhat elevated
but not off putting and is actually part of the reflection on
class. It's smooth. Engaging. It's a page turner.
When
I was reading Lolita
there were times when the language, the writing, would
stop me. Something would be so beautifully said that
I would just have to stop and take it in. It was a difficult
read both in content and form.
I
keep thinking about it all. I wish I could articulate
it more clearly. I hate the divisions that happen in
the world of books. It's not as simple as good and bad.
I hate the phrase "beach read" but I use it
from time to time. Clearly some writing feels masterful
and some doesn't. But it may still be enjoyable. I think
the The Schopenhauer Cure is masterful, in a way. It's
competent. It is definitely compelling if you like big
brain existentialism in small bites. And I do.
Interesting
discussion going
on at BFB about this
gentleman and his attempt to
make a law that requires hospitals in NYC to be
able to accommodate fat people. Even as I type this
I begin to have problems with the language. Who do I
mean when I say fat people? Many people who see themselves
as fat and are said to be fat via the ever shifting
BMI wouldn't need the special equipment. But when the
issue is talked about, especially in terms of the cost,
all fat people will be part of the rhetoric. The man weighs
420 pounds. He is now trying to lose enough weight to
qualify for gastric bypass surgery.
I
just can't stand it.
There's
more than one moving part to the story. The man had
a stroke and had to lay on the floor of an ambulance
because the stretcher couldn't support his weight. At
the hospital he was told to relive himself in his bed because
the bed pan couldn't support his weight. He is asking
for the medical equipment. And he trying to lose weight.
The
problem I have when I read about anyone eating fast
food and drinking soda all day is that I'm glad to hear
that they are making a change. However, going from 10,000
calories a day to 2,000 is really not good for anyone.
Maybe start with 5000 and then maybe 3000. I don't object to him trying eat better and I don't
object to him wanting to be less fat. It's his life.
My sense is that
small changes in his eating would cause some weight
loss. And some exercise might be good. The problem I have
is that he was humiliated and terrorised. Having just
been to a health care facility and been treated with
grace and dignity I know it doesn't need to be that
way.
There's
always this way in which the concerns of fat people
are only taken seriously when they are trying to lose
weight. Whether or not he loses weight he ought to be
able to get adequate health care. I
wish I could remember where I read about an inflatable
stretcher for fat people. I remember the picture in
my head of the person laying on what looked like an
air mattress and the attendant raising it by filling
it with air. There are ways to take care of people.
Should
a health care provider be required to have a whole set
of things for patients with special needs even if they
never have a patient of size? When restaurants were
required to have ramps and accessible bathrooms it made
sense whether or not they ever had a client with the
need. I guess if I were a health care practitioner I'd
want to be able to care for people in the best way.
Health care cost? It's a problem. But way before the
cost of a bed pan or a blood pressure cuff that fits
is the hassles of getting payments from insurance companies
and the greed the pharmaceutical companies.
I
just want the conversations to be had at different times.
1)
Fat people should have dignified health care.
2)
Fast food is bad because it's part of the multinational
corporate culture with terrible labor practices and
the actual food value is trace. But if you want to eat
it, eating less of it might be a good idea. Same
thing soda. Soda is good. But not good for any one of
any size when it's consumed all day.
There's
a third conversation. Are Americans fatter? Or do we
just hear about how Americans are fatter so often that
we have come to believe it? I don't know. I think it
may be true that we are fatter in general. And it may
be because we move less and eat crap in super size portions.
But that's a generalization that has created a need
for fat people to become politized about their bodies.
I'm
listening to the wonderful Bill
Moyers speech on DN
as I write. It's the second time I've heard it. I love
him. He is dear. And right in the middle of his speech
he drops this.
Hear me: an unconscious people, an indoctrinated people, a people fed
only partisan information and opinion that confirm their own bias, a
people made morbidly obese in mind and spirit by the junk food of
propaganda is less inclined to put up a fight, ask questions and be
skeptical. And just as a democracy can die of too many lies, that kind
of orthodoxy can kill us, too.
I
take his point. And I wonder why he needs to make it
in those terms. I am morbidly obese by medical definitions.
And I am inclined to put up a fight. I just wish I didn't
feel like I had to fight Moyers.
Americans
may be doped up on bad food and un-real media but many
Americans are exhausted. Living in fear of collapse.
They eat fast food because it's cheap and easy. And
Moyers
knows that. American of all sizes have trouble getting
good medical care and health insurance. It's not that
American doctors don't know how to give care. It's about
the cost of care. And the chaos of the insurance industry.
And Moyers know
that.
Morbidly
obese and less inclined to put up a fight?
One
fat man is putting up a fight to demand dignified
health care for people of size and he wants you to know
that he is also trying to lose weight. What he eats
should be his own business but it is now part of a conversation
in which it has no purpose. When the morbidly obese
Americans begin to put up a fight for their own concerns
the system will be put into spins. And maybe we'll even
get some representation in the alternative media.
If
we really want to communicate, we have to give up
knowing what to do. When we come in with our own
agendas, they only block us from seeing the person
in front of us. - Pema
Chodron
Last
night I was reading and the word parental was in a sentence
but I read preternatural. This happens a lot when
I read. I don't know if I have dyslexia or if I just
lose concentration but I lay words on top of words.
I spend a lot of time rereading. Preternatural didn't
make sense in the sentence but there was something funny
about it.
Earlier
I had gone to a new cafe a few blocks away where I heard
they were serving my favorite
coffee. I keep a small amount of whole bean at home
because I only drink coffee once or twice a week and
I needed to get more. I figured I'd check out the new
cafe and then buy more beans.
The
cafe is in a spot where there used to be a donut shop.
Graduates of the CCA
took it over and now sell their own fresh
baked goods and some sandwiches and my favorite
ice cream. I wanted to get some muffins to bring
home. When I ordered I asked for three blueberry muffins
(because they were three for something) two cranberry
scones and an almond croissant, which I said I wanted
to eat there with my coffee. There was this moment of
confusion between me and the young woman as she handed
me a plate with everything on it. I only intended to
eat the croissant there.
I
was thinking it was odd that she would imagine I wanted
to eat that many things at once and imaged that it might
be because I'm fat so there was this awkward quality
to our exchange. Not a big deal. Just a little
off.
I
was enjoying my coffee and my pastry and a pretty great
article in an old issue of the Sun
in which there was an interview with Robert
Hinkley (you can get a PDF of the Sun interview and
it is interesting) when two guys came in. I didn't look
up but I was sitting right by the case so I heard one
talking about how good the eclairs looked. He ordered
two and a lemon twist and an apple juice.
And
then I did look up because it seemed like such a lot
of sugar to consume in one sitting. He was on the thin
side of average and he wolfed it all down with gusto.
If
he and I walked out of the shop at the same time and
you told the next twenty people who passed by that one
of us had a croissant and a double cap and the
other had two eclairs, a twist and an apple juice and
you asked them to guess who ate what, I suspect that
people would guess it was me who ate the latter.
But
I dunno. I was projecting stuff on the woman who gave
me the plate full of pastry and the guy for that matter.
I am still thinking that was too much sugar to eat in
one sitting.
I
walked home past the new
pool, which will open this weekend and will have
steps. I live in such a nice neighborhood.
I
was worried about going to hear Mariaread
because book stores are dangerous places for me. I want
to spend money in them. I got to the store early and
walked around. It's not that there was nothing that
I might have purchased if I had lots of money but there
wasn't anything that jumped off the shelf at me. I kinda
hate when that happens. It worries me. Is it me? Is
it the books? There are twobook stores that
I can't get past the first table without spending money.
But not this one.
And
then I found this.
I was so excited. Of course it can be read here.
I am sometimes jealous when people parlay their blog
into a book deal but not this time.
And
then Maria came and the reading of the poems
began. There is a tone that poets have when they read.
Words hang in the air like questions. But not Maria.
Her tone is direct. Her poems are full of the lucid
observations that make reading her blog such a pleasure.
And she reads them with a naturalness that lacks pretension.
They are personal poems. Which may seem like an odd
thing to say. Aren't all poems personal to the poet?
I guess. But I too often feel held at arms length. Maria's
poems are bodied and heart full. It was just wonderful.
I
thought about bloggers who I know read Maria. I'm shy
about meetups. I'm barely OK with one on one. But last
night I wanted to look around and see other bloggers.
I felt proprietary. I wanted to turn to someone and
say, "Look. There's our Maria."
It
bugs me that I feel like I need to memorize studies.
It bugs me that I feel defensive about heath issues.
There's something so off about the way we talk about
health.
I
don't think health should be framed as a civic or spiritual
responsibility. Because we don't completely understand
our bodies. And we live in systems. So you can do all
the "right" things and still have health problems.
Which doesn't mean you shouldn't be educated about your
body and make life affirming choices. But sometimes
the most life affirming thing seems counterintuitive
in terms of what we think about health.
We
have to frame the conversation about our own health.
Especially fat people. It never bothers me when someone
talks about the value of exercise or eating in a heathy
manner. Although eating in a healthy manner is complicated.
Sometimes eating for pleasure is healthy and life affirming.
And
we're going to make mistakes.
I
am bothered by the way being fat becomes the reason
for everything from gum disease to cancer. I'm never
going to get good medical care if the medical establishment
sees my weight as the first and most important thing.
My weight may be part of a specific problem or it may
aggravate a specific problem but many things I might
do to lose weight would be worse for me than the
problem. Sudden rapid weight gain (or loss) may be a
sign of something going wrong. We can talk about weight.
And some of us are just fat. Not unhealthy.
So
do I have the right to make health care a civic issue
if I don't want it to be a personal responsibility?
I think I do. Because we do need health care professionals
and institutions and they need to be regulated. Someone, somewhere
might make the argument that people will purposely make
bad health choices and then cost everyone else money.
And I guess that happens. But what's the alternative?
There was thing on the news a week or so ago about doc
who will come to your house but won't take insurance.
You need to have the cash in hand to get that kind of
care. There's something disturbing about that. Even
the docs said there were ethical issues.
The
politic of being fat get tripped up in the conversation.
And that really bugs me.
I
watched Hotel
Rwanda the other day. It's a wonderful movie about
a horrible situation. Perhaps more horrible because
it's not about something that happened. It's about something
that is
happening. It made me think about Beyond
Rangoon. Another movie about a horror that
is still going on.
I'm
not sure what I wish were being done. Sanctions don't
seem to work. Do I want no war but the wars I choose?
In
every military there are ideologues and brutes but mostly
there are young people who need a job, or in some cases
are forced by threats of harm to their families. When
you see the pictures, or read the details, or see movies
that dramatize the events you just want to make it stop.
But how?
The
movies are about individual people. Which is where it
all returns. The horrors are too big. The stories of
individual courage are more comforting. And yet I sometimes
think they are distracting. They keep us from seeing
things in terms of the systems that cause the horrors.
Perhaps.
I've
been walking around with this post in my head. I keep
trying to find a way to end it. Some kind of summation,
or solution, or realization. I got nuthin. Just the
complexity of what it is to be human and the tension
of wanting peace and justice.
Renee
and I were sitting here talking once and we heard the
child who lives next door. Renee said, "That kid
has always been that age." And it does seem like
there has been a small child living there forever. I
wrote once about hearing them sing You Are My Sunshine
at the top of their lungs.
I
had to do something in a part of SF where I don't often
go. A central cityish part. A bit hard to access by
bus but doable. There was a man standing on a corner,
dressed in a red suit singing You Send Me over and over.
I was at a distance so I could only hear, "Darlin
you...". over and over. Singing in a canyon
of tall buildings filled with products. Sing real good.
And for free.
When
I got home I was a little worn out. I thought I might
take a bit of a nap. The kid who is always that age
was screaming at the top of their lungs. Screaming in
such a way that made my throat hurt. And then they started
screaming wah wah wah. But. Really. It was Wah. (pause)
Wah. (pause) Wah. (pause).
I
suppose it could have been annoying but it was just
too deliberate. It made me smile.
I
needed to leave the apartment early yesterday. I was awake
in time to write a post and had something I was planning
to say but my thoughts weren't organizing quickly. If
you read me regularly you might wonder how I know when
my thoughts are organized. My thoughts seem to jump
around. I'm always bringing apples and oranges into a post.
Not so much to compare them but to point out that they
are both fruit and do have something to do with one
another.
Anyway.
So
I didn't feel like I could rev up to write but I had
some time so I read blogs. My morning used to be about
reading blogs and writing my post. I could do both and
eat breakfast and listen to the radio and respond to
e-mail all before 10:00. And then my blog roll got longer and longer.
There's no way to get through it in one sitting, although
I have devoted large chunks of time to trying. I became
over whelmed. Or something like overwhelmed. But I can't
seem to bring myself to take anyone off my blog roll.
About
the same time I began to have trouble writing. In general.
Too
overwhelmed to read. Too loopy to write. What's a blogger
grrl to do? Everyone who keeps a blog for any length
of time goes through this. Most people have the sense
to stop writing when they aren't feelin it.
Mike
disappears for months. Artichoke
Heart has been gone for SO long. Laurie went away
for a very long time, came back to post and tell us
that she is pregnant. Wonderful news! By the time I
saw the post and left a comment she had hundreds of
spam comments. Her site is gone now and I have an ache
in my heart. Dru
was gone, came back with a great new design on which
there is a blog roll of people from a progressive alliance,
which I guess I will need to join. I've tried to leave
her comments since the new design but they never go
through.
I
was ... oh ...I dunno...bemused to read Lorraine's account
of having been trashed
by a troll and then praised
by complimenter. So people are setting up blogs
for the sole purpose of doling out judgements of other
people's blogs? Um. OK. What ever. Seems a bit tedious.
I've been trashed in my comments for the obviously terrible
person that I am and praised for the obviously wonderful
person that I am . I've never been a blog of the day.
Should I worry?
There's
no doubt a lot to write about when it comes to blogging.
The blog relationship is interesting. As fraught and
fragile as any other relationship. I don't keep up as
well as I should. And there are all these issues. What
to do about comment spam? How to deal with slings and
arrows? How to deal with hearts and flowers?
For
me it always comes back to trying to write to where
the blood is flowing. And when the blood is standing
still, write bloodless. Just write. And read. And be
amazed by it all.
On
Monday I walked past the
pool to see what the hours were going to be. The
sign was confusing and the hours seemed limited. But
on Tuesday I walked up at 5:30 expecting it to be open
and it was not. Picture me pouting. It was going to
open on Wednesday but I couldn't go on Wednesday. Yesterday,
finally, it was open and I went swimming.
The
hours are very limited and built around classes. I think
it's open at 5:15. That's not a great time of day for
me. I'm usually pretty spaced. It's hard for me to motivated.
I've been hoping I could swim in the morning. I dunno,
it might be cool to go in the evening. Swimming is spacey
and also rejuvenating. I was so happy to be in the water.
In
the new Sims there
are five stages of life, the last one being elder. The
elder stage is the only one that has a number. It begins
in early fifties. When I first noticed that I was perturbed.
I don't think of myself as an elder.
And
then yesterday I noticed someone
linking to my site. I haven't felt this way since
I got my invitation to join AARP.
I don't mind the gray hair. The body seems to demand
more attention and that's a bit of a drag. It's not
the fact that I'm older that bugs me. I just feel like
if I'm an elder I should be wiser. Ya know?
In
the pool I was about eight. Free from gravity. Unable
to stay still. Just giddy.
In
most of the classes I took with David
there was a class I came to call the - What they did
with the shit day. These were poetry classes but David
thought it was important to know the mechanics of life
during the time the poems were being written.
I
remember one class in which he gave us a thing to read
about population growth in cities at the turn of the
century. It stayed with me. Not the numbers. Numbers
never stay with me. The idea of how the numbers were
expanding in thousands.
Sometime in the next year, a woman will give birth in the Lagos slum of
Ajegunle, a young man will flee his village in west Java for the bright
lights of Jakarta, or a farmer will move his impoverished family into
one of Lima’s innumerable pueblos jovenes.
The exact event is unimportant and it will pass entirely unnoticed.
Nonetheless it will constitute a watershed in human history. For the
first time the urban population of the earth will outnumber the rural.
Indeed, given the imprecisions of Third World censuses, this epochal
transition may already have occurred