the.idiot

August 24, 2024

Snippets

Bits and pieces of things posted elsewhere over the summer:

5/21 – ritual & routine

I’m not much for schedules, but I love rituals and routines.

Lately, I’ve been finding time to break away mid-evening. I spend an hour or two writing and studying while listening to music, then crawl into bed to read for another hour or so.

It’s rapidly becoming my favorite time of the day, not only because of the mental recharge but also due to all the little things that make it enjoyable: A hot cup of tea. My favorite writing implements for annotating. A good playlist.

Ritual is something I’ve missed – those small, reverent moments. They are good for my soul.

6/15 – slipping

Much of the past month has been spent reframing my negative thought patterns. I’ve allowed myself to grieve the life I will not live, and now it’s time to move on. Negativity might literally be killing me.

Here’s where I’m at right now: I might not be able to live a wide life, but I can live a deep one.

I might not be able to garden right now. To travel. To hike. To do something as simple as taking a shower without it ending in tears*. But in everything I do have control over, I will live the best life possible. I will create. I will learn. I will cultivate the few meaningful relationships I have in my life. And I’ll remind myself of what I do have, rather than what I’ve lost.

*My ability to stand for any length of time is rapidly diminishing and I hate to think about where this is headed. I lost feeling in my right foot after a short shower last night, not to mention the unbearable pain. This, combined with the increasing tightness in my leg muscles, all points to the fact that my isthmic spondylolisthesis has gotten worse. Definitely time for a new set of X-rays and an MRI on the lower back. Fusion surgery might very well be in my near future. This shit is getting scary.

6/20 – astronomical summer

It’s the longest day of the year and I’m feeling every second of it.

Time drags.
Gravity drags.

BUT!

The cannas are in bloom – clusters of gorgeous, vermillion goodness that almost reach the soffit. There’s a rogue squash plant thriving in the backyard. A rogue watermelon plant, too, and portulaca along the fence line.

There are big, scary decisions, but also small comforts.

There are a million banal errands to run, but also new music and books and paints.

I still feel I’ve barely got a lid on the anxiety of two weeks ago, but I’ve got a new friend who comes to keep me company, and old ones who check-in.

There are letters to be read and letters to be written.

Life is too much right now.
But also pretty nice.

7/6 – miss star’s flash

When repetition pays off and things start to take form. When the ugliness passes and something new emerges. When hours upon hours of practice provide a breakthrough.

That, my friends, is the sweet spot.

Even if ninety-nine percent of what I do is reiteration, I am thankful that it makes way for those rare, wonderful, one-percent moments of discovery.

Not thankful for: a sacroiliitis flare, which makes sitting at my desk for long periods quite difficult. Especially after investing in a new set of pricey Japanese pencils that I’d like to experiment with.

7/27 – june into july

My summer up to this point:

Crepe myrtles, salt water, stone fruits. Summer hair and summer skin. Honeysuckle.

Books about color theory and light. Books about symbolism and spirituality through the lens of art. Piles of poetry at my desk, all partially finished. And some truly campy novels in between, a form of respite my sister and I have bonded over.

Tubes of gouache, and the ugly process of learning something new.

Hours spent in the car, running people to and from, parked in front of the murals downtime. Waiting. Doctor, dentist, and vet appointments. Daily musical rehearsals, and then performances, for the youngest. Work, night classes, and tutoring for the oldest.

The pain has been bad, but the brain has (mostly) been kind. Two months of cane days. Loss. The first, a cat. (Poor thing.) The second, an old friend. Radiant Dalton, kind down to his core, is with us no longer. Forever in my mind at sixteen, bumming smokes outside of the DMA, making me laugh in a photo booth, generally not caring what anyone thought. I was so envious of that freedom.

8/21 – narcissus

For context, I lost my job at the end of July. My role was expanded and, my health being what it is, I couldn’t handle any extra hours . I had spent months daydreaming about leaving the job so, all things considered, I think things worked out for me.

I don’t mourn the loss of the job. I was ideologically at odds with my employer and I feel nothing but peace about no longer working there. But nothing happens in a vacuum and feeling peace about that specific aspect did nothing to damn the other emotions that spilled forth:

• Grief. The specific grief of living in a broken body. Because no matter how much I wanted to leave that job, I didn’t get to leave on my own terms. Yet another thing chronic illness has stolen from me.

• Guilt. Guilt that I don’t plan on working in the near future. Guilt that I am privileged enough to not need a job.

• Self-doubt in the form of Imposter Syndrome. Fearing that I gave up too easily, that I’m not disabled enough to justify not working. (Even as I’ve been curled up in pain much of this week.)

• Loneliness. I’m often alone but rarely lonely, so the intensity of my loneliness caught me by surprise. My world is already small, and I suppose I’m afraid of it getting smaller.

*****

Space and time are two sides of the same coin. With enough of each comes perspective. There have already been flashes of it.

I was stuck in this limbo between time paralysis and spoon theory, cycling between recovery and energy conservation, living in service of a job that was slowly chipping away at my mental and physical well-being.

Stepping away from that cycle has already proven beneficial.

*****

I took H up on her offer, spending my Friday evening with her and T. She’s still a force to be reckoned with, acerbic but never cruel. He’s still wry and sharply clever.

*****

I’ve been painting daffodils daily for the past ten days. I’m not sure why I arrived at daffodils. It felt impulsive in the moment, but there’s something about those diaphanous yellow petals that’s grown on me.

I don’t necessarily want to paint botanicals in the long term but they’re a good jumping-off point while learning a new medium, something akin to all of the still-life drawing I did through high school and college. The point isn’t the subject so much as it’s the repetition, working at the same thing, over and over, until you’re pleased with the result.

Until the process becomes second nature.

8/23 – the corner of dundas and yonge

Currently reading a book set in Toronto and now I miss it so much I could cry.

It’s the kind of missing that feels like a great, breathless chasm situated somewhere beneath my sternum.

I’d always thought again, someday. Now I wonder how many somedays are left.

One can hope.

For now I will live vicariously, loving that I can picture exact locations and recall old haunts.

****

Edited to add: I did cry, while relaying this to a Cory on the phone.

I don’t want to live there again but I thought I’d get to go back, you know?

I guess not, he deadpanned, and that ill-timed joke, so blunt, so borderline harsh in the face of my crying, made me shake with laughter.

Some people need a gentle hand.

Others, a little levity.

I think that brings us up to speed. Maybe I’ll be better about maintaining this space in the future.