January | 2024 | Every little Thing

I’m sick. Not contagious, catchable sick, but it is sick. I can feel myself swimming almost to the point of passing out. Dreams. No sleep. This is an ugly place.

But I work today; 9:30 and hour or two from now I’ll be on my way. I told myself I will make art. A collage of images creating form. Structure and the like. Articulating.

I’m shaking. I hope I make it today. Tonight, I will go to bed early. Miss my class. Let myself pass out. Hopefully not wake in the night again. That’s what I did last night. Asleep by 8pm and awake at 10pm to watch people talk, a reading mostly. Interesting.

Maybe they’ll let me start early, 9am leave early. It isn’t much.

This place scares me. My head swimming from exhaustion and chocolate. Did I mention the chocolate? Punishment I bought. I know it’s not reward. It isn’t even help. I did eat supper, a can of stew. I’m still in the place where eating is off. How many years has it been? No words. No words. I need to move, relax myself. And forget the rest, how walking soothed abuse. One pattern, then the next. Changing pace, changing steps, changing direction I walked, the side of the road. Little distractions, then sleeping at the church. Because it was quiet, because it was safe. I had the key from three different groups, and well still used benches rather than chairs. I could lay down unseen on the hard wood surface, curl into myself. An hour, maybe two, sometimes three if middle of the day and kids not coming or going to school.

I’d sleep on the floor, on the steps at the front. Same deal, same idea. Out of sight, out of mind.

Writing this shakes. Shakes aren’t allowed.

Articulation is hard, both verbal and movement. Pushing words past my teeth, over tongue, out of lungs. Not easy at times. And still, they may or may not articulate. I stretch when I can. Sometimes I can’t; not allowed say my words, unspoken but heard. Not aloud.

What will I make? What will I draw. Frames and framing and framing the frames. Too silly by far. I am silly, I think. To move’s what I need. Get up and go. If I lay out paper and glue and magazines and scissors, will I do it when home? Will I make the scene?

I need to do it for my own good. I built a YouTube channel and three short talks, so I’m thinking of topics and words and ways, things we frame, what we think, how we think and how we frame it in telling and retelling. So I want to create, images, thoughts. Something to stare at when I talk to the screen. Or I talk to the people I talk to there. Articulate thoughts in better timing and better shape, better frame and frame of mind.

Articulate.

I’m two and half days past physio this time. Edging along. Moving to pain.

Get up, go to work, get food, go to sleep. Repeat and repeat. Oh, and write out more words. Almost 2,000 in the memoir yesterday. Borrowed and created from pages of thoughts. If I don’t muck this up and can get them to form, I may have a book. I have people to read. People are important in so many ways.

Falling back asleep if I sit here too long. Getting dressed, getting coat on, getting boots, getting gone.

I’m a mess, but I’m learning, what I fear, what I don’t. What I fear until I do it. What I will do regardless of fear. Apparently a lot. So I’ll share a little listening for those who don’t yet know, and I’ll think of what it looks like now and as I go. Mixing in the people from wide connections and wider space. Articulating as carefully as I can, as honestly as I can, as politely and with grace. I hope all of that is true and that it comes through in what I say.

Let me know what you think. If you like, you can follow. It may be a mishmash.

I will write and may share little pieces and thoughts. It’s a challenge to myself to express things I love, things I hate, things that scare me, things I avoid. It’s one tactic I use when I’m struggling to move on – extend the road, redraw the line, increase the time and journey but take a step. I hope this works.

And I’m sorry to the people who think I’m naturally brave. I’m not. I just fake it and keep going. Sometimes it costs me sleep and dreams I’d rather not have then I face myself and the world and keep moving. It’s uncomfortable, you may not like the journey so feel free to opt out. If you hang in there, I’ll try to engage, but I overload at times, quite frequently in fact.

My thanks to those who love me regardless of the mess.

I am slowly building life around me. And I’m glad.

It is the end of another year, with a few days to go.

Each of the past three years, I have told myself “finish my memoir”. The more I work at it, the more classes I take, the more people who comment, I begin to see patterns. Stress points. Ways I’m holding back; some good some bad. Looking at lists of things I cover, how I organized it from day one versus day 100 or 1000. There are a few people and places I come back to who have encouraged me and given me tips on how I am approaching things and how I can approach them. Every time I pull out a list, a comment, books, binders, computer files to read, something is highlighted and comes into clearer focus. Resolution.

I want to slowly (honestly recognizing my process) develop a website and am thinking about what I want. I have some roughed in pages here, not really useful yet. But also see a number of people using Substack which goes out in email format I think. Ages ago, I asked one writer friend about it as an option and got a link to a few other writer sites who use it. I think very slowly when I’m not thinking too quickly. One reason is the residual dissociation that lingers around ‘no fly zones’ in my life. Writing being one of them. Communication, people connection, telling my story. It doesn’t exist beside an on/off switch that I could conveniently flip as needed. No, it’s somewhere wired into the works – what’s that phrase people use – I forget.

Last night, I pulled out binder notes and again sat to rewrite (transcribe) pages I stacked in order of importance based on the people and resources offered to me the past three years. Some things won’t change, some will be in different location in the telling, and some things are new since my first draft went out for comment to a friend and then some instructors. The couch is in a new place. I’m working on a lap desk. I have a fresh stack of paper and I hope the little things like that will be enough to tip the scale and let me bring this to a different resolution. Allow the focus to move in and out, look at timings and influence, things near and far.

This year, it is also important to me to complete a chapbook of poetry, and begin telling things I written here about me and Jack and the brief span of our life together. How and when that will come together can determine itself, but I want to be intentional in keeping notes and where or how I place them.

On December 18th, I did a ten minute talk ‘sharing my story’ at Stories On Stage. At that length of time, no it is not my whole story, but I did enjoy the bits I shared. Thoughts on words, life, motherhood and children. A lot on language and why words matter to me. I want to do more of this alongside continuing in written forms; memoir, here, poems. Some of the difficult topics come more naturally just talking about them and in the past year, they have intersected with places I broached working through crises of faith and community that got mentioned in memoir notes and worked out more talking with people following Jordan Peterson, a few others, and talking among themselves about a thing they call The Meaning Crisis. I thought it was just me, but given some reasons why, I think I’ll forgive myself for being a little dense or self focused.

This week (yes, I’m writing in bits over several days) I have worked on basics of a YouTube channel. Name, about, interests, why, why, why am I doing this besides I like to write and hear myself talk. While half kidding, I more aware of my delight in sharing conversations and interests with others, including my writing community, faith communities, local connections through art, and general life. I am enjoying these more and more, and appreciating the way being part of others’ lives invests in my own.

Wish me well. It’s a new, old journey taking new trails. I may get a bit tangled up at times, but the adventure is always ahead of me.

And yes, I’m working on my memoir (first one) and other writing goals. It feels good.