A room of one's own

D is on a perpetual high, living in this sunny climate, learning a new place and a new job.  He is joyous.  I am not.  I am still struggling with the exhaustion that hit me in 2010, not to mention the long-established sleep disorder (diagnosed in 2008.)  Three years of intense change (new job, layoff, unemployment, remodel, downsize, rental woes, new job, new home, new state, increased rental woes) have not helped.  While I recognize that my life is full of potential and actual joys, I still find myself curled up in a mental fetal position, exhausted and looking for a cave.

Yesterday I worked a long day, and I am going in late this morning to make up for it.  My plan was to sleep until D left for his work, and then get up and do some yoga in homage to AB and BW, who were my one-time Friday morning yoga group.  I then planned to write my morning pages, take care of some business and write this blog, and maybe read a little.

It doesn't work that way, when living in a 2-bedroom apartment with an ADD husband who is high on life.  D got up at some ungodly hour, as is his wont.  In his version of a tiptoe, he went into the living room, shutting the door with his version of quiet care.  Being a clod-hopping 6'4" boy-man, he does not do quiet, but he does try.

I lay curled around my pillow, turned from the doors and lights, listening to music from the computer in the next room, listening to D come into the bedroom, and go out, come back in to take a shower, and go out, come back in to tell me I'm beautiful, and go out, come back in for no known reason, and go out.  And of course I was listening to my thoughts (Portland rental problems, financial problems, plans for work, plans for an editing job, plans to join an orchestra.) Around 7 am I decided to get up and start my day.

He came in twice during my shower to give me a kiss and tell me he loves me.

I went into the 2nd bedroom to dress and decided to plug in the CD player and do some tai chi chuh. I heard his voice from the living room, calling my name with increasing insistency.  I went out, listened to his news, told him I was going to spend some time on personal stuff, and went back to the meditation practice.  He came in, went out, came back in with some coffee, went out, came back in, went out.  I managed 30 minutes of practice, bowed towards Portland, and said "Namaste" to my absent friends and to the universe.

I sat in the 2nd bedroom, curled up on the day bed reading the paper and consuming my coffee and toast. He came in to accuse me of stealing his paper, and then danced to the music in an elephantine version of John Travolta staying alive.  Then he stood in front of the couch, smiling at me until I told him to join me.

Breakfast finished,  I took advantage of the free computer and started taking care of business.  He needed the laptop.  So I took the iPad and began working on that.  He needed the iPad.  I said, let me finish this message.  "Who are you writing to?"  "The Albuquerque Philharmonic."  "Great, I support that."

And just when does he expect me to find the quiet space and time to practice violin?

Moving the Chi

This was the last Tai Chi Chuh session for the fall term.  We do the entire practice, and then share a potluck.  As steward, I'm responsible for collecting class evaluations, so I had to show up, despite my throat.  Technically this should not have been a problem, as the main symptom now is the laryngitis, and you don't talk during the practice.

However, I was also at a work training session this morning, and the home front was pretty exhausting when I returned home.   The logistics of taking care of daily business were complicated by communication difficulties, and we ended up retreating to our separate corners and licking our wounds.

I did, however, find the energy to make a quiche and an apple crumb pie.  The latter was a peace offering to D (he brought me flowers for his offering, and went out for the apples.)  The quiche was for the potluck, and it was totally made up of leftovers and staples.  The crust was a leftover from the apple/green tomato pie I made 2 weeks ago: L's fabulous recipe makes 4 crusts, and since it takes 1 egg, there's no good way to cut the recipe down.  The filling included pesto cubes from my annual pesto production, artichoke hearts, sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, and, of course, the egg custard.  The whole thing was superb, and very pretty, with dots of red and green peeking through the yellow, white and brown top, cooked just right.

Baking is really the easiest way to be creative:  take what you have, substitute what you must, add in an unconventional spice or ingredient, et voila!  Uniqueness happens.

But I was still wiped out, and the drive to the class was disconcerting.  It was dark, the streets were crowded, and the bicyclists were invisible.  When I got to Chapman and Lownsdale Squares, the former Occupy Portland sites showed stark under the brilliant klieg lights.  The ginkgos' graceful golden fan-lined branches were surreal bits of glowing beauty, enclosed in chain link fences, standing amidst the pounded earth and cement.

I wondered what I was doing, going on my usual rounds while the economy crumbles and my own life is a microcosm of the larger disintegration.  But I got to church, plugged the meter, gathered up my quiche and paperwork, and went to class.

And, magically, it was all okay.  We stood sock-footed in the circle, eyes focussed on middle distance, quiet music filling the silence.  From the dark windows, headlights flashed the news that rush hour was still in force, but it was a distant intimation of the city.  Together we created a mountain retreat, arms and legs moving through platter, drum, ball, taffy, gathering in the energy, pushing it away, bringing it back.  I felt the familiar tingling warmth in my fingers, wondered if I would ever develop the "flutter," and then let that thought go:  what matters is the practice, the rest will come if it will.

And now I type while D and R play cards and Marc Cohn sings from Pandora.  Life is good, and there are so many forms the energy can take.  I just have to trust that if I pay attention, I will be supported by all of them.