I’ve been intending to post for the past week and a half, but as usual, the stuff I wanted to post about needed to be written down and you know I didn’t do that. I’m an unfaithful writer. But I’m getting there, and I look forward to taking the advice I’ve been offered – so who knows, maybe I’ll become a bonafide writer after all.
I am trying to arrive at a point that at the very least begins to speak to one of the issues plaguing my mind at this time. So consider the following. They’re recent horoscopes that I’ve received. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been rather amazed (not stupefied, just amazed) at how timely horoscopes turn out to be (most of the time). No, I don’t read them to begin my day, because I feel that doing so would cause me to consider the ‘scope in my subconscious, thereby threatening to alter the choices I’d make under otherwise normal circumstances. (As indecisive as I am, I do like to believe that free will still works for me.) Anyway, I usually don’t get to the ‘scope until the end of my day, and I’m often bemused at the results.
The following are a couple of the ones I received after days where I had peculiar feelings …
It may be confusing because you might not be able to control your desires -- and they can pull you away from your previous commitments. There are days when you can build the road as well as travel along it. Today, however, is a day to explore off the beaten path. Give yourself permission to wander, knowing that you'll be back on the highway heading toward your destination in just a few days.
This one was from one day about two weeks ago, right before I was due to return home. In all the worrying about my mother’s status, I found myself feeling rather chained to my work. It had to be done, this work, because … well … that’s generally the case wherever work is involved – one has to finish it.
Mentally, however, my mind was beyond elsewhere; it was beyond the desire to be home, to be next to my mother, to be among family, and it was definitely beyond work-related tasks. I sensed a return to auto-pilot, this dangerous place where work gets finished, but where I’ve no recollection of doing it; where my heart beats just because and where my body calls out for rest and my soul answers, yes please and hurry up.
There is little rest for the weary these days though. I intended to post about the drive Down South and regale you with tales of mundane, cyclical-to-the-point-of-hilarity conversations. I wanted to give you a slight glimpse of how crazy my family is in a condensed version of this 12 hour voyage. But every time I pulled out my pen and journal, my gran had to say something about this secret lover she swears I’ve got and how a woman should never trust her thoughts and desires to a book and how I need to get out and meet more people and stop being all up in books – ‘they can only carry you so far, you know. Hell you’ve got a degree, you ain’t gonna find no man in no book.
Sometimes I think she seriously believes my life’s quest is to find a man. And I know that if and when this does happen she’ll ante up on me and be like, he’s a bastard. Wait and see. I am tellin’ you now, and I’ll tell you again then when you see. Men are _____. (You pick something not peachy and stick it in the blank.) Then I think she doubts that this is my quest, but by mentioning it she seems to be urging me to re-prioritize. If I wear a skirt, I’m trying to catch some man. A tank top is a sure way to catch one as far as she’s concerned … and don’t let me fix my hair because that’s another way I’m luring someone. And I swear to the goodness, that while we were home I made a comment about how hot it was (something along the lines of, Good gawd it’s hot as hell. I can’t stand this heat) and she tried to play it off like what I’d really said was that I was in heat. Madness.
I love her, but man, oh man, she is fidna drive me crazy.
I also wanted to tell you about how it felt to see my mom asleep in a hospital bed, tubed up, lying there asleep in the wee, small hours of the morning, looking like the little girl she used to be. I meant to give you a play-by-play account of what happened when I touched her arm, she blinked and focused on my face and smiled. How when I said, “I’m home, Mama,” in all her weariness, she reached out to hold me and squeezed me as hard as she could – even on the right side the stroke had weakened.
I had this commentary about what it meant to be “going Down South” meant to me this time. How all my life I’d heard my relatives from Philly, Detroit, Connecticut and Canada talk about the feeling of going Down South, of going home. I didn’t realize I’d said it until my uncle called me on it. He said, oh yeah, Miss New Yawk is comin’ home. He seemed proud to drive me back, which was sweet. Then I realized I was in a car with people who viewed me as being from Up North, which just struck me as funny. Especially since no one who’s from Up North could ever make such a statement in truth when referring to me. The things I previously associated with being a Northerner don’t fully apply to me: I don’t walk any faster; I don’t talk fast at all - I’ve spent too much time mimicking people to have a real, grounded accent; I’m not making big money; my clothes aren’t any flashier; I’ve no arsenal of designer duds or bags … I do swear at slow drivers (still). I don’t like tourists (no more bless their hearts; now I just want them to effin’ move). Fuck gets used more frequently (way more frequently). I no longer feel obligated to divulge the fact that I have a Baptist background (as opposed to making distinctions between Methodists, Presbyterians and the like).
There was just one horoscope there, and we wandered a bit off the beaten path, but now it’s time to move on to other destinations …
7.26.05 - Doing something new and different at the home today can give you a sense of relaxation and renewal -- and you need the diversion with all the stress you've been experiencing. Still, this isn't about escape; it's about recuperation. Ultimately, you must face your most formidable dilemma head-on.
I still haven’t done this. I feel like I constantly welcome diversions, and they’re all for escape purposes. I don’t know if I have time for recuperation. I’d like to have time for it, but I’m sure I’ve discussed how short weekends are, and evenings after work are way shorter, so basically, what does recuperation even mean and how am I s’posed to experience that exactly?
7.27.05 - Sanity returns to your life as things mellow out, giving you a chance to catch your breath. If possible, do something nice for yourself. Don't worry if you are not productive, for this is not as important today. In the long run it won't make a difference. What does matter is that you feed your spirit now with relaxation and fun.
Hmmm, does sanity equal work?! This here posting is the nice thing I’m doing for myself. I feel better already (which is usually just the trick!). Thank goodness productivity wasn’t important today, because there wasn’t much of that to be found anywhere near my desk. I mean I got stuff done, sure, but it definitely wasn’t one of those days where I was buzzing. This was much more of a drone day. And by the way, there’s no real sequence in this post or the one that’s to come.