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| View from my writing window |
Sunday, November 5, 2017
I arrived last night after much ado. I was adamant that this place was in Annandale; turns out it’s in Little Falls. Both places are an hour and a half from home and I drove South for an hour instead of North on 27. The good Sister Marcia was waiting for me quite anxious. Apparently, Sister Mary from Claire’s Well called her to tell her I was at the wrong place. She was disappointed, I think, that I chose to stay at the cabin instead of the room she had prepared for me – with a warm meal even – because the road from the welcome center to the hermitage was too wet. I think I hurt her feelings by turning her down, but I really just wanted to get there.
This place has changed so much. The road in the far distance that used to offer sporadic reprieves from the endless quiet is now a roaring highway with never-ending waves of cars and trucks. The silence that used to be the norm is far-and-few in-between moments now. The darkness that used to squeeze the cabin at night is now broken by an unwelcomed street light brightening the parking area. What used to be a secluded convent with retired nuns and small Catholic school is now a vibrant campus that has sprouted four-story buildings and a hospital with a bright EMERGENCY sign next to a welcome center that even sports a small store. Gone is the feeling of being in the middle of nowhere. Regardless, my little refuge is still beautiful surrounded by snow and big fat pines protecting me from the outside world.
What’s most distressing is that I have cellular access! Gone is the old rotary phone that only connected to the nunnery and 911. I told the gal at the welcome center that if I wasn’t able to be disciplined, I would bring my electronic devices to her. I’ve been able to disable it on my own hoping that I’m strong enough.
It’s amazing how difficult it is to just be and allow the feelings creeping around the peripheral to surface. I don’t even have to try very hard to push them away. I want so very desperately to let them come out but I’m afraid… I can sense them scratching, whispering, pushing to be seen. There’s a truth there begging for relief.
∞
Monday, November 6, 2017
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| My new nemesis... infernal bringer of light! |
Dreams are not something I generally remember. With the exception of the three months when I was taking Chantix, it is rare for me to have recollection of them, even though I know I do dream, we all do, it’s just something that I’ve grown accustomed to not having as part of my life. So, having such a vivid with such perturbing content is even more significant. I’m trying to be ok with the fact that at some point in the dream, I was awake enough to be aware that I was dreaming and chose to continue it.
I dreamt that I was married living in a fancy place with glass walls in the middle of the forest (this is not too farfetched as I’ve been thinking and coveting Johnson’s Glass House of late). In my dream, I’m going through Mother’s basket and break down in tears. I can feel the pain quite deeply. My husband, who in the dream is the Priest, tells me that his Mother has decided to move back to their country. I’m not sure which country it is but he is pretty affected by it. When I try to get him to talk about it, the only emotion he seems to be able to express is rage. I begin to change from the black button dress I’m wearing for some reason. He grabs me when I reach the last button at the bottom, bends me over, and sodomizes me. When I turn my head to look at him, he has turned into my brother, Juan. I open for him and let him. He pumps into me hard and I beg him to do it harder. I start to push myself against him. He grabs my hips calling me a disgusting whore and keeps pounding into me until he orgasms, releasing a scream as he drops his head back. He zips his pants and leaves me there, shaken. At this point with the shock of it, I become aware that I’m dreaming and repeat the dream, this time with my friend Jim instead of the priest. I do it again, replacing the first face with Phil Donahue (of all people!). The next time, I don’t even bother coming up with a different face and my brother is my husband. After that, I skip the first part and go for the sodomizing scene, over and over until shame stops me. I force myself awake and feel aroused and ashamed. I really liked the sex. I want it to be real. I get up, brush my teeth while the water brews for my coffee and sit to write. I make my plan to go to the convent to pay Sister Marcia for my stay.
∞
Today’s life lessons…
If you accidentally get sugar in your eye, it won’t burn or hurt. It’ll just scrape the fuck out if until it melts.
When the only toaster available doesn’t work, you can toast bread in a pan. Use with caution… it burns easily. (By the way… leaving a dead toaster in the kitchen is a cruel, asshole thing to do to someone who’s excited to make breakfast.)
For light, fluffy eggs don’t stir them in the pan. Wait until the bottom starts to become solid and then slowly push the edges towards the center. Repeat as it solidifies. Trust me, you’ll thank me.
The porch makes an excellent refrigerator in the Winter!
Always check eggs before you put them in the cart… inevitably at least one, maybe two, will be broken if you don’t.
you’re welcome
∞
I miss my babies ☹ I hope they’re OK and Lisa is managing (I’m a bit worried about her on the bed… hope she doesn’t fall off!)
∞
Making refried beans… the hard way!
After trekking over to the welcome center to pay Sister Marcia, I perused their lovely gift shop and bought some mementos for staff and friends. It was an adventure making refried beans in this tiny kitchen with no masher and a tiny fork, but I made it happen.
I’m trying to pay attention to my body and know when it’s time to rest, eat, and sleep. I’ve found that I have no concept of hunger until I’m starving. Considering that everything takes longer in my little midget cabin, I need to pay better attention. I took off my watch and have not looked at my electronic devices (except for my SurfacePro to write). My goal is to relearn my body and its needs. I also learned the hard way that the little electric tea kettle means business about the max and min amount of water. Going over or under makes it puke hot water everywhere. I’m learning to follow instructions.
I have not been able to go through Mother’s basket. I just can’t seem to make myself do it. It will be the first thing I do tomorrow morning… no more delays.
The priest has been on my mind most of today. I’m sure the dream didn’t help. Sometimes, I feel foolish about the whole experience, especially after our last chat right before I left. He pretty much confirmed that he texts me when he’s horny. I made it clear that my sex days are over. I wonder if he’ll contact me again.
∞
I put my big girl panties on!
Mother died with $4 and 25 cents in quarters, a dime, a nickel, and twenty shiny pennies in her purse. I decided to go through her basket. After crying for half an hour, I walked sobbing to the front porch to get the basket. There were no surprises, except for the four dried grapes at the bottom of her purse – I’m keeping them. Of the dozen or so bells she had in her collection, only four made it to her basket, oddly enough. I wonder what happened to the rest. Of the two, sleep t-shirts; one of them still smelled of her… yup, I’ll be wearing them. There were three tiny quilt-throws she got from the volunteers at the nursing home that must have been sawn by the same wee people who built this cabin. I also got my brown/leopard wrap back. I’d forgotten that she had stolen it from me.… Ha! Who got the last laugh?!? There were a “Welcome” sign and the sunflower hanging thingy that Melanie gave her when they met. Mother never liked Melanie, but she liked the gift. I also found the mortuary invoice and two Death Certificates. I realized that I never followed through on challenging the cause of death. Figures.
This was the last remnant of Mother’s journey that I had refused to complete. It feels like a big door slammed shut. I have nothing left to do except pay the last cable bill at the nursing home. I’ll stop on my way home and pay it since they stopped sending me bills. My chest feels full, almost hard to breathe. I’m sure I’ll be crying myself to sleep tonight.
∞
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Today has been uneventful. It’s the first day that I don’t venture outside at all. I’ve spent most of the day trying to stay present and keeping my thoughts in the moment. Not an easy task. I’m noticing that since I’m focusing on what I’m doing each moment, I get full faster, or rather, I notice when I’m full and not finish my meals. This is good. My goal is to get in the habit of eating without having my attention be on anything else but what I’m eating. I’m also hoping that I can stop multitasking all of the time and stay focused on one thing at a time with all my attention in the task at hand. I’ve been doing it while cooking as well. In between focusing, I’ve been distracting with card games. This has to stop. I find that I decide to work on my paper and I get overwhelmed. It feels like all my thoughts about the paper come rushing in and I can’t sort through them. Then, I panic and worry that I’m not going to be able to put together a good enough paper. I need to practice focusing on one idea at a time and try to quiet all the other thoughts.
I’m still perturbed by yesterday’s dream. The weirdest thing happened this morning though… I woke up to pee and it was still dark and thought that I’d seen the time to be 7:40 am. I remember thinking that it was awfully dark for that late in the morning as I went back to sleep, and deduced that I’d dreamed seeing the time. I woke up later at exactly 7:40 am. Spooky…
Tomorrow, I will get up the minute I wake up, even if it’s dark out.
∞
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
I woke up at 3:30 am and stayed in bed for an extra hour trying to decide if I was truly awake after another perturbing sex dream. This time, I was in the process of male to female sexual reassignment one minute and the next I was post-reassignment having sex with my partner. This was another recurring dream in which I I was all the people in the dream. I alternated from being the person going through the transition and being the female spouse of me, all at the same time. What stands out as most poignant was the one where I’m trying to set boundaries with my transitioning self about physical intimacy, who insists on kissing me and then stopping when I (both I’s) become aroused. The spouse “I” is frustrated and hurt. She wants to be touched and explore what sex might be like with my partner who is now a woman. Wife “I” gets as far as laying atop each other rubbing one another with our thighs and then when she’s about to climax, transitioning “I” abruptly stops and leaves me in puddle of raw emotion, exasperated, and unfulfilled sexual need. Transitioning “I” is ashamed of her new genitalia. Even though she is happy to have transitioned and now being a woman, she equally aches for the loss of her penis. She too is frustrated because she wants to have sex with her wife “I” and satisfy her, but she herself cannot climax without her penis; and therefore, sees the whole experience an exercise in futility and failure. Transitioned “I” feels doomed and lost, while wife “I” is excitedly hopeful and full of curiosity about sexually exploring each other. I awoke as we started to have a conversation about climax. We were exploring the possibility of climaxing without ejaculating and transitioning me was afraid that it would be sexually frustrating to orgasm with no ejaculation. I laid in bed thinking about my sexuality and disappointment with men. There’s part of me that is truly sad that I haven’t been able to find a man with whom to be emotionally and sexually intimate, sober. I enjoyed romantic relationships with women and wanted to very much experience it with men.
Today, I turned off my iPad. It is dark and peacefully quiet. I am acclimating to the stillness and the restlessness seems to be subsiding. It has become second nature to push the feelings aside. I don’t even know what they are; so, I forced myself to look at the pictures I took of Mother as she was dying and post-mortem. It was hard and very uncomfortable. As I reflect on my difficulties, it was more the anticipation of seeing them that caused me distress. Once I forced my eyes on the screen, it wasn’t unbearable. I’m glad I made myself do it. It gave me the opportunity to really look at her face. I’d forgotten how peaceful her last day was. In her post-mortem pictures, she looks pleased.
∞
The wilderness ain’t no joke!
I went trekking in the wooded area around my little haven for about an hour and spent twice as long removing thistle, from my gloves and sweatpants. I have found a new enemy!
Today, I made good progress on my paper. I feel like I have a good explanation of Hegemonic Masculinity and am starting to dabble on the other headings. It really is a matter of getting a good groove going. I also made dayleechos chicken-vegetable-wild rice soup. It wasn’t until I was ready to serve it for supper that I realized that I don’t have any bowls! No worries… I made do with a small pot. Like everything else in my little midget cabin, it is tiny.
I’m starting to seriously worry about this chair I’m sitting on to write… each time I sit, it creaks just a tad more.
∞
What is truth? Truth, as I understand it, is a subjective recollection or conclusion based on the moment’s knowledge, remembrances, and the interpretation of memories. It is subjective because individual memories are subjective to each individual’s perception and emotional state when said memories are stored and retrieved. I came to this hermitage experience with the understanding that there was a “truth” that was floating in the circumference of my conscious thoughts. It is beginning to bubble forth and I’m very close to being able to hold it in the present. As I sit here staring into the trees at the other side of the road, I can feel it pushing, even as I offer little resistance.
∞
Today’s life lessons…
Avocado truly goes with anything (maybe not so much a life lesson as just a fact, Jack).
When lacking bowls, a small pot will do to eat soup.
The latter also applies to cereal.
Don’t leave steaming water unattended… the smell is not pleasant.
Music that is supposed to inspire creativity or help study should not have words (again, not a lesson; another fact for your benefit).
Don’t eat eggs that were broken before you buy them. If you do, make sure you have sufficient material in the bathroom. You will be spending quite a bit of time in there.
you’re welcome
∞
Creeping Truth
Reaching out
It pushes forth
It moves slowly
Waiting
Calmly unwavering
It is patient
It is persistent
Ready
Etched in soundless darkness
It exists in silence
No need for words
They are not required
Preparing to be caught
So, it can be held
Cradled in warm hands
In acceptance
Of the weaknesses
And human frailties
∞
Thursday, November 9, 2017
I went to bed early last night; I think around 8 pm. I’m realizing how exhausting it is to work at being purposefully present as much as possible. I find myself constantly saying in my head that this or that thought is not relevant at the moment, focus on this right now. I wish I had more time here. I feel that I need at least a month. Try as I might, it is difficult to not think that I only have two days left after today and I’m trying to not fall into the pitfall of thinking that I should have done more on my paper, or more emotional work, or more of this or more of that. I am doing what I need to do, which is focus on the right now and allow whatever is meant to happen to do so.
These experiences are always a bit anticlimactic and generally not truly understood until after one leaves and rejoins the real world. Here, it’s easy to not be distracted because I’m not being bombarded by the sounds and sights of the everyday: music, traffic, television, internet, people talking, fluorescent lights (which by the way we’ve become accustomed to how loud they actually are), etc. Here, the only sound is the traffic from the highway in the distance, the cabin walls creaking, the electric stove keeping the orange water steaming (it’s wondermous for the skin and sinus), my fingers tapping on the keyboard, and this damned chair… I swear, I’m going to land on the floor before my time is up. When my mind wonders too much and I’m struggling to keep the thoughts at bay, I put some soothing classical piano (I prefer Chopin) on my iTunes.
∞
This shit just got real! Panic!
My vaping thingy died! I turned on the cell phone’s cellular data so I could google either a solution or the nearest vaping shop… No solution, only a bunch of nerds using big words acting like they know what the fuck they’re talking about, and the closest shop is in Brainerd, twenty minutes away. I’ll keep fiddling with it.
OK… I think I fixed it… crossing my fingers…
Nope, it’s still broken ☹ I think the batteries are not holding sufficient charge for it. I’m going to fully charge them and see what happens.
I think I figured it out… the power somehow got switched to a high setting of 200 F and 59 W which was demanding too much of the batteries. I figured out how to lower the Wattage and it seems to not be draining them. I’ll have to make sure to charge them fully more often… who’s the nerd now, ha!
Crap! Definitely, need new batteries… I think I can get them in town. To go or not to go…
Also, I just used the last bit of half-n-half! As a side note, this electric tea kettle is the best investment ever! I can boil water for my instant, decaf coffee (don’t judge) in seconds!
There’s also a critter living under the cabin, in the foundation. I can hear it munching away and have seen its little paw prints in the snow. They look to be rabbit, but what the fuck do I know... I’m just making this shit up as I go along. I hope it doesn’t eat anything important, like the water or electric line. It mistook my pounding on the floor as a competition… I pound, it chewed, I pound, it chewed. I figured one of us needs to be the mature one and I stopped.
∞
Why on earth did I buy bratwursts with cheese inside? Gross!
The truth just is. Our feelings about the truth are never as comfortable as one would like them to be, no matter how subjective truth itself is. Even if it comes from one’s own interpretation of events and memories. My truth has frothed to the surface. I cannot write or type the words. I have been able to give it space in my present and even said the words out loud. I cannot commit the words for others to read. I may never will. I’m not sure if it’s shame that keeps me from doing so. It is the embarrassment, I think. Fear that I’ll be judged as untrustworthy.
∞
Alas, I am but only human
I am weak… I couldn’t handle not having my pacifier and drove to Brainerd to get a new one. It wasn’t the batteries; it was the device. So much for my nerd skills ☹. I got a new one and I shall call her Lupe. I even got her a ring. The lady at the Vape shop was fantastic. I may go for a road trip next time I need juicing… Since I was already out, I got me some more half-n-half and some eggnog. Might as well, I figured. Why do I feel guilty about it? It felt odd being out and about. It was hard to get my voice out. It’s like that feeling you get when you’ve been sleeping for a very long time. Eggnog is dayleechos!!
∞
I am kicking it with this paper!!! I’m so fancy, I even included a personal note and acknowledgments page. ¡Toma pinche, pa’ que veas lo chingada que soy!
Going through all this research is not as bad as I originally thought it would be. The trick is to just focus on one article at a time and see where it fits in my paper.
∞
Random thoughts today…
I hate page numbers
I forgot how yummy tapioca pudding is in my tummy.
Did the critter freeze to death? It’s awfully quiet now.
I no longer care that I probably smell by now.
Cheese inside of brats is disgusting and should never be allowed to be.
Would it kill these freaking nuns to put a bowl in the cupboard?
Will I break the chair today?
Apparently, I can go without uttering a single word for many days.
I don’t ever want to leave this place.
I miss the Google.
Why did I make so many beans? I’m generating enough methane in here to power the cabin for days.
Word has no synonym for asshole, fuck, shit, or idiot.
It does, however, have plenty for stupid (unwise: senseless, ill-advised, imprudent, thoughtless, injudicious, rash, irresponsible, reckless, and heedless. foolish: fatuous, silly, inane, nonsensical, ludicrous, futile, ridiculous, laughable, senseless, absurd, and asinine). I like ludicrous… I shall start using it.
∞
Friday, November 10, 2017
I woke up crabby.
Will today be the day that I finally bust this chair?
First of all, who the fuck loses a vibrator in this midget cabin? Me that’s who. Seriously, it took almost an hour to find it last night. How it ended up beneath the kneeler that’s under the rocking chair from its warm place beneath my pillow is beyond me! Then, no matter what I did I couldn’t turn off the Boom speaker – even though I’d closed the app – which I learned was still on when I was quietly watching porn in bed and the sound came blasting through it. Porn is like tv commercials, out of nowhere it gets really loud. Needless to say, my delayed satisfaction was more frustrating than stellar… quite in-par my sex life with men.
A dream woke me this morning at 6 am. It left me perturbed, on top of my already crabby constitution. I dreamt that I was sitting in Herb’s office and about to tell him the truths that have come forth while here when he stopped me and said that he wasn’t the right person to tell the one truth I was about to disclose. Feeling deeply hurt, I asked him who was if he wasn’t as my therapist? He said, “I don’t know. Maybe no one.” I got up without saying a word and left feeling disgusting.
I told a dear friend that in order to absolve ourselves for those things which haunt us and we for which cannot bring ourselves to forgiving, we first need to sit with our truth and cradle our feelings gently with no judgment. I told her that this process is always easier said than done. Fuck, I was right. I also don’t particularly appreciate having to practice what I preach.
I was thinking that it might be nice to have an affair with a woman now that I feel more confident and assured of myself and what I want. But then, I remember that women come with a fucking U-Haul and I get that thought right out of my head!
∞
As I was writing the acknowledgments for my Master Thesis, I realized that I became emotional and sad when I wrote about my brother in a way that I didn’t about Mother. This grief is different. Gone is the intensity of the pain I felt immediately after she died. Tete’s pain has never gone away, so much as it has lessened. I opened myself to explore these feelings and recognize that not only was my relationship with each of them different, they were very different people who inspired different depth of feelings.
When Tete died, I felt the loss of him as a human being, as someone I loved dearly and whose love and dedication I missed terribly. The pain was deeply emotional during a time when I lacked the emotional fortitude to process the complex feelings of grief. I suffered greatly from his loss. Still, when I think about his death, I get a lump in my throat and feel the tears well up in my eyes. I’m always glad for moments such as right now when I can let the tears flow and honor this pain that I have accepted will always keep me company.
I was taken aback by the physical reaction to Mother’s death. I felt her death in my gut like something had been ripped out of me. It felt violent, physically painful, and visceral. It left me with that sore feeling not too dissimilar to the discomfort experienced while recovering from an injury, a dull ache followed by a sore feeling that gradually dissipates.
∞
Oh, oh… I have a neighbor. Someone is coming up the road. They’re making a U-turn? Never mind, it was sister Marcia stalking me to make sure I’m still alive. Bless her; she’s worried about me. Good to know I wouldn’t lay here decomposing for weeks before someone found me.
∞
Anyway, Mother’s death was also a conclusion to a long journey. It brought with it a sense of gratification of its termination. It gave me closure. Like finishing a book. Hence, the term I suppose. I was left with no unfinished business, all my questions were answered, and she’d taken the time to make amends. She left no hollowness in my psyche or heart. I was also able to finally terminate my relationship with my asshole brother, Juan. I could never quite close that door because Mother so longed for us to have a sibling relationship. Her death relieved me of that obligation and I could slam that fucking door shut on his idiot face with no guilt. Ludicrous fucker! There is also a sense of gratification for getting my life back. My life was hijacked by my familial responsibilities at a time when I was beginning to form my life and had begun to explore the trauma of my childhood. I was starting to work on Juan raping me (though I didn’t call it that for many years to come), which is what came forth first.
My coming to my own after the years of emotional abuse I endured with Rick, until his death finally freed me. It feels like there is a correlation between Rick’s and Mother’s death. Both caused me great emotional suffering, and both demanded and took my freedom. The biggest difference is that Mother also helped me heal the pain of the aftermath caused by her maternal neglect. Rick was and died an asshole. Aside from the physical injury that’s slowly healing, the guilt I feel with Mother’s death is caused by the sense of relief and that the feelings of loss I have are more about being alone in the world now, and less at her actual loss as a person. Freedom also brought aloneness and the end of any sort of familial connection. Freedom took away the quotidian routine of being her caretaker. I have no one for whom to fight but me. The only decisions I am required to make are about my life and they don’t need to incorporate anyone else’s needs. My life is my own. At Fifty-years of age, I deserve my life back. If I had a normal family, I wouldn’t be alone. If the previous generation hadn’t been abused so horribly that they, in turn, abused my generation, my life would look quite different. I’m not sure I’d have it be much different. I rather like the life I’ve managed to build around my familial responsibilities. Ironically, I have Mother to thank for that. She pushed, encouraged, and supported my pursuits; especially, my educational pursuits. She valued education and was extremely pleased that I had opportunities that she didn’t have as a woman of her generation. My only regret is that I wish we’d healed our wounds when we were both younger. I would have loved to have gotten to know her better as a woman.
Oomph! That was a lot of introspection!
Oomph! That was a lot of introspection!
Fuck this coffee tastes like burnt tires… the cinnamon stick barely disguises anything.
∞
Today’s life lessons….
You want to get rid of the bags under your eyes? Get enough fucking sleep. It will help tremendously.
Potatoes can and will freeze if left on the porch… I don’t recommend it.
If you cut the brats in slices after they are cooked and when they are cold, you can just pluck out most of the disgusting cheeze-wiz they squirted in there.
Orange juice will also freeze. Surprisingly, soup in the kettle will not.
When you don’t have a pencil sharpener handy, a very sharp knife will do the trick. Use with caution.
Don’t thaw whole, frozen red potatoes on the stove next to the warm pot. They will produce a mess of nasty potato water that’ll be bitch to clean up
Slushy orange juice is pretty good.
There is no compromising the distance needed between a cup or spoon in proportion to your mouth when tasting things.
You’re welcome
∞
I am an artiste!
The toes look a lot better in the picture of the drawing… figures.
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| Mother's cat with grapes on desk |
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| Morning light on toilet |
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| SurfacePro on desk with lamp |
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| Fallen tree with snow |
∞
Babito Jesus is taking care of the thermostat tonight… keep me warm Jesusito…
It would help tremendously, if when studies are published, they just included the abstract, discussion, and conclusion portions and skipped all the shit in the middle that no one understands anyway. They would save a lot of paper and time for students at paper writing time. Also, trying to understand their fucking “Method” just serves to make you feel stupid and that’s not helpful when writing shit that you’re hoping will make you look smart.
Why does it feel like no matter how much typing I do, I’m always on page 10 of my paper???
I’m pretty sure that the in-text citations in APA account for 30% of your paper. I’m convinced that whoever decided to make them so freaking long wanted to cheat on the length requirements of their papers… smart move Mister APA creator… smart move.
Even though it feels like my paper is a series of paraphrased statements generated by a shitload of research, I am confident that when I’m done, it will be AMAZING!
∞
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Babito Jesus kept me warm and toasty!
I awoke at 4:30 am this morning refreshed and well rested. I have learned that 6 hours is about the right number of hours I need to wake up feeling good and no bags under my eyes. It’s magic, I tell you! After I did my morning cleansing ritual - which entails washing the important nether regions over the sink with a warm washrag, in case you were wondering how I keep myself relatively not disgustingly stinky. I went to reach for the sugar in the cupboard and discovered the wonderous and dayleechos eggnog nice and warm inside it. Yes, the dayleechos eggnog from which I’ve only drank two tiny cups to make it last… had a sip of it to test it and even I won’t take a chance. I am sad. ☹
It’s my last day in my little haven. I’m a little nervous about going back and I’m trying to not focus on thoughts about anything other than today, moment by moment, but I can feel reality starting to creep in; to which I say, “Get behind me Satan!”
Even though study and concentration music should not have words, I’m finding this collection rather enjoyable. Thank you, iTunes user Alyson, for sharing your good taste with the world and making the time to update it often. I wonder, are you too working on a major project? Even though I don’t know you personally, I feel like I kind of do based on your taste in music. I’d guess that you’re an optimist, with a bright disposition, and a hopeless romantic, or maybe I’m projecting…
∞
Today’s lessons:
If you find that you accidentally left you dayleechos eggnog in the cupboard overnight, I recommend you don’t taste it, not even a bit. If you do, you may find that you will be building a very close relationship with the toilet.
It is always a good investment in one’s wellbeing to purchase a soft, pink robe.
Orange juice that has been left out overnight at room temperature is just fine. I don’t recommend beyond one fortnight.
Review daily lessons to avoid repeating past mistakes, such as overfilling the electric tea kettle. Unless you really enjoy cleaning up hot water from table surfaces, in which case carry on.
∞
Yes, I managed to include David Bowie and Fifty Shades of Grey into my Master Thesis… today I shall kill page 10 with fire!
Snap! I can run multiple desktops on Windows at the same time!
Apparently, Adelle’s song, “Set Fire to The Rain” has not been played to death enough, some dude had to do a cover of it. I’m beginning to question iTunes user Alyson choices in study music. Get it together iTunes user Alyson.
∞
Holy shit on a stick! I have gone through ALL my research articles and ended up with about 20 pages. I haven’t done the Therapeutic Interventions, yet. Those two should give me another 10 pages? That leaves me about 10 pages for interpretation, extrapolations, and conclusions. Shit, this shit is for real!
This reminds me, I’m so glad I don’t have to hear, “does the number of pages include the title and references pages?” I always wanted to turn around and say, “No, bitch why would you still be asking that shit in graduate school? Did you skip undergrad and went straight through to the Masters level?”
∞
I hate people. Which is probably why I love the solitude my little midget cabin gives me… I wonder how much it would cost to own one. I could always buy some land somewhere cheap and bring a trailer in. It shouldn’t be hard because I’m not looking frills and thrills; just a piece of land surrounded by woods away from fucking people, internet, and cable – I can always turn off my phone.
∞
My last night… I’m sad now. I really don’t want to go home, though I do miss my furry babies, I hope they didn’t cause Lisa stress…
∞
Arriving at forgiveness is not easy and the journey towards it is more important and impactful than the actual act of forgiving. This, too, applies to forgiving oneself for our frailties and human weaknesses. It’s important that I acknowledge my weaknesses and failures without explication or justification. It’s important that I sit with my truth, cradled in my hands, and embrace the realness of it. Only when I can look at the truth without hesitation, shame, or judgment and accept it just for being that I can begin the process of forgiveness. The process of forgiveness requires that I find understanding, not excuses or reasons, but insight into what may have led to the failing for which I seek absolution. It is like deconstructing it to its origin. I have to not only find answers but also find questions. What motivated it? What mistaken belief inspired it? What repercussion or emotion was I trying to avoid? What shortcut was I trying to take and why? What reward did I seek? What was I trying to compensate for? I find that sometimes, the answers to each bring more truths and I must engage the process for those truths, just as I did the original one. This is not done in a 10-day hermitage. Here I find the truth and begin the process of gently placing it in the cup of my hands. I take it out for moments of time and sit with it for a bit. Start getting used to it. Start getting it out of my head by saying it out loud to myself. And while it is cupped in my hands, I push out whatever judgment creeps in. I let whatever feelings froth forward to be without engaging them; just experiencing them, naming them. Be present with them. This is all the work I’ve done while here. Just sat with my truth and whatever feelings it burgeons. Forgiving myself will come much, much later.
∞
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Before I get to my parting words, weird dream report…
I was again all the characters in my dream (shrinks love me I save them a step in interpretation). This time we looked like tv characters: The lead guy from Criminal Minds (the one with anger issues that ended up in anger management after getting booted off the show), the other guy from Will and Grace, and myself. Will (Criminal Minds guys portrayed this one) and the other guy were lovers an I somehow would pop in and be their individual lover sporadically. The odd part is that I would become the other guy when we switched places and it was always surprising when I discovered my penis. Seriously, what the fuck.
Sometimes, you really can make a perfect cup of coffee…
Well, this is it. My last moments in my little, midget-cabin haven. This is always the hard part; rejoining the world with all its noise, brightness, smells, and people. I always say that next time I’ll do it for 30 days instead of 10. But I think that if I do that I’ll probably have a breakdown when I return. It really is quite overwhelming to be amongst people after been in isolation for a time. I became dizzy while out in Brainerd, and that’s only after 3 days of no external stimulation.
Well, this is it. My last moments in my little, midget-cabin haven. This is always the hard part; rejoining the world with all its noise, brightness, smells, and people. I always say that next time I’ll do it for 30 days instead of 10. But I think that if I do that I’ll probably have a breakdown when I return. It really is quite overwhelming to be amongst people after been in isolation for a time. I became dizzy while out in Brainerd, and that’s only after 3 days of no external stimulation.
We are exposed to all this technology sprouting and growing at amazing rates and we are not evolving at the same pace it is evolving. This is problematic for us. It takes a toll in our psyche and physical health. Living things, human beings included, evolve slowly over millennia at times. Comparatively, technology has developed in the same amount of time a takes a neuron to synapse in the human brain. Our systems are simply not equipped to handle the speed at which the technologically driven world around moving. I remember a time before televisions were a commonplace. I remember walking for hours to the local phone company to make a long-distance call our family in the US. I remember a time when most people did not have a phone installed in their home and a car was a luxury reserved for those who had the ability to save for them. I also remember a time when people truly engaged one another. When we didn’t shut ourselves to the world around us and engaged with it through a screen because that was more comfortable and expedient than taking the time to invite friends for dinner or coffee. I struggle in the world of relationships bereft of substance with conversations about the weather and traffic or some other topic of little consequence. My soul is deeply bruised by the lack of generosity and indifference we afford one another. I feel great shame when I find myself engaging in judgmental and inauspicious practices. It is insidiously addictive, this unkindness with which we treat one another. This is our quotidian experience, not random occurrences. Aside from the external stimulation, this is what makes it the most difficult for me to rejoin the world. I come back full of insightful revelations that allow me to experience joy and peace and am faced with disgruntled, hurried, people whose palpable annoyance disheartens me as it infects me. I don’t want to talk about the fucking weather. All these things and more are what stimulates me to enjoy my own company so much more than that of others. I want to know how you truly are and if I can give you comfort, encouragement, or uplift you in some kind of way. It is no wonder that I have not experienced one single hot flash while here until immediately after I started mental notes in bed about packing and going back.
∞
Parting lessons…
Always pack your vibrator first.
Change the towels last
I don’t care how much of an Atheist you are, or if your Catholic school experience was for three months or one year, when you are making a bed that the nuns are going to see, you make that bed fucking perfect. Those fucking nun pinches are for life!
Don’t leave frozen potatoes on the porch once you discover them… you never know when the weather will change, and you’ll end up with disgusting potato goo to clean up.
You will ALWAYS lose a glove or a sock.
When you are all done packing you will find one thing that should have gone at the bottom of your bag. The internal debate on whether or not it is worth repacking is quite stressful and you will always regret whichever way you went.
Conversely, you will realize that you packed your comb or brush god knows where and your decision now is: Do I want to look like a banshee or wear a winter cap.
You don’t always have to follow Word’s grammatical suggestions. You can be your own person and decide how you want to fucking write! However, do know the difference between the words then and than, their, they’re, and there, and regardless and irregardless (hint, one of them doesn’t exist). You don’t want to be annoying.
Be kind to yourself when you pack the refrigerator stuff and find shit you forgot you’d brought, like let’s say… the second quart of half-n-half.
Walmart blue, reusable shopping bags are worthless pieces of shit and suck ass.
Be aware that, regardless of how small or light an object is when you drop it on the nail of your big toe, it is traveling at 9.8 meters per second, squared. Therefore, it will ALWAYS hurt like a motherfucker… gravity ain’t no joke, yo.
You are very welcome.
Well, this is it. I’ve packed everything and I’m ready to walk out the door. All that is left is this wonderful piece of technological wonder that has kept me company for the past ten days. Sometimes, technology is pretty cool.
See you on the other side!
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