There are times, and then there are other times, where you wonder where you put those original times, where you were planning on thinking of future times.
I have set most of my FB privacy setting to “only I can see.” It makes me feel like I have a face that only shows up when I look in the mirror. A small part of me is paranoid that if I delete my account, I will cease to exist.
FB makes it easier (and just plain possible) for disparate people to read my blog. What happens when I cease to stream? Ah. And there it is — I relax to think that no one is reading this. I must stop living for other people.
Amazing how isolating (and freeing!) the prospect of not existing anywhere but in real reality.
Virtual existences are so difficult.
I am now 70% eaten up by work. I would prefer to keep it at a modest 45%.
I fly out to Phoenix tomorrow. I am helping a friend hold a garage sale. And we will do freewrites. Kind of like the one I am doing now. For dinner I ate cottage cheese with cinnamon and agave nectar, listening to Bach. During my acupuncture appointment, my wonderful needle-poker Ki. said “yep, well — we are all going home.” I felt the sizzle of relaxation burn through my skin. There is nothing more de-stressing to me than getting to remember than someday I will be dead.
[Mom: don't get scared. All philosophical]
Except for the relaxation part — really, when I remember that get to die, and that life isn’t permanent (which, sometimes, PG&E, traffic, and my paycheck make me think it is), I pop a little smile and think to myself “oh, yessssss. I can’t wait!”
My ex-bf-E knows this all too well. I think I must have whispered and shouted it 100,000 times– minimum. Oh, E. – how did you put up with me?
Little known fact: Basil tea is warming, but good for inflammation.
I am up way past my bedtime. It’s 9:26 already, and I still haven’t packed. Before I go, I will tell you all a secret: I am afraid that if I stop thinking about what other people think of me, I will become a half-crazed lunatic, or a raving bitch, or worse — that I won’t care what people think of me [ my brain stops here. I actually can't imagine not caring that I don't care]
Somewhere inside me I fear that if I fully embody my true self and just live for Me, my mother will have to explain why her daughter is leaping around Lake Merritt in nothing but a pink bow tie, gesticulating wildly, singing “going to die! going to die! Someday –beauty!– I am going to die!” This will scare her, embarrass her, and maybe even make her question what she did wrong. She did nothing wrong! She is a lovely mother. She just, for whatever reason, ended up with a daughter who passionately, wildly, unceasingly yearns for nothing more than to be a small child playing make believe.
Maybe I already am.