The lack of time in my day, my week, my month is astonishing. It’s mid-June until I’m seeing anything that feels like a breather. My mechanic forgot to turn my radio back on a week ago, and I haven’t managed to get back there for him to reprogram it, so I drive in silence and try to be thankful for it. The body shop guy still doesn’t have my window right. That’s been two weeks, but have I gotten there? The rain comes in a little and I try to enjoy its spray. The cat needs to go to the vet – the fleas will start soon. There’s the kale to be planted – though all this rain is giving me a pass on that.
Things are lost – the camera cord and case, the papers from the City regarding the loan, the mini cam corder. Where are they? I look wistfully for a few minutes and then my attention goes elsewhere.
I’m back to waking in the night. Staring into the darkness. “How you doing, Chief?” asks C. “Anxious,” I say, trying not to sound like Eeyore. “Yeah, I know; you’re positively radiating it.”
A new car. … Suburu, Hyundai, Nissan, Toyota…. Too much. Estimates from roofers. Seeds for the garden. The dog. Oh, yeah, the dog is dead. The dog is dead. I so miss her. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one, but I do still think she’ll be there in the morning, raising her head up from her pillow to look at me as her tail starts to thump approval at my appearance.
I have been re-reading my divorce blog and scratching my head at how wise I became through all of that. Now I’m angry again – bracing myself for rounds of my ex leaving, for his many unknowns, for the lack of back up that I so very much need right now. I can breathe anger right down into the pit of my belly, and I’m amazed flames don’t come back up. Fucking Dragon Lady, I am. But hopefully some of that wisdom is down there, too – residual from before, layering my belly with ferns and rocks from a cool creek.
Here’s a post from a year ago. Amazing the circularity.
April 28, 2010 in Uncategorized | Leave a comment (Edit)
When do we stop being scared?
How do we bear the fear?
By knowing it will always return, and that you always get through it.
Post Script: I found the above painting on line. I searched for fire, for belly, for Kali, for anger… And I eventually found this. I love what the painter, Brian Kershisnik writes: “How splendidly human it is to practice. Everything we do is practice, if you will see it that way. This is an optimistic perspective; it suggests that the awkwardness, failure, or drudgery of our current task will, sooner or later (and probably gradually), give way to something lovely, even beautiful.” Maybe at 2:00 AM I am practicing. Maybe even my anger is a form of practice – a practice to see that I am anger, to bow toward the anger, and then to find a way out of the cycle more quickly.