At the Foot of the Stairs

I don't know what to write about. I realize I haven't been here for awhile. I could write about the day I spent 6 hours cleaning my house. Or the great dinner party we had that night. Or I could write about the grant I'm writing, and how intimidated I am by budgets. Or, I could write about the contract that is ending in May, and how my nonchalance about it borders on irresponsibility. I finished The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo . I read a crap book during the time it took Amazon to send me the next book in the series, and then, last night, began reading The Girl Who Played With Fire . I am obsessed with Lisbeth Salander , even though the only person I discuss her with is my father. He recommended the books. I want to go to Sweden and be a writer now. Salander is NOT, by the way, a writer in Sweden. She is a goth computer hacker with a harrowing past. But if living in Sweden (and smoking 60 cigarettes a day, by the way, which killed him before he could write all ten book

Bah. I'm tired today and a little emotional-- probably hormonal. I can tell I'm starting to make mountains out of molehills, so I am trying to nip these little thought loops in the bud. Sometimes I am a big fan of being a masochist, and making myself upset by the little stories I tell myself. Stories that either used to be true, and now aren't; aren't a big deal; or just are not true at all. There is a group run (for Kirksville Multisport) this evening at 5:30. I know Carol would like to do it, but she was also looking last night for people who run at her pace-- which is significantly faster during races than mine. So, that means I'm looking at a 6.5 mile run by myself-- or alone in a crowd of people who run faster than I do. I think I'm going to give her a call, but I'll probably run earlier today by myself just so I can clear some cobwebs. I am feeling a little twitchy, like I should get outside and move my body before I can concentrate on thinking work.

Where I left off... I was so angry about my keyboard last night that I just got off the Internets and went to bed to read. Today, I tried to re-install my keyboard drivers. Fail. Then, I discovered that Dell customer support is via chat-- if you want to have it via phone, you have to pay for the privilege. So, I opted for chat. The representative took temporary control over my computer, and downloaded a new touchpad driver (after uninstalling the old one), and that seems to have fixed the problem. Of course, with my bad luck with laptops, I immediately assumed that I was at fault for the keyboard's wacky behavior. Fortunately, I was not. Still, as Dereck said, you shouldn't have faulty drivers on a brand new computer. I don't care though. The problem is fixed. And it is turning out that using a PC is sort of like riding a bike. I am remembering how to do this. Though for some reason, I was just typing in Facebook in response to a message, and my keyboard is starting to

Nope, haven't quit the Internets. Haven't quit blogging either. When I slow down in content here, it's a safe bet that my writing energies are focused elsewhere. They have been last week, so I have found that writing to be engaging enough that I haven't really needed another forum or outlet for it-- sorry! I have been having some interesting conversations about truth and honesty lately, also happiness and intelligence. I imagine that some people would argue that if you are truly intelligent, you would find the answer to happiness. But the only people I can really imagine saying that are sage, white-haired movie protagonists. Most of the people I know struggle with it. We compare anti-depressant prescriptions. We speak rather matter-of-factly about our depression and the ongoing role it plays in our lives. We wonder whether happiness itself is possible or over rated or why it remains so elusive to *us.* One concept I have been introduced to recently comes from Brad Bl

You can try to hold it stand in the rain all day hands cupped, head up, mouth open you can even see sun standing in that rain and the drops will hit your face arms and slide down til they fall to the ground The rain in your mouth sinks in. You taste before you can swallow. It sinks into your tongue, becomes part of you or part of waters your body can make.

One of my college buddies is breaking up with the Internets. He writes about it here . I'm sorely tempted to do the same thing. I did stop blogging for a long time, and I was fine with that. However, I have discovered that when I don't blog, I do not write. I admire his chutzpah. He notes, significantly, that he is getting a divorce from the online world. The thing that holds me back from the same thing is that I think it might actually be as painful as getting a divorce. And I am grieving enough these days. But perhaps not if I kept the email door open...

The tears surprise her when she pours her coffee, fills the tub. Twice she presses hands against salted sea-blue eyes: once for her grief, then once more for his. *Diana, this is the last. 

Another pome: This one has two versions: Valentine no apples fall from these fallow trees, my branches ache in their empty poses reaching upward, frozen I have no honey words to drip into ears plugged from years spent in closed underwater spaces winter briskness slows life to cold isolation silent stillness puffs of white air we breathe in, out In February moonlight I can give you this: one hand on your face, one at your waist, your shaven neck my frosty mouth ____________________________________________________________ Valentine In February moonlight I can give you this: one hand on your face, one at your waist, my frosty mouth, your shaven neck I have no melted whispers to drip into ears plugged from years spent in closed underwater spaces winter briskness slows life to silent stillness puffs of white air smoke we breathe in

Earlier today, I got an email from a friend that made me realize that I'm writing this blog in shorthand sometimes. I [ erroneous monkly ] think that everyone has not only read Jenorama, but that you also realize when I am referencing things from 2008 . Oops. I do this with Dereck frequently, and I often find myself saying, "Oh, you mean you can't read my mind?" I find that inconvenient. However, I am willing to admit it is not his failing. I often also find myself saying, "For someone who earns a living communicating, how do I manage to do this so badly ?" Obviously, I need an editor. But I would rather have a housekeeper. I also expect you  as, y'all or you all, not only to understand that the word erroneous above reminded me of Thelonius Monk , because the words rhyme (except for the "r" and the "l" of course, unless you are my friend John, in which case, they *do* rhyme perfectly), but I further expect you to then make the j

I am half-way through working on a manuscript, and I am literally nodding off, drooping over my computer. I went to bed at a reasonable hour last night. I got up around 7 a.m. because Christian spent the night with his father last night-- so no insulin or finger pricks this morning. However, I am dismally tired. I've been a little headachy the past couple of days (and today) and sluggish, very tired, so I haven't been running. I would really like to run today, but I think I am going to have to take a nap this morning just to get through the rest of my day. I think I am fighting off a little bug. I know there is one going around (when isn't there?). It could also just be exhaustion from an emotionally draining weekend. Even though I run and I'm feeling a lot better these days, I am still not very resilient. Don't have what my ex used to call that "hearty peasant stock" constitution. I am a delicate flower. (That is an inside joke: My father always used to t

on occasion it has come to me you know me well enough some have traveled far to get here all I do who have always been here is stand it is hard to count the matches on the shore I know they are there because I am looking for all my pretended wisdom I am not calm it does not then become easy to mold myself to the present is astonishing

This weekend was so brutal that I felt fairly crushed under the weight of it. I can tell when depression is settling in for a visit when I stop feeling that I have anything to look forward to. So, when I was on the plane today, I decided to figure out what I still need to do with my life. I have to admit, I do feel better now. Here is my Bucket List, which I hope is a work in progress: Maintain my close relationship with my kids. Give them whatever support for their growth and endeavors I can, while being able to be true to myself and what I would like to do with the next stage of my life. Be good to my husband and help us both continue to grow and develop in the ways we seek. Get my PhD in Creative Writing. I want the body of work I will have at the end of it. Go to Alaska and see glaciers and bears. Seriously. I need to see a bear. And hopefully survive it. Go camping in the wilderness there, spend some time. Go white water rafting again Go skiing again Go snow-shoeing and