When I fall into a hole

The bedroom window, I am convinced, is a small slice of morning heaven. The windows open out, do not bear screens, and always carry a gentle breeze through the mesh curtains. When I wake, the very first thing I do (before coffee, even) is to push these windows open. Hours later, when I'm lying down for a nice afternoon nap, the easy breeze rocks me right to sleep.

Heaven isn't with me all the time, though. Beneath the shades of happiness that color my life, there are still inner struggles to be dealt with. For instance, the battle over lethargy continues. This lethargy stems from some sort of reversed inertia, a vacuum if you will, that was turned on when school ended. It has continued to pull my motivation away, until I feel somewhat stuck, empty, tired. I say each day that I will begin a new project. Today, I will begin writing a story! Today, I will write a poem! Today, I will.... and then I end up lying in bed, reading a book. Or sitting on the porch, reading a book. Of course, this is obviously reconcilable. I mean, reading a book is terrific, and progressive in its own right. But is it an escape? Perhaps. Perhaps not. What I'm really pointing at I guess is this unwanted guest in the corner, that part of me that feels she isn't fully living. What does fully living mean, though? Are there distorted expectations of myself here?

There isn't much I can do for the next two years but wait. Naturally, there is a sense of drifting that makes me nervous and uncomfortable. For a capricorn woman, there must always be a mountain to climb, a new goal to achieve, some sort of upward and onward movement. I know that right now, this mountain and those goals don't exist. Logically, I know there isn't anything wrong with that, and that most likely, I've been filling my time beautifully. Baking bread. Painting pottery for friends. Reading Russian novels.

I have a hunch that my spirit's been needing the attention lately. The thought popped up on my radar this morning in the form of a question: where is the energy of spirit? I've built my new nest, put all things in their right places, but I didn't make a new nest for the Spirit. I have a funny little relationship with that "God" thing. It's like an imaginary friend that I use to keep around me all the time. I'd invite it over to play when I did tarot readings, when I painted or did anything creative, even when I bathed. I haven't looked about for it in a long time, since moving; I haven't invited it to visit with me. I think I've found the thirst.

I saw sparks

The dramatic details of Vronsky and Anna, of Levin and Kitty, and all the others, continue. I am somewhere around the 600th page by now, praying for the safe delivery of Levin and Kitty's first child, full of anxiety over the precarious nature of Vronsky and Anna's relationship, and appreciating/respecting the character of Mr.Karenin more and more. How does Tolstoy write so well? Each character's predicament is so vividly clear to me, it's as if I were inside of them all, as if I were them all. I want to begin from page one again as soon as I complete this book. Does that sound absurd?? It probably is, but I have to study this man's craft. I need to find out what makes it work, and work so well. I know already that there is no way, simply no way at all, that I'll ever be within spitting distance of his calibre of talent, but that wont keep me from learning as much as I can from his writing. I envy writers like these, because I can sense in them the ability of letting go that I have only my achieved in my poetry, but cannot jump the hurdle of the mind in my story writing. They call this force flow.

Laughable moment of the day: moonpie attempting to squeeze her fat ass into a tiny box.

Passing Afternoon

It's been a while since I updated. Where has the summer gone? Smells of autumn are already subtly sifting through the air... my favorite time of the year.

Visiting friends. Spontaneous trips. Russian novels. Bread Baking. Moving house. Cats! Plants. New friendships. Breaking one's own records. Researching graduate schools. "These are just a few of my favorite things..."

It has been a busy summer thusfar. School began today and I find myself nostalgic, restless even. I so deeply miss the excitement of new classes, buying notebooks and pens, flipping through syllabi and "new" used textbooks. Not being in school anymore has that feeling of being in one place when you know you're missing out on another... some party somewhere, something exciting going on that you aren't a part of, but could be, or should be attending. Oh graduate school! Where art thou?!

If only the decision could come to me, but it hasn't yet. Where, or what, to study next... In the meantime, I've already begun cracking the books on GRE preparation. This, coupled with some unfounded feeling of doom and insecurity over actually getting into a graduate program (with cum laude and research honors, one would hope I shouldn't have a problem getting in). Nonetheless, the fear inherent in the possibility of not getting accepted into a program of choice sets in an inordinate amount of anxiety.

Here are a few of the highlights I mentioned above: Currently reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. This author's depth and breadth of human understanding and piercingly precise depiction of the human heart and human mind is astounding. I began the novel identifying the most with the character of Constantine Levin, and immidiately picked-up on the notion that this character's moralistic viewpoints and subtlties of personality might actually reflect those of the author himself. (Jessica later verified this to be true). Now, at nearly half-way through, I find myself actually identifying the most with Anna. Caught between a man she doesn't love but is in a relationship with, and in-love with a man she can't be with, is an all too familiar situation. The expression of her inner struggles with the helplessness of her predicament, the inevitability and uncontrollable needs of the heart, are spoken of here by Tolstoy with such clarity that he has enlightened moments of my own past for me... shown me exactly what I felt but was so painfully unable to articulate. Can you tell I am in-love with this writer?? And there is so much, so much, poured into these pages (all 800 of them)! I am enjoying the time it is taking me to finish this novel. I am grateful that it's so goddamn long... so many books I enjoy end too quickly, and I miss them sorely when they're over. This one is like three books in one. I get to enjoy it, and enjoy it, and enjoy it some more.

And what better way to enjoy Anna Karenina then on the front porch of my new apartment? It's spectacular! All four of the cats... yes, four.... love it here. With plenty of porch and plenty of yard to play in, it's like they've discovered one giant litter box outside, which makes mama (me) very happy. The new place is positioned right between Little Five and Candler Park, so that the running path I so often enjoy is just a block away, work is less than a mile down the street (biking to and from is pure bliss), the coffee shops, the clothing stores, the healthfood grocery is all within walking distance. The apartment itself has 12ft ceilings, hardwood floors, built-in bookshelves.... it's like a fairytale. I wake in the morning, have coffee at the table on the porch, and do morning yoga there on the wrap-around.

I've also been working at the art of baking bread. After a few early mishaps (not kneeding correctly, forgetting to add salt), I've finally reached a place where I can now play around with my recipes. Last week I added roasted garlic, thyme and basil oil to the mix for a delicious loaf that was eaten in three days flat!