Huh. Well, I am fairly blank.
Everything feels muted this week. So what is there?
On my walk to the train yesterday I obsessed over women's bellies and how I've come to notice and appreciate a wider range of them. Last night, one thing I did was the dishes. While washing I composed truthful sentences in my head for one, or another, of my online profiles:
"Doing the dishes sometimes brings me joy."
"I like to wear an apron, and nothing else, when I cook sometimes."
"This profile will never be complete. I am more truthful in person and more articulate on paper."
I'll never post those things. I do like to imagine "perfect" sentences though. I tend to think the things that occupy my mind are less worthy than the things that occupy the minds of other people. I tend to assume those "other people" are calculating or planning something "more useful".
I am immersed pretty deeply in the work of noticing what weeds I have been tending over the years when I unconsciously propelled around. I want lily of the valley to grow someday, and jasmine, and morning glories. I have already planted ivy vines, orchids, jade trees, african violets, basil, cacti, and umbrella plants.
I realized I was making assumptions again about the unknown motives of other peoples' actions. I felt relief for that realization and moved on. I watched the slide show of all my photos twice.
My goal in yoga yesterday, my intention, was to breathe until my insides felt light. I don't know if I got there. I might have been too busy trying not to force my breath, but to let it flow; or trying to remain in the crescent-twist pose that sometimes feels so damn challenging and other times so damn good. There is space. I have found space up under my breasts, right above my ribs. There are muscles developing there that hold me better than I've held me before.
How much of this is rambling and how much of this is absently attempting to get a thing done one piece at a time?
We spent a day zooming around Seattle. From 11 AM to 6 PM I saw all that I could see on foot, in arms, and in a blue geo metro. I wanted fresh fish of some kind, and had been craving sushi so Hadj took me to the place he eats at with his aunt, and we sat outside. The water tasted like plastic but the salmon was obviously fresher than anything I can get in Chicago. My beer was half price because happy hour wasn't yet over. We goggled at one another. We watched moms and kids walk by the upscale neighborhood where the hippies turned slowly to yuppies. Across the street was the Bostonian Barber Shop. Next to it was a fancy "fusion" restaurant, with minimal white decorating creating an "atmosphere of clean lines," or so I've heard it told before. I was glad we didn't go there, after we parked around the corner, where I ogled the window boxes and shutters on the nice houses. We drove up the steepest hill I'd seen all day to get there. It's the hill that gets shut down when it snows because no one can stop their cars from going down, and kids start in on it, sledding.
I find all sorts of creative metaphors for love when I'm in it. I am outdone this time. I speak of things like balloons in my chest. I can only cry "wheeeeeeee!!!!!" and run down hills to demonstrate the feelings inside of me. I pull faces, I rest my head, I touch as much as possible, and kiss wherever pauses occur.
I remain mostly silent when laments occur in my heart. The space inside me feels gaping, but I know it is not emptiness there. It is the same space that a bowl holds, making it useful. Waiting. I have had too much waiting in my life. I have waited for someone to tell me what to do (or not to do). I waited for someone to tell me the consequences. I have waited for someone to tell me the rules. I have waited for something to come along and rescue me. I have waited to understand why.
I am an airy person. I attach to things lightly most often because I know the only constant in life is change and I don't want to go down with a sinking ship. That is a lie. That is a half, or quarter - or better yet - a written truth and written truths can only be true some of the time. Because every thing will change in life. I attach to things lightly most often because I am afraid of picking the wrong path. I am afraid of missing out. I am afraid of failure.
Or, I used to be.
Now, if I feel muted what can I do but one thing at a time and hope that I'm nearing my goal, as mundane as the work I'm doing may be?