Meditation
Jul. 27th, 2005 07:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormI think I'm over two years with this journal now, very definitely over a year and a half. The information is in my userinfo, but I don't want to look it up right now. Having this information at my fingertips, having dates and things that have happened to me, is an odd feeling. Until this, I had mostly created my past as I went along. Dates would skew in my mind, events would slide around, interpretations would shift, and the thing I reached into was in the end a construct. It still is; this is why I don't read my journal much, and when I do I only go back a year or more. Still, the hard evidence here makes for less of that. It makes for more precision, for more care, for the feeling that my past is riding me like a backpack.
I went out and watered my tomatoes today. I love to water them by hand (Juggler said, I think you have a greenhouse just so you need to water things) by hose sans sprinkler head, letting the water slide down under the mulch and just disappear, carrying bucketfuls to the far end where the hose can't reach. I love my tomatoes. There's a smell to them, slightly different with each type of plant, and a different growth habit to different plants as well. Black plum is a generous huge bushy plant, speckled roman is oddly curled under, sungold is sprawly, it goes on. Brandywine has huge sunflower-like (relatively) flowers, sungold has tiny neat ones. I have fruit set out there, on Sungold (some of which are ripe), on black plum, and on speckled roman.
The plants up against the fence, where they get the most sun (?) are the biggest, with the ones in the middle the bushiest, and the ones on the edge a tiny bit blight-y (sigh). I picked off the blighty leaves, no more watering with a sprinkler at all. Today was ant day-- the ants were taking flight all over, and it sounded like rain on the greenhouse as they bumped into the plastic all over.
The greenhouse is pretty wonderful. It feels like home.
I was feeling all thoughtful earlier, and I still am, but... suddenly not very verbal. It always happens this way, as I have said ad infinitum. When I'm in transit, my mind is in thinking mode. My best writing is done on airplanes. When I'm home, I'm in existing mode, I'm not traversing the distance between thoughts so much as being in them. I should send off a cheque for that paid account this month.
This is a very strange day for me, all things considered. I'm still bleeding, and all these weird female menstrual things are happening to me for the first time in years. My nipples hurt like you wouldn'[t believe (which is kind of nice in some ways), my mood swings are bizarre, I'm all giggly and girly, I dunno. Cramps I can deal with. My personality changing all the time is disconcerting, though. Where's the me? Although to tie this in with paragraph 1, I've really changed in the last year and a half. Where's the me there either? I was talking to Kynnin awhile ago, and I told him that we're like trees: we keep adding, with the old person beneath, sometimes overhsadowed and outmassed by new canopy, by young leaves and young branches and new growth-rings. Do I believe that? I think so.
I'm also kind of distancing. I'd been very close to Juggler for awhile there, and now I've got this (comparatively) big relationship hiatus. People are becoming more fun when they're distant, friends-and-flirting, but I'm also a little lonely in here. I think it might be about time for another skin-shed, for another round of meeting people and soaking up new experiences. I feel kind of impatient waiting for the people I know right now, when my own life is changing and going on so rapidly and we've no catch-up time.
There's an interesting thought. I haven't had any of those deep, intense, buzzy-meeting-someone-new intimate exchanges for awhile. I don't really like them anymore, odd how many things that were my lifeblood I've grown out of. I find actions are becoming more important to me than words -- I get to know a person by seeing what they do, rather than listening to what they say to me in a short period of time. Is this growth? What I do like is the old familiar exchanges, but that leads me to some problematic places in a couple of instances. Juggler's good, we will settle back to normal after August is done; Trevor's right where he's always been, which is the best thing ever; but things with Kynnin are weird as ever. I find myself missing a close friend from high school named Nadean Smith, she's the person who introduced me to Van Morrison. She went off to New Zealand, and we lost touch. Things didn't drift away, or go bad, they just stopped.
I'm also a little reverse-nostalgic. I get this way sometimes. I remember, when Kynnin and I first lived together, sharing a room in a shared townhouse, that I lay on the bed one day and thought, someday I'll look back and remember lying here with Kynnin on the computer and think this is where it all started. I had, of course, no clue that I'd ever not be with Kynnin. That feeling that I had then, that was nostalgia from a projected future, and I feel nostalgia for all the friends I'm making now and how we'll look back. I hope things don't turn out as they did with Kynnin.
This is just me talking. You can tell I haven't been talking to people much, can't you? Because here I sit, just talking to you, like I'd normally talk to anyone except that I haven't been lately. I don't know when conversation ran out of my life, it really is like sand slipping through your fingers until you realise it isn't there. This will change. When I was five and in kindergarden the teacher wrote on my report card, 'Greenie's very smart, but she needs to socialise less and stop interrupting the other children'. It's strange to think I went so many years quietly, when this is so much a part of who I am.
I notice, too, that when I don't read I write. It's as if I need to words to come somehow, and it doesn't matter whether they're coming in or out.
Oh, man, but it feels good to *talk* like this. My guess is that at least oen of you will read it to the end, and that makes me happy, because I'm talking, somehow, to someone who cares. I mean, maybe you care in a bored sort of way, but you're not trapped and smiling just cause we're in physical proximity. And, you know, if you don't... I'm talking to myself, and that's kind of nice too. I make a good audience and an interesting speaker to myself.
For now, though, I'll close and rest. I think I can rest now, mentally. Food, chatting online, rat-cage cleaning-- these are rest.
Be well.
I went out and watered my tomatoes today. I love to water them by hand (Juggler said, I think you have a greenhouse just so you need to water things) by hose sans sprinkler head, letting the water slide down under the mulch and just disappear, carrying bucketfuls to the far end where the hose can't reach. I love my tomatoes. There's a smell to them, slightly different with each type of plant, and a different growth habit to different plants as well. Black plum is a generous huge bushy plant, speckled roman is oddly curled under, sungold is sprawly, it goes on. Brandywine has huge sunflower-like (relatively) flowers, sungold has tiny neat ones. I have fruit set out there, on Sungold (some of which are ripe), on black plum, and on speckled roman.
The plants up against the fence, where they get the most sun (?) are the biggest, with the ones in the middle the bushiest, and the ones on the edge a tiny bit blight-y (sigh). I picked off the blighty leaves, no more watering with a sprinkler at all. Today was ant day-- the ants were taking flight all over, and it sounded like rain on the greenhouse as they bumped into the plastic all over.
The greenhouse is pretty wonderful. It feels like home.
I was feeling all thoughtful earlier, and I still am, but... suddenly not very verbal. It always happens this way, as I have said ad infinitum. When I'm in transit, my mind is in thinking mode. My best writing is done on airplanes. When I'm home, I'm in existing mode, I'm not traversing the distance between thoughts so much as being in them. I should send off a cheque for that paid account this month.
This is a very strange day for me, all things considered. I'm still bleeding, and all these weird female menstrual things are happening to me for the first time in years. My nipples hurt like you wouldn'[t believe (which is kind of nice in some ways), my mood swings are bizarre, I'm all giggly and girly, I dunno. Cramps I can deal with. My personality changing all the time is disconcerting, though. Where's the me? Although to tie this in with paragraph 1, I've really changed in the last year and a half. Where's the me there either? I was talking to Kynnin awhile ago, and I told him that we're like trees: we keep adding, with the old person beneath, sometimes overhsadowed and outmassed by new canopy, by young leaves and young branches and new growth-rings. Do I believe that? I think so.
I'm also kind of distancing. I'd been very close to Juggler for awhile there, and now I've got this (comparatively) big relationship hiatus. People are becoming more fun when they're distant, friends-and-flirting, but I'm also a little lonely in here. I think it might be about time for another skin-shed, for another round of meeting people and soaking up new experiences. I feel kind of impatient waiting for the people I know right now, when my own life is changing and going on so rapidly and we've no catch-up time.
There's an interesting thought. I haven't had any of those deep, intense, buzzy-meeting-someone-new intimate exchanges for awhile. I don't really like them anymore, odd how many things that were my lifeblood I've grown out of. I find actions are becoming more important to me than words -- I get to know a person by seeing what they do, rather than listening to what they say to me in a short period of time. Is this growth? What I do like is the old familiar exchanges, but that leads me to some problematic places in a couple of instances. Juggler's good, we will settle back to normal after August is done; Trevor's right where he's always been, which is the best thing ever; but things with Kynnin are weird as ever. I find myself missing a close friend from high school named Nadean Smith, she's the person who introduced me to Van Morrison. She went off to New Zealand, and we lost touch. Things didn't drift away, or go bad, they just stopped.
I'm also a little reverse-nostalgic. I get this way sometimes. I remember, when Kynnin and I first lived together, sharing a room in a shared townhouse, that I lay on the bed one day and thought, someday I'll look back and remember lying here with Kynnin on the computer and think this is where it all started. I had, of course, no clue that I'd ever not be with Kynnin. That feeling that I had then, that was nostalgia from a projected future, and I feel nostalgia for all the friends I'm making now and how we'll look back. I hope things don't turn out as they did with Kynnin.
This is just me talking. You can tell I haven't been talking to people much, can't you? Because here I sit, just talking to you, like I'd normally talk to anyone except that I haven't been lately. I don't know when conversation ran out of my life, it really is like sand slipping through your fingers until you realise it isn't there. This will change. When I was five and in kindergarden the teacher wrote on my report card, 'Greenie's very smart, but she needs to socialise less and stop interrupting the other children'. It's strange to think I went so many years quietly, when this is so much a part of who I am.
I notice, too, that when I don't read I write. It's as if I need to words to come somehow, and it doesn't matter whether they're coming in or out.
Oh, man, but it feels good to *talk* like this. My guess is that at least oen of you will read it to the end, and that makes me happy, because I'm talking, somehow, to someone who cares. I mean, maybe you care in a bored sort of way, but you're not trapped and smiling just cause we're in physical proximity. And, you know, if you don't... I'm talking to myself, and that's kind of nice too. I make a good audience and an interesting speaker to myself.
For now, though, I'll close and rest. I think I can rest now, mentally. Food, chatting online, rat-cage cleaning-- these are rest.
Be well.
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 03:43 am (UTC)Also, I know when I think things are changing in my life too rapidly, I remember that the 'me' is a constantly changing thing, sometimes. I delight in that exploration and maturation. Sometimes. ;)
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 03:47 am (UTC)What bothers me is when there's something wrong with the dynamic. I don't like not gliding effortlessly against people.
I found the centre somewhere, somewhere in the last year even. I've called it, in my writing, the Rock at the Centre of the Universe. It's my 'me', and whatever change happens doesn't leave me as lost as it used to. Still, reading back-- wow! That's amazing! That's ...*me*...?
Re(a)d Thoughts
Date: 2005-07-28 03:47 am (UTC)Funny, your period has come, and mine has stopped. I miss the flow, perhaps what it symbolizes. I still get the mild mood shifts but they have no place of relevance to me now and so I have a hard time understanding they are happening for hormonal reasons. With bleeding, they made sense together.
Re: Re(a)d Thoughts
Date: 2005-07-28 03:51 am (UTC)I didn't miss mine while it was gone, and I'm happy to have it back. I noticed when I was on depo I got sad and upset towards the end of the shot, so it was linked to something cyclic at least. I also found that things like sleep, and eating right, where more important then.
It is strange, though. Even with the bleeding it's senseless, to me. Explained, but senseless.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 07:07 am (UTC)I tend to alternate between thinking I'm the same person I was ten years ago and knowing I've changed a lot. And really, they're both correct, in different ways.
I've been lamenting the loss of my youth and school days recently. Or I had been, until I got to Seattle. It feels odd, though, to know you'll never be somewhere again... until you realize that you'll never be at any moment again, and every day is lost forever when the next one arrives.
It's a sobering thought indeed.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 03:44 pm (UTC)I've always been very aware of time going past, of things being irreversibly gone. All that's left is that construct of what you think happened...
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 04:21 pm (UTC)Nothing Twice - Wislawa Szymborska
Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice.
Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once.
No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with exactly the same kisses.
One day, perhaps, some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent.
The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock?
Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow.
With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 04:54 pm (UTC)