The Volcano

Are You Able to Sit With Your Suffering?

2012-01-26T21:00:00.000-08:00

No, but I sure as hell can tango with it.

Damn it, we're not programmed to sit with our suffering. That's why we have Words with Friends. I'm being flip because it's a bitch of a question to tackle.

Fact is, I can and I can't. Depends on what day of the week you talk to me. Depends on what time of the day you ask the question. Am I avoiding the answer? Yes. Because I don't know what it is.

How Do You Suffer?

2012-01-25T15:07:00.000-08:00

That's the next question in my Committed Practice Group homework.

I'm tempted to very flippantly say: "I'm suffering answering this question", but I'll bite. I suffer by living almost completely in my head, worrying and obsessing, succumbing to anxiety, clinging. I suffer by forgetting and I suffer by remembering. I suffer when I hurt myself, and I suffer when I try to heal the wounds.

Does this mean life is suffering?

In a way, yes. As I was saying yesterday, the two are inextricable. (Which means I guess I do realize it!) But is suffering inevitable? Probably to some degree, but not necessarily to the degree that I or so many others experience it.

To me action is the anti-suffering. My mother once told me that action is the antidote to anxiety (how's that for alliteration?) and in my experience that's totally true. When I'm in motion, moving forward, working to make my life better, I'm too busy to suffer.

But is that what I'm looking for? Does that mean I suffer in stillness?

Not necessarily. Take right now, as I'm sitting in my living room, one dog beside me and the other close by, listening to Gen X Radio St. Louis (give it a try) and waiting for Adam to come home and contemplating, just contemplating stillness and suffering, and how lucky I am to have the time and leisure to do all this.

The First Noble Truth

2012-01-24T09:15:00.000-08:00

So I've joined a Committed Practice Group at Show Me Dharma, the meditation center here in Columbia. We have homework, which I think is a good idea, and I also think it's a good idea to do it, which can be a little tricky given that I am lazy. So I'm trying to keep myself honest by putting it on the blog.

Let's start with the first question ...

Do you truly realize that your life is inseparable from suffering?

No. I don't realize it at the emotional level, the gut. Or perhaps I realize it but don't accept it. I'm not sure if realization and acceptance happen simultaneously. I could spin into some rant about what realization is and when it happens, but is that relevant to this question? I'm not sure.

The question is do I realize that my life is inseparable from suffering. I don't accept it. I do know it. Does that mean I realize it? I'm not sure. I keep pushing against it. I claim to be open to the possibilities of life, both pleasant and difficult, but in reality, am I?

Then again, the question wasn't whether I accept it. It's do I realize it? And actually, I have to say, yes, I do. I realize it and I understand it. I don't like it ... but that's another question entirely.

The Hill, St. Louis

2012-01-18T13:45:00.000-08:00

Lakota

2012-01-17T20:05:00.000-08:00

"Damn, you're a hairy motherfucker."

Today's writing

2012-01-14T11:40:00.001-08:00

You want to know how I got her in my car. That’s always the question, isn’t it, the hook on which so many things turn. How did the bad girl get the good girl to come along? How did evil trump innocence?

I’m here to tell you it’s not that simple.

“Fact is,” I said, “I know you. You’re not the good girl you want everyone to believe you are. In fact, I think you’re smart enough that you don’t even believe it yourself. And God or Jehovah or Buddha or Justin Bieber or whichever deity you want to believe in has brought me here to show you that light.”

And in that moment I knew her fear. I could smell it across the room. I could taste it in my own nervous breath. And that brought me close to her. So close I could sense her past, feel her future.

Memphis

2012-01-08T22:01:00.000-08:00

Yay!

2012-01-06T23:07:00.000-08:00

I'm headed to Memphis with my three loves: my boy love and my doggy loves. We're going to Graceland for Elvis Day. Tell me that's not dorky!

A snippet of writing from the last few days:

Leigh takes a breath, releases it, feels the air flow out of her lungs. She tries to focus in the stillness. It is so quiet right now. She can’t even hear the television, can’t hear anything Evan’s doing. For all she knows he’s already headed to work by now, except she knows he hasn’t. He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, without kissing her on the forehead and telling her to drive safe.

It’s that vortex, she thinks, that black pit, the glory hole of nothingness. She counters the flouncy thoughts by cracking her knuckles, one at a time, calculating the pop. Arthur-Pickle stretches, trembles slightly, returns to his curled position. On three she will get up. She counts – one, two, two and a half – and then wills herself into going vertical.

Two and a half. She counts like a mother, giving one final chance before – what? It is, of course, possible to threaten oneself, to talk to oneself as a child. Three, and then three and a half, and on the count of four she is still lying prone. Through her half-closed lids she can see the details of their bedroom: clothes hanging in the half-open closet, his on the left and hers at right; a red tennis shoe discarded in the corner; his laptop, screen still frozen on the Netflix movie they were watching last night, balanced on his nightstand; the Eugenides book she’s been trying and failing to read the last few days; a snapshot they took of themselves in Barcelona the year before they married. They were young then, young and foolish in that entirely happy way. The picture features the spill of her hair, the tilt of his chin, their lips joined but obscured.

"What God called me to do"

2012-01-02T06:51:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting at Kaldi's listening to these guys talk about God. Specifically, the Christian house that they're setting up. One of the guys is talking about his divine call.

So what's my divine call?

I've never felt "called by God" in terms of anything. I have aptitudes and talents and I don't pretend to be able to know where those come from, but I've never felt it to be holy.

If I were a religious person, would I know more peace?

I know I feel peace when I meditate. Maybe religion is an element of focus, of structure. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe that's the call.

He just said: "I've been taught not to look at the circumstances. Just to focus on the storm." Interesting

2012

2012-01-01T19:44:00.000-08:00

Missouri

2011-12-31T16:17:00.000-08:00

Happy 2012!

2011-12-31T09:58:00.001-08:00

Wishing everyone the best in the New Year! Now we're off to St. Louis to celebrate!

Trying to breathe

2011-12-28T07:57:00.000-08:00

I've been having panic attacks. The whammo, bammo kind that leave you breathless and shaky. Adam wants to help as much as he can and he does everything -- but I know that it's got to come from me. Even writing that is hard. Mental health is such a damn balance beam. Sometimes you just say screw it. I'm gonna fall off.

Mark Doty, "Dog Years"

2011-12-26T19:38:00.001-08:00

No dog has ever said a word, but that doesn’t mean they live outside the world of speech. They listen acutely. They wait to hear a term – biscuit, walk – and an inflection they know. What a stream of incomprehensible signs passes over them as they wait, patiently, for a one of a few familiar words! Because they do not speak, except in the most limited fashion, we are always trying to figure them out. The expression is telling: to “figure out” is to make figures of speech, to invent metaphors to help us understand the world. To choose to live with a dog is to agree to participate in a long process of interepretation – a mutual agreement, though the human being holds most of the cards.

2012

2011-12-26T09:40:00.000-08:00

There is much I want to do in the New Year. I want to give voice to the voiceless. I want to get my own words out there. I want to continue letting everyone I love know that I love them. I want to continue to discover myself, to get more comfortable with the material I've been given. I want to meet uncomfortable feelings honestly and work through them rather than running away. I want the past to be the past, the present to be fulfilling and the future so bright I gotta wear something resembling shades.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Clarity

2011-12-25T19:10:00.001-08:00

I've been seeking it, searching for it, rubbing my eyes and blinking. I think it's emerging and it's intoxicating. I love focus, precision and order -- strange because I often so don't achieve those qualities in my own life. But it's coming. It's coming.

The winter weather

2011-12-22T11:57:00.000-08:00

I've had many ups and downs lately. This week I've had both. Monday I felt paralyzed by anxiety, Tuesday depression. Yesterday I took the dogs to St. Louis and was better.

Fact is, I'm at a crossroads. There is so much I want to do and boundaries I have refused to acknowledge. Mainly, I want to get the Project published, and that is so damn hard.

I am very open about having anxiety and depression and taking medication for it. Sometimes I think I'm on way too much medication. Sometimes I wonder if I ... DO I wonder if I shouldn't? Actually, I'm scared to stop. And there's no reason to do so.

Am I homesick? Yes and no. I still would be feeling this at home. Here my shit is just amplified and I HAVE to deal with it, which is not a bad thing. Except for when it is ...

Animal advocacy

2011-12-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

I've been getting deeper and deeper into the animal advocacy world as of late. And last night I found myself in tears at 2 a.m. thinking about it all.

I have to take a little bit of a break. It's probably going to only be for a few days, but I've had a good streak (I'm seeing pets for whom I've advocated get homes) and I think I need to take that as a clue to chill for a while. It's a great cause and I want to be able to contribute to it, but I need to do what they call self-care too.

Saturday-night wisdom from Afroman

2011-12-10T22:16:00.001-08:00

Stop and hit the bong like Cheech-n-Chong, sell tapes from here to Hong Kong.

Me and my girl, New Mexico, November 2011

2011-12-09T22:39:00.001-08:00

Mizzou in the winter

2011-12-05T09:53:00.000-08:00

Did I mention that I've moved to Columbia, Missouri for four months?

Adam got a contract job here and when the opportunity first came up, we both chuckled. Mid-Missouri, especially in the winter? But the idea grew more appealing over time. I've wanted to go somewhere else, do something different, meet new people and freeze my ass off in the middle of winter. And it looks like I'll get to do all those things.

I really want to write a long blog post about it, about how this all started in early October and spun out until we left at the end of November, but that will come in time, I think. Then again, maybe there's no time like the present. My friend Sophie recently told me that I don't waste words and I like that idea. So maybe this is my long blog post. And maybe it's just majorly stream-of-consciousness.

Leaving Berkeley was -- hard? Adventurous? Both? We sublet our place -- couldn't give up the Farm and wouldn't want to. We bought a huge Chevy Suburban and towed Ringo halfway across the country. And now we're here, in a three-bedroom, two-bath house for $900 a month. Let the adventure commence.

I saved Rufus the dog

2011-11-08T13:58:00.000-08:00

It cost $143 and a phone call. He was scheduled to be euthanized on Nov. 10 -- an eight-month-old puppy -- and I just couldn't watch it happen. I cried when I told Adam about it. It means the world to me to be able to pick up a phone and pull out some plastic and save someone's life. If you're anywhere near Pinal County Animal Services, please consider adopting Rufus. This one's on me.

Why I left my writer's group

2011-11-05T22:48:00.000-07:00

Wednesdays used to be Homework Club. I'd go hang out in Sean's studio and we'd talk the written word.

Then I left.

I didn't leave in an honest way. I asked if I could be a "part-time" member. Then I just never came back.

Why?

I often felt as though I didn't fit in. The guys liked to talk about music I didn't know and didn't like, authors who I'd never heard of, and just philosophy in general that I couldn't get behind.

They are not bad people. They just aren't the group for me right now.

ADDENDUM:

This feels like such a sketchy post to me, half-baked and only half-truthful. The fact is that I wanted to give this airspace, but I still am holding back on some of my truer feelings around it all. I will say, though, that by the end I grew to dread group, and I'm sure they could tell. We are probably all better off.

As seen on Facebook

2011-11-02T19:26:00.000-07:00

A beheaded flamingo and the prime suspects of the crime.

Peaceful

2011-11-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

I don't usually allow myself the luxury of peace. Peace to me is the ability to sit where you are and be okay with it. That means wherever you are. Sometimes it works and sometimes it's a nice idea.

I think peace is coming from getting my mojo back and getting things rolling in the right direction: Forward. Getting into Kimmel Harding again was, I hope, just the beginning.

I'm returning to Kimmel Harding!

2011-11-02T10:34:00.000-07:00

I just found out that I'm going back to Kimmel Harding Nelson Center for the Arts, which honestly has been my favorite retreat thus far. It's perfect for me: A mix of solitude and access to the rest of the world, a cute little town with totally sweet people. I met great folks at KHN and can't wait to go back again!

Family stuff

2011-11-01T12:59:00.000-07:00

I have two brothers. I'm close to one, not so close to the other. The not-so-close one is getting married and has decided that he wants to resurrect family relations, starting with our other brother who he's barely spoken to in 19 years.

Excuse me, what?

Just because YOU'RE getting married doesn't mean that everyone else needs to forget all the shit you've pulled in the past and join hands happily. Especially because you're not going to keep it up.

Okay. Rant over, for now.

Missing

2011-10-20T10:52:00.000-07:00

I was up late last night crying about Oliver. I hadn't cried about him in a while. I think about him every day, but I don't cry all that often any more. Last night I did. Last night I cried until my eyes were sore and my nose ran. I relived every one of his last moments, the way we held him, the way both Adam and I cried.

But in a way it wasn't so much about him as about the dogs. I know how it went with Oliver and it went well. Yes, he died, but he died at an extremely advanced age, surrounded by love, with nothing wrong with him except for the fact that he was really damn old.

The dogs? They scare me, and my love for them scares me. Nothing can happen to them. I won't let it.

Lonesome

2011-10-15T23:54:00.001-07:00

“You are simply not lonely enough when you travel with companions… Spells of acute loneliness are an essential part of travel. Loneliness makes things happen.” - Jonathan Rabin, Driving Home: An American Journey

The difference

2011-10-09T22:41:00.000-07:00

40 is always 40.
It has always looked the same for the most part.
The difference
between you at 20
and now at 37, looking up at 40
with the optimistic resignation
of one who doesn't believe she's that close:
You can see the youth
that once was there,
perhaps still is.
You can see who they once were
and who they've carried over into today.
History is a sixth sense for you,
one you didn't have nearly two decades ago,
one you're now better equipped to understand.

Making a difference

2011-10-07T10:48:00.000-07:00

For a long time I've been interested in animal advocacy. I volunteered at the Berkeley Humane Society for years before the devastating fire in May 2010. Since then I've been somewhat paralyzed, sitting on the sidelines. At first I told myself it was because of Oliver -- my energies needed to go to him. But he passed away in August 2010, and the excuses have been thinner since.

Now I've decided to take action. I'm going to be volunteering with Oakland Animal Services and BAD RAP, a rescue organization for pit bulls. I can't just passively look at what goes on via Facebook, seeing who dies and who lives. Sending money is something, but it's not enough. Action is where it's at.

Two things

2011-10-05T21:38:00.001-07:00

Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary. - Steve Jobs

And I think I've discovered the fuck-it principle. More later as details emerge.

Santa Sabina Center

2011-10-02T08:52:00.000-07:00

More on depression

2011-09-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

It's a seasonal thing, but it's a year-round affliction. I joke that I take enough medication to choke Bambi, but the reality is that it doesn't -- and perhaps shouldn't -- insulate me from my feelings. I know it's genetic and I know that though there is a stigma, there shouldn't be. The more honest I can be about this, hopefully the better I will feel.

Depression is more than sadness. It's sandbags on each shoulder. It's making yourself get up or staying in bed far longer than you should. It's loved ones asking what they can do and having no answer to give them. I can personify the bitch all I want, but the fact remains that she's a bitch. And a strong one to boot.

Almost New Year

2011-09-26T21:53:00.000-07:00

I should say that fall is a very challenging time for me. I guess you could call it seasonal affective disorder, but I just call it being out of sorts. It feels like a slow death, fall, especially in September. So I haven't been writing very much, here or elsewhere.

Depression is slow and languid. It sits with a cigarette smoldering in its hand. It waits for you. It is patient and kind in its way. Depression will be there when everyone else has gone.

Late summer of my laziness

2011-09-02T23:18:00.000-07:00

I've been having extreme trouble with motivation lately. For someone who makes their living getting their ass in gear and meeting deadlines, this is not the best malaise.

I never usually have problems making myself work -- especially when it comes to writing. But these days, even doing a flash-fiction piece really took some ass-kicking -- let alone a full-length work.

It's because I'm waiting. Waiting for news. And in the meantime ... yeah. I'll continue to look out the window.

With autumn closing in

2011-08-26T02:42:00.000-07:00

This is the hardest time of year for me. The move from summer to fall is a killer. The shorter days, the leaves blowing around in the Indian-summer wind ... it's hard for me to take.

Depression is something you have to monitor all the time. When you feel your mood start to slip, you've got to be aware of it and how to take care of yourself around it, as a therapist might say. And although I'm doing all right at the moment, I know things can change.

I'm thinking of the lines from Bob Seger's "Night Moves":

Ain't it funny how the night moves
When you just don't seem to have as much to lose
Strange how the night moves
With autumn closing in

Yep.

A second chance

2011-08-24T10:52:00.001-07:00

There is a dog in Miami who has had my heart for the last day or so. Melody is an American bulldog whose big heart and sweet nature need a home. And it looks like she may be getting one! Never doubt that the internet -- and people -- can make a difference.

Plucking

2011-08-20T19:58:00.000-07:00

The simple life -- it's up to me

2011-08-18T10:10:00.000-07:00

In a way, I live a relatively stripped-down life: I don't commute to go to work, I wear thrift-store clothes for the most part, I have a secondhand car and a one-bedroom cottage.

I also have a plethora of technology: a laptop, an iPhone, and ... okay. That will do for now.

When I say I'm looking for a simpler, more pure life, what does that mean?

I want to meditate more. This is solely up to me. I want to travel more. Okay, that's not totally up to me, and I'm not sure thousand-dollar airline tickets constitute more simplicity and purity. Maybe I just want to see India.

I'm thinking of becoming a vegetarian. This probably won't happen, though. It's important to get protein, particularly after Lap-Band surgery, and although I do like meat substitutes, somehow the real thing feels more protein-y.

So what the hell am I doing to make life more simple? Maybe I'm just taking one step at a time.

A year

2011-08-13T18:05:00.000-07:00

Oliver passed away a year ago tomorrow. There is not much I haven't said before about this, but I just want to say I love you, Bear, and I always will.

Return of the students

2011-08-10T10:12:00.000-07:00

Three cafe tables taken up by a single person, moaning and whining on the cell phone about how the underwater basket weaving class is sooooo hard. Yes, the students are back, and Berkeley will feel their presence until they take off for Sunnyvale or Agoura Hills in May.

I too have been a student, and I'm sure I was just as obnoxious as these brats. To the denizens of Santa Barbara from 1992-1996: I am sorry.

Chuck that editor out of the room

2011-08-07T21:57:00.000-07:00

I've been having trouble writing for the last few days -- okay, maybe a week or so, give or take -- and I'm realizing why. My expectations for myself are very, very high. I want to write something clean. And this is really driving down my productivity.

They say throw the editor out. I'm trying to push her away for now, but she keeps lingering in the door frame. Enough, bitch. Out.

Today's writing

2011-08-01T17:11:00.003-07:00

Not everyone watches the Food Network while waiting to undergo weight-loss surgery. Then again, not everyone is as hooked on food as I am.

“We should make that,” I tell my husband, pointing to the screen. A woman in a low-cut top stirs risotto and murmurs assessments that sound more than vaguely sexual.

Adam raises his eyebrows. “We should probably make stuff you're going to be able to eat,” he says.

Oh. Yeah.

I'm at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center, which overlooks Oakland in all its gritty glory. It's a rooftops run riot, gray snakes of roads, wisps of greenery. I'm playing I-Spy: a Starbucks, a car-detailing shop, the Samuel Merritt nursing school. Above it all is a semicircle of dark hills, an overseer of sorts. Looking at them feels somehow like staring at the sun, risky, potential retina damage.

I'm slated for Lap-Band surgery. Picture a belt cinched around your stomach, creating a pouch. That limits your food intake. That means you lose weight. That's the theory, anyway.

The Lap-Band means changes. I'm not sure I'm ready for them, but they're coming nonetheless.

“Ah,” the woman on the screen says, sucking her finger. “So good.”

I roll my eyes. “Is she fucking or making food?”

“Sometimes,” Adam says, his gaze not shifting from the screen, “there is no difference.”

It's moments like these that tell me I'm doing the right thing: It's only eye candy, he likes to tell me, but eye candy still fills some sort of hunger. “You like her.”

His eyes lock onto mine. “Actually,” he says, “she's kind of ridiculous.”

Ridiculous, sure, but a size six while she's at it. She's making that risotto, but does she actually eat any of it? Does she survive on an apple and a slice of beef jerky per day? Does she celebrate her cheekbones, applaud her flat abs? Mmm, so good.

Luce, "Good Day"

2011-08-01T10:39:00.000-07:00

I used to hate this song. I felt it was simplistic and stupid. Then I moved to the Czech Republic and realized how much I missed simple happiness. You judge for yourself:

Well I wake up to a sky so blue
With my girlfriend in the other room
Got the coffee on and the pancakes done
The cat's sleeping outside in the sun

The tv sings its morning blues
And it’s all the same with all the news
But she walks up, smiles, kisses me
And says your coffee’s done.

Then starts singing.
Yeah yeah yeah
She is singing.

Well It’s a pretty good day.
I’m lookin’ forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day.
again...

Well it’s a pretty good day
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day
Yeah we’ll have a good day.

So I lace my boots up and step outside
Catch a cab cause my car died
And I go to work with my friend Dan
Paintin’ houses the best we can

On my way back home I try and mix it up
Walk halfway then take a bus
And as it pulls up and the doors open
I hear the bus driver say "step up" please "STEP UP"

And I’m singing, And I’m singing
Yeah yeah yeah
And I’m singing yeah yeah yeah yeah
Some guy looks over and says ‘how ya doin’?’ I say...

Well it’s a pretty good day
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day
Yeah yeah yeah

Well it’s a pretty good day
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day
Yeah we''ll have a good day

And through the window
There’s a whole world
And I’m watching all the people
All the faces and the places I have yet to go

And the sunshine now it’s fading
And my girlfriend she’s waiting
And I bet that she’s outside
Sleeping in the shade

Cause it’s a pretty good day
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day
Yeah, again...

Well it’s a pretty good day
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
To have a pretty good day
Yeah, we'll have a good day

It’s a good day
Yeah.....yeah....yeah
It’s a good day

The missing

2011-07-31T19:52:00.000-07:00

Oliver will have been gone a year as of Aug. 14. A year. It doesn't feel right without him, and it never did. I love my dogs dearly and there is no competition there -- the relationship is completely different. Oliver was a bit of a contemporary, really, a fixture in our home and on our couch. He was even a point in our arguments -- whoever's lap he chose was right. And he always chose Adam's.

His death put a punctuation point on a year that was ridiculously difficult. I feel that we've been emerging from that time, but I know that Aug. 14 will be a hard day and I want to do something to honor his memory. I'm not sure what that is yet, but whatever it is, we will be thinking of my big orange boy.

Buffalo Soldier

2011-07-31T18:57:00.000-07:00

I never took much notice of Bob Marley before I moved to the Bay Area. Even after coming here, I didn't realize how much I was starting to like him ... until one day I heard "Buffalo Soldier" and I was gone. It brought back so many memories and made me realize two things: a) I really like Marley; and b) I love the Bay Area.

I'm thinking about this even as I think about the wide world out there. I want to travel and explore. I want to see what it's like on the other side of the world. But -- and part of me, the adventurer part, doesn't want to admit this -- I think I've found my home.

Yet as I write that, I wonder if it's true. After all, can't we have many homes? I have several: here, New York, Boston, Toulouse ... I can think of others but right now those will suffice.

Yes, we can have many homes, just as we can have many The Ones. Maybe Marley knew that too.

My heart breaks

2011-07-22T10:56:00.001-07:00

For every animal who doesn't have a home. For everyone I want to save. For those I can't and for those I can. My heart breaks, and it's not even 11 am.

Apt quotes

2011-07-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

I attended a reading at Mrs. Dalloway's for Fire Monks. David Zimmerman, one of the five monks who turned back on the road to Tassajara and helped save the place from burning in 2008, was there and what he said found me scrabbling for a pen. Without going into too much detail, these were things I needed to hear this week.

Whatever happens is right in every moment.

Fear is actually an idea of the future.

There's some point we all face ... this fundamental moment of the urgency of life.

Every moment is a story.

We are never the character we think we are. awe are never the story we think we are.

We don't need shelter. We can meet this moment.

Not yet Zen

2011-07-18T09:28:00.000-07:00

I got up way early today to get to meditation by 6:15. Adam couldn't believe it. But I could. I'm good at getting up when it's something I want to do, and I wanted to do this.

I only lasted half an hour. Then I start getting really fidgety. It's not as though I was able to just concentrate on my breath this morning either. I just watched my thoughts rollick back and forth. Like -- how best to do the freelancing? What's going to happen to The Project? Things like that.

I continue to battle anxiety, though I am quite happy these days. It definitely showed in the meditation. I can't just push it away. I need to learn to contend with it.

Free Falling

2011-07-07T23:49:00.000-07:00

It's dropping

2011-07-07T09:29:00.000-07:00

I've been losing weight steadily since returning to freelancing.

Coincidence?

I don't want to create too much hubris in announcing that out loud -- even in a blog post. But it's worth noting. I've wanted to go back to freelancing for quite some time, wanted to concentrate on my own creative writing. Adam and I argued about it more than I can say. It wasn't that he didn't want me to do it, but he wanted me to wait until he'd graduated.

I was having a hard time with that.

Now it's done and I'm on the other side. I'm going for a hike this afternoon. While I may or may not bring the computer, it's likely I won't feel that I need to urgently check it.

Thank you, Lap-Band

2011-07-03T22:26:00.000-07:00

Get back to where you still belong

2011-06-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my last day at my job, which I've held since December 2009. When it came along, it was very much akin to a godsend: good money, great benefits, a terrific working situation since I could work from home. I took it and ran.

A year and a half later, I'm ready to go back to what I know and love. I'm going to be concentrating on my own memoir and fiction -- working to get The Project into print -- while making money as a freelance writer and editor. And damn if I ain't excited!

Tahoe

2011-06-28T11:23:00.000-07:00

Today's writing

2011-06-23T22:17:00.001-07:00

We named her Midnight. Her fur was tucked tightly around her body, her tail twitching as a warning. We brought her home in a box and the minute she was sprung loose she made for the door. We slammed it shut and she hid behind the stove instead.

Our dog’s name was Sunny. I’m not sure if that matters, but I thought you’d like to know. Sunny was hanging out in our backyard when Midnight descended. Then again, Midnight didn’t so much descend as stumble in. She was disoriented and we weren’t far behind. Just so you know, Midnight was not black. She was, in fact, orange. Orange and white. The white nights of St. Petersburg. Metaphors like that.

Midnight was not our first, but you perhaps already guessed that. Our first left us six weeks ago, a shade drawing across his eyes as he died. I cried but inside I felt cold. That’s how I knew I was really mourning.

I pulled Midnight out from behind the stove. It couldn’t be good to have her in there. She hissed and made for underneath the bed. We sighed and let the dog in. Draw your own metaphors from all this.

Prick of the Spindle

2011-06-23T15:37:00.001-07:00

I'm very proud to have a nonfiction piece in here!

Interesting exercise

2011-06-16T23:39:00.001-07:00

ME (talking about a 10-day Vipassana course during which time I wouldn't be able to have any contact with Adam): It would be an interesting exercise.

ADAM: So would cutting off my balls, but we're not going to do that.

Friday, 7:10 p.m.

2011-06-12T00:42:00.000-07:00

Cap and gown

2011-06-02T15:50:00.001-07:00

As I write this, Adam's waiting in line with his graduation regalia in hand. Seventy-something dollars, three years in the making.

So much of our lives have revolved around grad school. A not-inconsiderable number of our fights, too. We've had to postpone or forget about trips, he's been stressed due to homework and exams, and I've had to make professional decisions based on supporting his endeavor.

Is it worth it? Oh, hell yeah. I think.

Today's writing

2011-06-02T15:31:00.001-07:00

I wake at two-thirty in the morning. There was no dream, no earthquake, nothing to shock me awake and jolt me into consciousness.

The bedroom is quiet, the silence punctuated with Adam’s breath. Adam is my husband. We were married ten months ago. Billy Joel was our wedding song of choice, “Just the Way You Are.” We didn’t care that it wasn’t cool. We danced and grinned for photos.

But I couldn’t look at those photos.

So true

2011-05-25T21:38:00.000-07:00

"All that you have is your soul." - Tracy Chapman

She said "don't be tempted by the shiny apple." Somehow the shiny apple never tastes as sweet as it looks, does it?

My loves

2011-05-22T21:01:00.001-07:00

Dream

2011-05-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

I get a call: I have an agent. To celebrate I drive to the city. I park in Chinatown and the car rolls down the hill. People loot it. I get a few nice instant messages. Truly odd. I don't even really chat online.

Lost in Translation

2011-05-19T01:43:00.000-07:00

Sleepless in Phoenix, kept awake by the voices below me, I'm watching Lost in Translation.

The first time I saw it in the theaters, I was by myself. I was in a crowd, in a too-large theater in San Francisco. The Metreon, I think. There was a woman next to me who kept loudly explaining all the nuances to her companion. I wanted to shove my fist so far down her throat that she would feel it in her kidneys, but instead I concentrated on the movie. It worked, sort of.

The next time I saw it I was with Adam. We were in the apartment he once shared with his girlfriend, the one he was in the process of moving out of. She was already gone. "It's so quiet," he said. When we lay on the couch I was amazed at how well he made our bodies fit together, how we wrapped around each other as if we were designed to do just that.

Tonight I am alone. I have a greater understanding of the movie, of the silences that stretch when you're alone, when you watch the world and realize you don't have much of a part in it. I understand that perhaps better than I should.

Conspire

2011-05-18T21:07:00.000-07:00

I'm at one of those only-in-Berkeley cafes that is actually not in Berkeley at all: It's in Phoenix. I'm here for the Urban Land Institute conference, staying through Friday. Conspire is such a wonderful getaway from the black hole of conferences. There's an open mic, Ping-Pong table, overpriced iced coffee, people talking about books. A guy came over to me, held up a picture, and said: "Have you seen this man?" The picture was of J.D. Salinger.

Boho. Boho right off the main downtown strip of Phoenix, a place so bereft of soul, at least to the casual visitor, as to be completely depressing. But here there is no cynicism, no networking. I could stay here all night and perhaps I will.

I'm eating your face

2011-05-15T16:19:00.000-07:00

2005: Bright Eyes, "First Day of My Life"

2011-05-13T15:45:00.001-07:00

All the possibilities revealed themselves. It was spring of the soul, blooms growing every time I looked in the mirror. I was in love. I am still.

Philz

2011-05-13T15:24:00.000-07:00

Saturday night

2011-05-07T21:33:00.001-07:00

ME: I'm not with my grad student who I'm banging. I should get thrown out of Strada.

ADAM: Yes, you are!

International No Diet Day

2011-05-06T15:22:00.000-07:00

One of my Facebook friends has proclaimed this as such, and I just remembered. It seems impossible for me at this point not to be obsessed with food: How much I eat, when I eat it, how I eat it. I am 37 pounds down and the obsession just seems like an everyday thing.

I have been heavy since I was eight years old. After I dealt with the hair, the weight was next. I shake my head when I hear the Lap-Band commercials because I know from firsthand experience that it's not as easy as one to two pounds a week, no problem. There's a lot that goes on to get there, if you get there.

I am not proud of admitting that I am obsessed around food. I am also not ashamed. It is just another challenge.

"The Last Post"

2011-05-05T22:58:00.000-07:00

This brought tears to my eyes today. I didn't know Derek Miller, but I am so touched by his final post, written in advance before he died of cancer this week.

What got me the most was what he wrote to his kids and wife, in that order:

What is true is that I loved them. Lauren and Marina, as you mature and become yourselves over the years, know that I loved you and did my best to be a good father.

Airdrie, you were my best friend and my closest connection. I don't know what we'd have been like without each other, but I think the world would be a poorer place. I loved you deeply, I loved you, I loved you, I loved you.

His blog shows the power of so many things, among them deep personal love and the power of the internet. I believe in both.

You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

2011-04-24T21:48:00.000-07:00

2010 was one of the most challenging years of my life, and that is putting it mildly. Shitty would be a better word for it. 2011 has thus far treated me more kindly, but the fact remains that I continue to feel frustrated, trapped and bored.

The good news is that this isn't going to last. There are changes on the way that will make things different and more than likely better. But I'm a creature of the present. If it ain't here now, it doesn't feel as though it will ever be.

I walked into a therapist's office last year, sat down, and said: "I'm trapped." Since then I have made progress, but most of that progress simply comes from the flip of the calendar. I don't know whether to be amused or sad about that fact.

Quotable Adam

2011-04-23T22:38:00.000-07:00

"My ego isn't big enough to have an alter ego."

"Nothing says good times like drinking out of a plastic cup. By the time you're 36, 37, you should not be drinking out of plastic cups."

Distraction

2011-04-19T10:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the New York Times ran an article about cellphones and smartphones and texting and Tweeting and all that stuff we've gotten to know and loathe, and the stuff that many of us (including me) do. Well, Tweeting ... only on occasion, and only on a whim.

As I read the article, at first I felt superior: I'm not easily distractable! I don't have an ADD mindset! Then I think about how I write, constantly switching back and forth between applications. I can write without the internet, but it is damn hard.

Is this how I have trained my mind? If so, I want a second chance.

Someday

2011-04-13T22:37:00.000-07:00

Someday I will write a long post about the past few months, the past year or so maybe. I'll write about why I haven't written publicly about so much that I've been feeling. Someday is coming soon.

Third Anniversary, St. Orres, Gualala, Calif.

2011-04-13T21:43:00.000-07:00

"The Timid Need Not Apply"

2011-04-13T21:14:00.000-07:00

Marcus sent this to me tonight. This part in particular grabbed me:

Often, when you’re young and new to New York, your identity isn’t real yet, just as the city isn’t real yet. It’s a fantasy; it eludes you. You fashion yourself into the person you think will belong. It’s cliché to compare one’s relationship with a city to a love affair, but incomparably apt. We invent ourselves in love, as we do in new places. It makes sense that we often end up serving those who have been here longer, whose selves have solidified into their unromantic reality: the mad, the lonely, the perverse, the rich and miserable. They feel native to us, and they need us.

God, I love NYC. Maybe that makes me a tourist, maybe that makes me someone who should've been there her whole life.

Waiting room

2011-04-12T22:06:00.000-07:00

I take the top off his carrier. He doesn't want to come out, sits defiant and pissed off and for that I am grateful. I know every bolt that keeps this carrier together, have memorized how it feels to unscrew them. I've done it enough. I've done it too much. They will come in soon. We wait together. "I'm sorry," I say. I don't know if I'm telling him or myself.

Bowing

2011-04-09T13:34:00.000-07:00

When everything exists within your big mind, all dualistic relationships drop away. There is no distinction between heaven and earth, man and woman, teacher and disciple. Sometimes a man bows to a woman; sometimes a woman bows to a man. Sometimes the disciple bows to the master, sometimes the master bows to the disciple. A master who cannot bow to his disciple cannot bow to Buddha. Sometimes we may bow to cats and dogs.

- Shunryu Suzuki, "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind"

Today's writing

2011-04-07T20:16:00.001-07:00

All I want right now is a boy to rub my neck. I want his fingers right where I keep all my tension, at that nape. I want him to look at me with something like a mixture of love and curiosity. I need him to know me, to accept what I am even if it’s not a neatly wrapped package. Especially because it’s not.

What's changed

2011-04-07T19:51:00.001-07:00

I'm writing with less anger now. Less anger and more detail. I like that change.

Leather and Lace

2011-04-06T08:42:00.000-07:00

Three years ago I stepped into a new phase of my life -- of our lives. I have never been happier. Here's to you, love. May we grow ever stronger and may we laugh ever harder. I have no doubt on either count.

Wrote this to Adam this morning

2011-04-05T08:05:00.001-07:00

I think the hamster wheel also includes emotions, you know? We get used to feeling one way and we just feel it, feel it, feel it. I don’t know if that makes any sense, but I think it does.

I always wanted to live a life full of revelations and spontaneity and happy chaos. I still do.

You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant

2011-04-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

With my bro and my babe -- and a bike! Does it get better than this?

Next corner to turn

2011-03-27T21:53:00.000-07:00

I've just hit a point in my rewrite where I could go in several different directions. Which begs the question: Which one?

I found out a week or so ago that I'm on the wait list for Yaddo. This is the season for hearing yes and no, and sometimes maybe. I'm waiting for a little bit more of yes. I'm waiting to be presented with the decisions I'll need to make. I'm ready for that corner, that new patch of ground to stalk. Ready, I tell you. Ready.

The inebriated post

2011-03-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

Adam: "When was the last time you had to leave your car somewhere?"

I don't know. But it feels damn good. It feels like freedom.

Loss

2011-03-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine has been nursing his dog through her old age and now the end seems to be nearing. My heart breaks for him. We all experience loss at some point and it is such a universal. And really, all we have are our relationships. That's really the only thing that matters to me -- the creatures I love, both two- and four-footed.

I am still in mourning for Oliver. I am just going through the process and seeing where it takes me. There's absolutely no point in fighting it; the loss is almost as strong as he was. But not quite. I want to remember him with smiles, not tears, but right now it's a mixed bag.

Dogs are the best creatures on Earth

2011-03-16T17:52:00.000-07:00

Watch this video of one dog protecting another in the wake of the Japan tsunami and tell me differently. And please consider donating to the people and animals suffering after this terrible tragedy.

Old angst tastes like dog food

2011-03-15T10:28:00.000-07:00

What do you do when you've processed something to bits, but still you have to include it in your work? Just typing it makes me want to hurl. Not because it upset me; quite the opposite. I am over it. I am so over it. I am over writing about it. I wish I didn't have to include it. But I do.

Happiness

2011-03-13T22:18:00.001-07:00

From The Project

2011-03-13T13:11:00.001-07:00

Where to wear one’s flaws? On your face, where they can never be concealed? Or inside a mirrored bathroom cabinet, where they grow more shameful with each hidden moment? Where to handle those flaws – in the light of day or in the gauzy dimness of a feminine bathroom? What to do with the burden of being human?

Gary Shteyngart, "Absurdistan"

2011-03-09T16:20:00.000-08:00

I floated above the city, glancing generously in each direction. The careless hooks and crags of Queens and Brooklyn, slivers of industry, quadrangles of brown-bricked terraced flats; the fanatic middle-class hopes of already half-darkened New Jersey tendering their resignation for the night; the carpeted grid of Manhattan sinking into the horizon, the garlands of yellow light -- sharp, overreaching -- that form the facades of skyscrapers, the garlands of yellow light -- diffuse, flickering -- that form the sprawl of tenements, the garlands of yellow light -- swerving, opportunistic -- that form the headlights of taxi caravans; the garlands of yellow light, aye, in their horizontal and vertical arrangements that form a final resting place for the collected hopes of our civilization.

35 pounds down

2011-03-08T17:29:00.001-08:00

Raring to Go

2011-03-04T08:40:00.001-08:00

I'm not a morning person. Not at all. But this morning I'm up and I'm ready for something to happen. I'm not sure why I think I'm going to get good news today. But I'm ready for it to come.

Singing TV theme songs at Adam's birthday gathering

2011-03-04T01:52:00.001-08:00

Today

2011-03-03T22:44:00.000-08:00

I was talking to Oliver's ashes. I do that. He's a good listener. I looked down and there was Maizie, just looking at me with this concentration that I can't believe came from a seven-month-old puppy. Her eyes said she knew. She understood. "You know I miss him," I told her. She did.

Dogs have such souls. This is not a new observation, nor is it intended to be. It simply is.

Anxiety

2011-02-28T08:15:00.001-08:00

Sometimes when I'm happy is when I feel it the most. I've been on medication for a year and a half and it helps -- oh, does it. But there are times that my stomach churns and why? There is no real reason, or no real reason that should be a reason, or something like that. I worry that I'm addicted to anxiety in a sense -- otherwise, wouldn't it be easier to give up? Ironic that I'm worried about it ...

Random thought of the day

2011-02-23T06:50:00.001-08:00

We can learn from fear or we can learn from wisdom. Who doesn't prefer the latter?

Today's writing

2011-02-22T23:50:00.001-08:00

I think about help as I get into my aged, beloved Toyota. Help always felt like another country, too humid in climate, too touchy-feely in culture. Help required too many visas and vaccines. To go would mean never to be safe.

Turning the key brings forth the engine’s throaty cough. Toto is on the radio, singing about places a world away: I bless the rains down in Africa/Gonna take some time to do the things we never had. There is a slight rain and it mists my windshield, blurs my sight. It takes a minute to realize that it’s actually tears.

Things are so much easier as black and white. So much more palatable, easy to digest. Victims and villains, heroes and pirates. But no one fits those confines, do they? The world is a blur, one line after another getting crossed.

I shift into reverse and back down the driveway past my father’s fledgling grass and strangely alive flower bed. He was never able to bring anything to life in our family’s garden, but here he’s managed to give daisies an existence. He is not happy alone, but he is productive.