The human heart and falling in love.
I just turned 42 years old, and I’m realizing that I still haven’t figured anything out.
(But I make a mean mac and cheese! Surely that counts for something?)
I recently turned 47 and I don’t know shit, but I can grow my own food and then make magic with it. I have no idea what that counts for any more. My floors are dirty, I’m sure I lose points there.
Seven on this Sunday
1. Maybe it’s ragweed? My nose isn’t runny per se, but this sinus headache is well into its second day, and it’s sapping what little energy I have. I’m going to do the neti pot and am also going to nap like a boss later today.
2. I need to do things to build my energy. Walking helps, but I’m eating too much bread and pasta, and drinking too much beer, so I think that just cancels out the walking. I’m going to do a few days of raw foods and lots of lemon-cucumber-ginger water to see if I can jump start my system again.
3. I hula hooped to about ten songs last night at the Owl Hill annual music and camping and friends and food and fun celebration. I had a terrific groove going, able to slow the hoop down and speed it back up, moving it up and down my torso a bit, movements really in sync with the music, turning my body in circles, and it felt amazing. I never dropped it and really only stopped because I felt dizzy from the humidity and sweating so hard and just needed to go sit down and drink some water. When I stopped a woman ran up to me and thanked me for hooping in front of her group, said she’d never seen anyone keep it up that long, and that I was mesmerizing. ::blush:: Seriously, between that, being able to read my Singing Circle poem into a mic to the crowd while the band backed me with a sexy blues rhythm, and meeting a very intriguing person at the market, yesterday was a good day for my crushed ego.
4. All that said, I’m feeling so very ready to not need external validation for my existence. Unfortunately, there’s no Off Button for that co-dependent personality trait, but I’m working on it.
5. Chris seems to have found an apartment. It’s a room in a newish condo that a casual friend of his is leaving because he bought a house. It comes with furniture and a roommate, so he needs to meet this person before he makes his final decision. I’m surprised by how I only feel a little bit upset about it. I wonder if this means that I am all out of energy to fight for him to stay, or if I don’t want him to stay. Maybe a little bit of both. Lila asked me two nights ago if he had found a place, and at that point I didn’t know, so I said no he hasn’t. She was quiet a moment, then said “Well, that’s good for me, bad for you.” When did she get so wise?
6. I keep thinking about this boy I loved in high school. He was three years older and a foot shorter than me, chubby, with a white boy afro. Scott. He was really into laser discs before they were popular, and we watched movies in his room while his mother smoked in the kitchen and yelled at us to keep the door open. He told me about his girlfriend in Boston, and held my hand. In winter we pulled each other around on the ice on Sturdevant’s Pond on South St., which was equidistant from his house and mine. I wrote him poems, one that I calligraphy printed onto a scroll and gave to him for Christmas along with a giant Sugar Daddy. He came with me to my junior prom in spite of the girlfriend in Boston. We stayed out past my curfew and lay on our backs in the grass at my friend Kara’s house, listening to The Moody Blues and holding hands. I can’t remember if we kissed that night or not, but we did several times while listening to Bonnie Tyler on my bed when my parents were working. He gave me a ballet slippers poster for my wall, and a harlequin doll. I believed for a long time that we would end up together forever. I haven’t spoken to him in 28 years.
7. Do you ever get the feeling that nothing and everything are happening all at the same time?
In good company
I see I wasn’t the only sucker wide awake at 3am. That seriously sucked, and every time I started to doze back off, the dog jumped off the bed to scratch. I don’t know when he started doing that, but I think he thinks he’s being considerate to not scratch and shake the bed violently. Unfortunately, he usually ends up leaning right up against the edge of the bed, so I still get earthquaked awake. In between I was freaking out about the 70 minute presentation I have to give in three weeks that I haven’t begun to write, never mind build the visuals, and now I’m taking this poetry class again, and have a this musical in which I play three distinct characters, and have to learn four songs — one in Portuguese. No. For real. One in Portuguese. Oh, and still haven’t done my taxes, and the garden is upchucking so much food that needs to be processed, and market work is getting left in the dust of my mental breakdown due to the impending separation, maybe divorce. I could not shut my brain off, but refused to get up and work on anything. Now I need to get packed up for the market, and try to not behave as if Roseanne Barr hit me in the head with a cast iron skillet, because that’s pretty much what I’m feeling like at the moment. I made coffee and it’s the weakest pot of coffee ever. How does that happen? I measured. I ground it the same way I always grind it. Coffee gremlins had to have taken some out of the press before I added water. Today is going to be 90 degrees with 85% humidity, so that should be loads of fun working outside. I hope I don’t say anything mean to anyone who asks me why we don’t have bananas and avocados at our producer’s only market, because they don’t think they should have to make two stops if they’re going to support local farmers. OK, OK, nobody has said that this season. Yet.
Hey, all you insomniacs… let’s all go try to be functional members of society today, shall we?