winter of hibernating

Eeek!  Another sub-zero day in Chicago.  I want nothing more today than to go for a long walk.  At least five miles.  Maybe more.  Ten sounds even better.  But it's freezing.  So I will enjoy yet another leisurely day at home.  I've been organizing and purging old stuff, getting ready for a move.  The 'creative self' doesn't always feel inspired, so it is resting again today.  Writing disciplines have attempted a regular, steady schedule, but again: No Inspiration.  All of the confusion in my life makes me stare at an empty page.

I had a horrible dream the other night that I couldn't move my legs.  I tried to get out of bed and I was stuck.  It probably signifies something like 'feeling emotionally vulnerable.'  Being stifled by emotions, you know, all that usual stuff.  

I have flashbacks sometimes of moments when 'mania' crippled me.  Specifically, I felt an overwhelming sensation of being under surveillance.  I was assured by doctors and family members that it was all 'in my head' and that it was part of a psychosis.  But I specifically remember interactions with other real, live humans during those 'episodes' and thinking to myself 'uh, this is not a natural conversation.'  I felt poked, prodded, judged, loathed and felt violently ill.  I remember not eating for days and nerves taking over my body.  And then I would wind up in the hospital again to only be fed loads of medications all over again.

I don't know what can be done to rid oneself of flashbacks like these.  I keep myself busy at work and don't have time to let my mind wander.  I fill my mind with books and movies so I can immerse myself in other people's worlds they have created so I don't have to be preoccupied with mine.  And music.  Music stills my mind.

I gots the fever

Despite getting a flu shot this year, I've been hit with a fever.

TRAVEL FEVER that is.  I wanna go somewhere.

I'm happy I was able to travel a bit when I actually had paid time off.  I went around the U S of A a bit.  I adventured in Paris and Normandy and the Alps.  I voyaged to Londontown and Wales and the Lake District.

I also wandered this strange little place called Manchester.  I met a Mancunian man in a galaxy far, far away and he showed me around his hometown.  I came very close to MOVING there.  But life happened and things got in the way.  You know that whole c'est la vie thing and all that.

But I still reminisce about that grey little town.  There was a particular familiar feeling I had in that town, not really knowing what it quite was.  A sort of déjà vu perhaps.  Or was it a blending of arts and music painting a familiar imagery for me?   I really don't know, but maybe it's more than coincidence that much of my favorite music is from Manchester, UK.

I am reading Morrissey's autobiography right now, and just 50 pages into it, I feel a sense of familiarity as he describes a drab Dickensian landscape.   I can't quite put my finger on it or place the right set of words to explain those who connect with melancholia from time to time.  It's like it's a 'place' that one sometimes travels to naturally.  And sometimes you cross paths with another who has been to that peculiar dark place.....just like it's a random town in the world you've both stumbled upon by accident...

I would love to physically travel to more new towns where I can stumble upon a different, new landscape.  There's so much more world for me to see.

well i ventured out into the frozen urban tundra this morning.

and i had to turn around and head straight back home.

now the furnace is broken at work, too.  i got there early and UH-OH.  the thermostat read 30 degrees.  the mop and bucket was frozen over and i almost slipped on the ice that had formed on our beautiful hardwood floors.

good thing i had called off the other morning employee the night before.  i had told her not to come in to save some payroll hours and i doubted there were would be too many customers strolling in.  the HVAC guy was out on several other calls and wasn't able to make it in for the repair for another three hours.  so home i went.

it was still -10 this morning.  i wore the following:

fleece-lined tights
long underwear
pants
two pairs of wool socks
waterproof, lined tall boots
two undershirts
a long sleeve tunic
a cardigan
a down jacket
a pair of gloves COVERED with a pair of mittens
a fur hat with ear flaps
a scarf tied around my face so only my eyes were exposed

will i get to work tomorrow?  i dunno.  i hope so cause i don't want to think about my lousy upcoming paycheck.

i stopped by the library on my way home and stocked up on more movies.  my apartment still isn't the warmest.  inside my apartment i am wearing the following:

long underwear
two pairs of wool socks
hello kitty slippers
flannel pajama bottoms
three shirts
fingerless gloves
and when i'm not up and about, i am on the couch with two fleecy blankets

yeah, this kinda sucks.  no sugar-coating that.  but i suppose it could always be worse.  right?

it's been twenty years....

Happy October.  My brother is in Europe and I am sitting back in the Midwestern United States of America arranging all his meetings with our family in France.  Mon oncle Marcel has left us, and I am so sad I was unable to see him one last time.  My family in France is half of my heart, and the distance is a little less severe with technology and international texting, but when those big life moments come up...je suis si triste.

I've been yanked by others on facebook to start coordinating our 20 year high school reunion.  I can't decide if it's something I want to do.  It might be nice to see where everyone's lives have taken them, but there are a few, well okay ONE person I do not want to see.  Stupid first boyfriend.  When I look back at high school, it was actually rather dark.  He was crazy, manic depressive, violent.  Makes me shudder to think back at certain moments.  And while it all happened over twenty friggin years ago, it took me quite some time to come to terms with those first experiences with 'love.'  So I guess as long as HE doesn't show up, I'll go.  Or not.  I just don't know.  I have the GOOD things from high school still in my life....very much alive and present and joyous.  My best girlfriends, my BFFs I think is what you call those gals....and my high school art teacher.  I get together with her every so often.  All these years later her critiques of my A-/B+ art projects live on as I sit at each canvas.  Funny how those people become part of your lives forever and ever.  Our graduating class is quite something.  Nearly 300 out of a class of 394 have expressed interest.  We are scattered across the USA and our Homecoming Queen is living in Casablanca.  A pair of high school sweethearts moved to LA after graduating and both are now retired porn stars.  Some are already grandparents.  Some are aspiring actors, housewives, veterinarians, engineers, teachers, tattoo artists, journalists, nurses and so on and so forth.  Me, I'm just me.  Shopgirl who rides lots of buses and wears her headphones as her best companion.  I dunno, we shall see where these reunion plans take us.  I guess I have a little time to think about it.

Oh, high school.  The Beastie Boys, Kurt Cobain's death, alternative music, scandalous high school news stories that made Chicago news, Madame N'est-ce Pas, red slushies and waffle fries for lunch, gossip, sharing lockers, riding the bus for an hour, running around in cornfields, first jobs at the mall, hanging out at Denny's.  Crazy that two decades have past. 

turquoise

I experienced a strange day today.  Still getting used to my commute two days a week to a new suburb, I've been playing around with all the different public transport routes.  And sometimes they are disastrous.  Or maybe not.  Depends how you look at it, n'est-ce pas?

I SWEAR I read the train schedule last night and saw there was a 9:48 train.  So the Mr. drives me a few miles across town to the stop and I stand at the platform and wait.  And wait.  And wait.

An elderly grandmother walks up to me, as I was the only person standing at the platform, and asks me if I've seen her granddaughter get off the last train.  It was a scorcher, and I was sitting in the shaded hut sweating like a pig while trying to fan myself.  I told her there were quite a few folks who got off the last train and wasn't too sure if her granddaughter was one of them.  She saw me sweating and asked me if I wanted to sit with her in her air-conditioned car to wait for the train.  I assured her I'd be fine (not wanting to go into the details with a complete stranger how my medication makes me sweat profusely) and she wandered off to look for her.  A few minutes later a young girl new to the city asked me if she was standing on the right platform for the outbound.  I told her yes, and that it seemed like the train was late.  She then informs me that there is not another train for over an hour.  WHA!?!?  I immediately panicked.  Of course, I check the schedule again on my phone and I had erroneously (or subconsciously?) added an extra 9:48 train in my head.  The Mr. turned back around and drove alllll the way back to pick me up and drive me to work so I wouldn't be late.  I walked with the new girl and asked her if she was going to wait for an hour at the platform.  She was unfamiliar with the area and I pointed out a nice cool coffee shop for her to wait.  She thanked me, I thanked her, and we were on our way.

As I walked down to the street again, the grandmother was still walking around with her cane looking for her granddaughter fifteen minutes later.  Some weird strange force compelled me to look a block away, across the street and pointed, "Is that her sitting over there by the diner?"  The grandmother's panic turned to surprise and I walked a few difficult steps with her to the corner and she exclaimed, 'That's her!  You found her!' and continued to thank me profusely for being there to help her.

So somehow it was a little slab of destiny or whathaveyou that guided me there to that platform at that particular time.  I ended up getting to work with fifteen minutes to spare, just enough time to slam down an iced mocha, but broke two fingernails within minutes of being there.  Weird.  And it was busy busy buzzing all day so the day fleeeew by...

But the commute home was a two-hour one.  I came home to stare at the canvas I painted turquoise yesterday.  I was trying to watch a documentary about autism that I picked up at the library but for some reason I kept looking over at that turquoise I painted yesterday.  What is it about that color that grabs me?  I'm sure any qualified color theorist would have a quick answer.  But I stared at it for so long that I am having trouble picking up another color to complete the third part of a five-piece set I have been working on.  I dunno.  I guess the right time will appear again and I will just know when to continue on...

here comes peter cottontail...

The countdown to vacation begins and it can't get here soon enough.  Sometimes a break from it all is the only prescription for doledrum.  I have been congested all week due to the weather, a cold, allergies, whathaveyou and irritability got the best of me when a small song research project for a lazy (and-in-a-hurry) customer resulted not in a sale, but a "oh wow-how did you find that? can you write that down so I can get it at the library?"  So rude!  That's like not leaving a tip for your server.  I wanted to clobber her or at least poke a pin to her plastic surgery face or something of this nature.  So uncharacteristic of me but it's true!  19 days til vacation!

I watched the film Italian For Beginners and it was a delightful jaunt down memory lane to my own personal recollection of taking Italian classes in college.  It was a low-budget funny camera swirling of hardships and life stories bringing together an eclectic group of characters and all the romantic hiccups that followed.  I took Italian at 8am for a semester in 1997 alongside a global group of music majors all learning to perfect their Verdi and Puccini.  Strange things transpired with a flirty Italian teacher named Franco and the melodramatic cancellation of our celebratory "arrivederci" dinner at the finale of the class.  Ah, the stuff quirky foreign films are made of.  I think I may go on an Italian film binge soon...

Keeping up with my brother in NYC this Easter weekend, he led my radar to Testament of Mary and I'm anxious to download the e-book at work tomorrow and later discuss his viewing of the play he watched tonight.  I've always felt an affinity for the subject, in ways which words cannot convey, and I am eager to be thought-provoked.   To be continued...

I wish you a Joyeuses Paques.  Peace....

back from the dead

Wow.  I haven't logged on in almost a year!  I bought one of those daily writing journals to try and habitually write at least a little each day.  But I can assure you there are many many MANY empty pages.  I also came up with the greatest first paragraph of my book I've wanted to write for over ten years now.  But I can't come up with the second paragraph.  Ho-Hum.

The year has been a rather uneventful one.  I'm still taking lots of pills and going to bed early.  I miss the energy I once had.  Seems it all ran out too soon.

I did two cartwheels at work yesterday. 

So I guess that's something...

atmosphere & a return

i am looking forward to returning to an ordinary life come Monday.  being on medical leave for mind predicaments is not what one might imagine it to be.  it's NOT a vacation.  it's alarming to be faced with What To Do With Oneself With No Scheduled Routine.

but come Monday, I'll be back.

the thoughts in my head are atmospheric.

atmospheric.

fingers crossed this rotation of medication will be the cure for my schizophrenia.

fingers crossed.

mystery

i am often amazed, and i don't know why, that mystery and intrigue is such a mandatory sensation (is that the word i'm looking for?) in many people's lives.  whether it is through the films we watch or books we read or simply the LIVES we choose to live, it is always the element of the unknown that keeps people clinging for more.

i'd even go so far to say that i think there are people walking this world who simply cannot be satisfied without mystery in his or her life.

i bring this up for several reasons.  the main reason due to an ongoing conflict i have going on mentally with one person in particular in this world.  while i consider myself to be a very exploratory person and even perhaps seek inspiration in the UNKNOWN, i am just rattled to the point of CREATIVE BLOCK in my lack of clear vision in regards to this ONE PERSON.

and another reason i bring it up is that i often wonder how much mystery in the world is created with full intent. manufactured mystery.

and yet another reason i ponder all this is that why is there such great fear among some folks to let this mystery fade?

i suppose i grew up as a child and have lived a life thus far never feeling quite certain of really anything that probably seemed quite simple to others.  was i loved?  was i ill?  would i ever succeed?  would i ever have enough money to assert a comfortable life for myself?  in turn, would i ever have a family of my own?  and even more questions and uncertainties plague me each day...

so i suppose that is where the line must be drawn...between MYSTERY and UNCERTAINTY.

i won't even pretend to know science but often wish i did so i could apply some sense to the wackiness that my mind sometimes creates.  this is an interesting concept:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncertainty_principle

9/9/09

On this momentous day, I contain no particular musings of any sort of significance.

1. It is my Grandmere's birthday.
2. I do not work today.
3. I plan to do laundry.
4. I spent my extra money for the month shopping on Labor Day.
5. I think I'll do a CrockPot roast today.
6. I have a bit of a sore throat.
7. I slept in until 8:10 today.
8. My calves are achy.
9. I think I'll have some Cinnamon Kashi cereal for breakfast.

9/09/09 shall be remembered as another existential day.

hibrrrrrrnating some more

Oh the cold weather.

It gets the best of me. I never have two consecutive days off so I try to make the best time of my free days. But that dang Chicago cold!

Attempted to write some more. Fueled by coffee and warm fuzzy slippers and itchy brain cells, I 'vomited' on paper some more. Kind of like I'm doing now. Fruitless. Perhaps I need to re-read Stephen King's On Writing. Whatever happened to my copy?

There is a tale in me that I want to tell. Or as some say, perhaps everyone's got a book in 'em. What carries the stories that we hear in our lifetimes? The relatedness of our journeys? The fantasy? The hook? The character development? The dilemma? The unique voice?

I draw from a unique set of experiences. I have this itch to explain them and paint them and share them, but they will not hold any meaning to me unless they are understood. Well, not even understood, but I do ask that they have the ability to connect to the reader. I try out some of these stories/experiences in spoken stories with my husband and a few select friends, and the reaction I get is not one of connection. "Do you understand? Does this make sense?" And the answer is always various stages of 'No.' If I can't allow them to make sense for those close to me, how do I know what connection lies beyond?

I once tried my hand participating in an art show. I don't think it's fair to label myself an artist because I do not possess the God-given gift that others do. But as a creative person, I wanted to challenge myself in a new way. It was a staff show that took place at a gallery in Pilsen, joined together by my coworkers at the time of Museum of Contemporary Art. The pieces included installations, paintings, drawings, videos, you name it - coming from all levels of talent. It was a nerve-wracking experience for me. But I did it.

My piece was something I came up with as a means of connecting a conversation with other artistic mediums. Being a fan of music and such a lover of words, I often wonder what stories lie behind the reality of a song. I scoured thrift shops for the perfect worn-out stereo speaker surrounded with the perfect type of wood to which I could burn the words. I skipped an Easter Sunday with the family and sat in my old apartment by the lake listening to music on the radio as my woodburning wand spent 15 plus hours engraving a message across the broken-down sound system. The message was as ephemeral as a three-minute song and doesn't even bear repeating at this point, but it was clear to at least one person.

Someone sitting at the gallery relayed the message to me that a man came over to her to comment specifically on how much he enjoyed my piece. All of those works in that space and he chose to comment on mine and mine alone.

That's all that mattered to me, especially in remembrance of everything that had happened a few weeks later in my life.

Maybe one day I'll muster up the courage to try it all again.

All Things Remarkable

While I was walking home from the neighborhood K-Mart last night with a large $5 Little Caesar's pepperoni pizza, cell phone in hand talking to my husband, I had an idea.

I am going to try and find one thing Remarkable each day.

If I can find one thing Remarkable each day then perhaps my world will be a more interesting place.

This may sound uninspired and boring to those of you dear readers who lead very exciting lives, but for me it is a dire attempt to maintain the most grounded sense of adventure possible.

I of course, cannot change the name of this already-titled blog. But come on, it's a Jacques Dutronc lyric. How can you go wrong with that?

So let me get started. Yesterday was the $5 pizza. Today, what will it be.

I don't know about you, but I can hardly stand the suspense.