Friday, January 31, 2020

Monday, January 6, 2020

note to self / permission slip

it's 7:30 in the evening and i'm making myself a cup of coffee.  i mean, fuck it, i want it. i want this cup of coffee more than i want pretty much anything else right this second and since i do not have to wake up early tomorrow for any reason, i am going to have it and i am going to enjoy it.

i have showered today and i have read.  i have written in my diary and i have typed a bit into two separate documents that may or may not end up congealing into a single piece.  i have no clue, really, but i keep returning, faithfully and dreamily, to this set of black keys, trusting that if i just keep letting the words line up, one after another, some sort of sense or direction will show itself.  at very least, memories i've not tapped into for years are surfacing.  wholly unexpected, sometimes painful, valuable and necessary; my life story comes back to me in bits and pieces, feathers and dust motes,  the glaze of smudges and greasy fingerprints.

my coffee is now ready and i will consume it with pleasure.


i keep telling myself to get dressed and start the day but i am still in my robe, no underwear below, an old-ladyish pair of red, fluffy slippers on my feet.  what do i mean "start the day?"  the day was begun a long time ago at 11am.  i've been writing or reading ever since so i guess what i mean is that i'm feeling guilty about these facts.  which is total bullshit.  what i've done today is what i want to do with my entire rest of my life so feeling guilty about it is non-sense.  it's my american blood pumping through my brain and whining its obnoxious screech of "but does it make money???" and i swear to God i am BEYOND sick of that refrain.  the fact that i didn't make money today goes in the WINNING column.  i'm fucking glad i wasn't part of the machine in that way today.  in addition to not making any money, i also haven't spent any which might be the most powerful move i've made yet and will more than likely remain the most powerful thing i can do in the future as well. staying home in my robe, writing and reading the day away, purchasing nothing... i am stacking up hours spent outside of commerce. i am claiming time for myself.  i am declaring that the thoughts that careen around inside my mind have value, that my memories and anecdotes have value, that the story of my life is worth thinking about and worth writing down, worth making time for, and might even be worth someone else's time to read. i mean, isn't that what this blog is?  a declaration that my life - the space i take up - isn't something i have to earn.  i already have it.  i'm already here.  and i don't need to shop or work every single day of my life in order to feel like i am worthy of the air i breathe.

i'm going to get back in bed with my cup of coffee and a book.  i'm going to curl up under my blankets and stick my nose between the book's covers.  i really like cuddling with my lit.   :)  and i'll keep telling myself as many times as i need to today and tomorrow and the next that reading and writing are not things to ever spend one second feeling guilty for engaging in.  i am lucky that i was taught to read and write.  i am lucky that i have learned how to follow my instincts when it comes to books and that, now, i find texts which reflect my loves and hopes so easily. also the nightmares of the past that still cause me pain and need to be corralled.  it wasn't always so. 

last week, Alex and i were up late talking about how when we were kids and teenagers neither one of us actually read very much.  this sad fact was pretty much exclusively due to the fact that our teachers gave us such horrible shit to read.  relatively nothing that is on the approved reading lists in California public schools was captivating or rewarding for me and i was glad that Alex and i could commiserate on this dismal aspect of our separate pasts.  still, i loved the idea of being literary.  i loved being around books.  i wanted to develop a love of reading and inexplicably kept trying to make it happen. i loved the way books smelled and the way they felt and the way they looked.  i also loved the way they seemed... that they were a portal or key or doorway out.  every now and then, i'd stumble across a book that substantiated this hunch and i was given a fresh reason to keep up my search for writers who i felt some sort of kinship with or admiration for.  Alex and i laughed when we realized that, as young teenagers, the first book to supply actual pleasure through the act of reading was "Go Ask Alice." i noticed it the other day in one of the many used bookstores i frequent and i smiled, as much at IT as to myself, a nod to an old friend. 

but at this point, the pleasure of reading is something that i avail myself of daily and nightly.  i've developed an incredible and voracious stamina and can read for hours on end without getting tired.  it's like when you start doing sit-ups again after a long time of not doing any and you can only do a few before your muscles fail.  but you keep at it and you stack up the days and just stop thinking about it.  you make it a part of your day, just another regular thing, and then out of nowhere you become cognizant of the your progress and ability.  my brain has become so fucking buff!  haha! but the most comforting, rewarding, encouraging aspect of it is having learned how to summon the weird magic that leads me from one book to another.  it's a mode of self-trust, i suppose, and i grow more and more grateful for that trust with each book or article i consume.  i am a lucky, lucky lady.  lucky to have the time to cultivate this trust and this pleasure, lucky to be able to make a cup of coffee at 7:30 in the evening and not have to worry that it will keep me up because, through tomorrow,  i am lucky that i won't have to punch a clock again just yet. 



last night when i got off the bus that brought me home from work, i still had an 8 minute walk from the bus-stop to my front door.  the reprieve that sitting on the bus provided after a long weekend of waiting tables was long enough that when i stood up from my seat and walked to the accordion doors, each step felt like the arches of my feet were falling.  and they may very well be.  i have been waiting tables long enough that it is a definite possibility.  and in Converse more than i should, and more than i should admit. i hobbled home, made some mint tea, and lay down in bed in all my clothes. when Brian arrived home 20 minutes later, he took of his work clothes, put on pajamas, laid upside down in our bed, put my foot nearest to him on his chest and rubbed.  i closed my eyes,  allowing the book i was reading to rest on my stomach.  a few minutes later, i sighed, "this is the life..."