You are currently browsing the daily archive for January 15, 2009.


It is a wonderfully foggy morning.  I love the fog.  It cossets a morning, gentles the harshness of even longed-for sunshine.  Wraps me in a quilt of alpacca fluff and makes me feel that I can be easier on myself.  And it reminds me of my childhood.  On one drive to Welch, the fog was so thick heading through the Blue Ridge, that my Father had to get out and walk in front of the car, my Mother driving with the car door open, so she could follow him and see the edge of the road.  I remember sitting in the front passenger seat (shotgun my privilege because I got carsick in the back, both much to my brother’s chagrin), feeling terrified and thrilled at the same time.  And so many years later, I am reminded of my long hike up Sage Mountain in Tortola, which, while not foggy, was completely solitary except for a donkey that stealthily (yes, a donkey can be stealthy) tracked me from a trail on a ridge above the path, startling me at moments when I least expected it.  (We both enjoyed the day.)  That hike in the rain forest had a moist, still, calming quality, like the fog – except it was warm. 

I will never understand why people think “a dry heat” is better than a moist heat.   A dry heat makes you hot and grumpy.  A moist heat makes you sweat, and your own humidity makes you more at one with the world you are living in.

God, my body aches.  A combination of the effects of winter, seasonal and situational depression, and sitting at a computer too much.  And mid-life, on which a diatribe has been brewing in my head and will be presented herewith shortly.  And it is barking at me, because it knows that had circumstances and finances been different, I would now (and I mean right now) be about to land on Grand Cayman.  Another time, body, just hang with me.  And then we’ll go diving, I promise, and you’ll like that even better.

As I was leafing through the yellow notepad, legacy of my Mother, which I use for my writing when I am not using the computer, I found a draft of affirmations, written in a cozy bed over New Years, warm in love.  And like a rare anthropologic find, I discovered the missing affirmation, scratched off, never having made it to the final list:

“I love my sacral mouse tattoo.”  What COULD it mean?  Another universal mystery to ponder.

I am adding things to my Life List constantly – it’s fun, it engages my brain and helps me with ‘the stuff’, as the more I think about living outside the box, the more I can make it all real.

In reading Russ’ blog entry this morning, I was so touched that he was envisioning sleeping with me by his side, I read down, down, picturing it all through his marvelous word painting, and discovered —– he was writing about Makena.  Humph.  But in our minds, comparing one another with a dog is the ultimate compliment.  (Not that I know if this is what he was doing, but he’s done it before.)  Still, I was wishing it had been about me.  It made me laugh at myself and be happy for him that he had her, farts and all. I had my own puppy therapy this morning with a visit form Poppie as I was leaving.

The fog is thickening, making the world primordial and soupy… as I was leaving the house this morning, there was a dove in one of the trees, and some other bird making Jurassic sounds from the dry streambed.  Magical.


(If you must ask what happened to 56, it is that we ageed via text 2 days ago that 57 was an unpleasant number and should be skipped, so yesterday was really 56, and now today is 55.)

Why is it so dark in the morning?  Ridiculous.  If it’s still dark, shouldn’t I still be asleep? 

Talked to Russ last night – I couldn’t help it – and realized that I am not giving him enough credit for loving me.  He isn’t happy with this current arrangement, but he is doing it so he can get past his own issues (around me and around himself) that keep us from really fulfilling our dreams.  I have told him in the past not to beat himself up about me – nights are harder than days, as that is when my mind starts to spin to places where it doesn’t go when I’m rested – but I am remaining strong in my faith that he will come back and we will have our life.  I am making plans for it.  He just has to understand that while addiction is one of his huge hot buttons, trust is one of mine.

And so the ring is back on.  I feel asleep with our affirmations in my hand.  Dreamed of motorcycle rides and Mexican bridges and walking in calm water – and eating country-style steak in a senior center, but that part was a bit outre.  But at least I slept, with the help of some over-the-counter something.

I hate taking those OTC things for sleep, but it feels like I am harming myself more by not sleeping than by taking something.  I decided last night that I will see if I can find some Kava root – I used to use that for sleep back in college, and it sparked fascinating dreams.  In subsequent years, I have learned that it is used in various cultures as a — not sure what to call it? — journeying tool? social beverage? ceremonial drink?  At any rate, as I have been seeing a growing interest in myself in exploring shamanic stuff, and know that right now, I am not in the right place to do so, this is a baby step alongside of that path.

The sky  is purpling outside the window slats. Time hangs heavy and I want to find some way to speed it up.  But if you don’t appreciate the time you have, and if you try to make it go faster, don’t you waste your precious life?

I see Zee today, which should be interesting.  She is becoming more assertive with me in therapy, as I become more aware of myself.  Am looking forward to talking with her about love addiction.

Have to work tonight, but think I can do it from home.  And I have Kelsea tonight (insert big grinning happy face emoticon here), which will be wonderful.  I miss her, and work this week has kept me from having her with me as much as I might.  So much work to do…time to go soap down the hounds.

January 2009
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