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May 6th, 2011

elainegrey: Inspired by Grypping/gripping beast styles from Nordic cultures (Default)
Friday, May 6th, 2011 09:30 pm
Twitpic hosted image of ODouls and cookie dough with a knife stabbed into it The end of the work day was a bit more stressful than i wanted. My "Going for beer" was O'Douls and a tube of cookie dough. I stabbed the dough, stabbed stabbity stab stabbed it, with Christine looking on in disapproval. I'm sure she was thinking of yet another trip to the urgent care room.

I have to leave my worries and stress there. I can't afford to let the bad news looming on the horizon take my attention away from my focus. In my estimation of the "worst" outcome, i could get a 2% extension of time to plan for it if i started acting on that worry now. I don't think the worst outcome is the most likely. So i'm going to let it go.

Or try.

I'm impressed by the voice of that rises in my mind, "That's not responsible!" it shouts. Fables of grasshoppers and winter flash through my mind.

My focus for May and June, barring truly significant change is to get the underlying foundations stronger. That is where i should focus my persistence. This is a distraction.

--==∞==--

I'm tempted to get Edward a twitter account. Not so much because i think his tweets would be amusing, but because i want to address his EdwardKattness. "@EdwardKatt, you are not leaving this house without a collar, young man!" I don't know what it is that makes me feel far more parent-like of him than i have of any of the other cats. Perhaps it's the way he calls out "Maa" as he comes home or wants to leave.

--==∞==--

There's a 10% chance of precipitation this evening.

Yesterday, leaving the house to get "beer," i passed by a bottlebrush tree and was dazzled by the scarlet flowers into a joy of the day. The evening sky was still a clear blue, the snapping of a humming bird was audible. The lush new green leaves of the sweet gum drew me in. I appreciated the richness and vibrant color, and i was aware that this is the pendulation that i need to experience to be healthy, to be able to swing from the anger and frustration of work to delight and joy in growing things.

I also found a box of roses at the door. My first thought was, "Bloody 'ell, i screwed up the order for Mom's roses." As i brought the box in, i noted that the brand was not the same, but was that as another bunch of roses SG the artist had sent in the past. And, indeed, the abundance of red-gold roses was from SG, with a note that she considers me her spiritual mother.

Christine commented on her buying her way into our lives: the luxe gifts she sends just push me in odd places. I remain feeling awkward: she's someone i let into my life, and she projected so much on me that i felt i had to protect myself. A boundary, a wall went up, and she continues to press against it. There's something on the way she pushes on my boundaries that makes me feel she doesn't love me but her idea of me. If she loved me, she'd respect me. I try to make allowances for different cultures, for her deep wounds.

I'll write her back -- a card, by hand -- and acknowledge her pain about her parents. Maybe i'll write about self-mothering.

I feel churlish not to graciously accept her shower of gifts, but -- there's a sense of being Not Seen while she claims such connection. I have to honor my sense just as much as hers. I remember [livejournal.com profile] annie_r reflecting on an interaction with SG a year ago and bluntly concluding SG was ... crazy? I forget exactly what she said over dinner, but she affirmed that SG's behavior was not normal.

--==∞==--


I think i'm finally catching up with world news. Like [livejournal.com profile] gurdonark i feel i have little to add. [livejournal.com profile] pecunium, with his work around issues of torture, has far more nuanced understanding of what it means to have served in the War on Terror and to see the effect our policies of torture have on our national conscience. His reflections spoke to concerns i have. (I'm not sure i could be so blase about revenge.) But what prompts me to acknowledge this event in my journal is an exchange between Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow. There was an assertion that all (Americans) felt some sense of catharsis over the assassination. I can't imagine what it's like to be twenty years old or so, growing up during this decade of focus on that one individual. But i didn't feel any catharsis or relief or anything visceral at the news. And i don't think it's just because i was distracted or because i practice a peculiar form of detachment.