Wednesday, March 31, 2010

I have a month's worth of Sunday NYT to read. It usually takes up a good part of Sunday morning in bed with tea to get through the whole thing (well, I save the book review for later). The March 7th issue had a obit of Patricia Travers, child violin prodigy who played into her 20's and then disappeared until she died in her 80's. She lived with her parents and played for her mother after playing in symphonies all over the world. Thank goodness I was no child prodigy. I was a dreamy, out-of-focus kid who rode a bike, fell a lot trying to roller skate and read Nancy Drew and Greek mythology under the covers with a flashlight.

I think the Greek mythology messed me up. Medusa's head dripping blood on the desert and cactus springing up where a drop hit the sand. Oh, and the snakes for hair.

I wrote poetry too. I didn't know it was 'art'. I wrote because the light coming through my window at night scared me. The city I grew up in was cloudy, rainy and very cold in the winter. Gloomy really. Edgar Allen Poe-ish weather. One of the lines in a poem from the 4th grade was 'iron clad clouds".

Day and night are all mixed up right now. And eating. I'm averse to eating. Food tastes crummy and chewing is such a chore. This is what happens in the lost love department, phase 1. I'm not sure what phase 2 looks like. I'll let you know. Maybe I already did phase 2 with the clothes buying madness.

I must say that throwing out old love notes and letters has a certain satisfaction. Erasing emails from a certain someone. So there, that'll show you! Gawd, whatever. Sad, so sad. I did almost start to cry at Trader Joe's. I stopped myself. No public humiliation please.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

I'm baaaaaack. After starting to talk again after a month of silence, and by the way, what most of us talk about is stupid and unnecessary, I am done talking. For the rest of the day. I may talk tomorrow and I may not.

So I came in my house after being gone all month and unfortunately, the person who had been housesitting left a few days ago. When this happens, Lupine, the evil one, terrorizes the other cats and they pee and poop in some interesting places. This time it was a) in a potted plant b) on the rag rug by the back door and c) on my zabuton in front of my altar. Oh, and under the dining room table while I was WATCHING, ferchrissakes.

So here's what you do when you get home. You wade through a huge number of emails, mostly dumb. Wade through a huge pile of mail, also mostly dumb. Clean up cat issues. Pay bills. Throw out the nasty bits in the fridge. Oh, and laundry. Snore.

What was most splendid was that I am single again. My ex decided to break up with me the day after my birthday, just before the retreat started. Ha! So I was a miserable wreck for the first week, weeping at any opportunity. It was like my eyes were leaking all the time. I would have to go to my room to lie on the floor and sob. Pitiful really. Then I slowly recovered. With no distractions, I burned through the demons in my psyche because I had all day every day to contemplate my feelings (rage, sadness, anger, more sadness, twitchiness, etc.)

The turkeys were still there at the retreat center, being ridiculous. I made friends with the horses again and I would go and stand beside them and cry. They would stand with their big liquidy eyes and wait for carrots. They had no comment on my sniffling.

Then this morning while I was still in San Raphael with my daughter, she took me shopping, something I NEVER do, once a year and in thrift stores. I bought new clothes, a bunch of new clothes. It was frightening. Maya was just too horrified by my ratty, stained retreat clothes. She was sweet about it though. I am actually wearing new clothes right now. Imagine. New clothes and single.