Boredom

I'm spending a 3-day weekend with E:  her replacement caregiver was fired last week, and the next is not available until later this week.  It is wonderful to be here again, watching the birds and the snow and the clouds.  I got up at 6:30 this morning to take sunrise pix,

and now I'm watching the white fluffy clouds floating behind the mountain silhouette, with bright New Mexico blue accentuating (or being accentuated by) them.  I miss this, but I don't miss the boredom.  The last two days were very snowy, and I wanted nothing to do with the roads.   In fact, I made a break Thursday afternoon, in between blasts, when the pavement was dry.  There were several inches of snow in Taos, and the University was closed Mon, Thu, and Fri last week.  Interestingly enough, they don't tend to close the campus when the sun goes down and we night workers have to drive home in sleet and ice.  But, if there is snow falling in the morning, they close up.  The weather usually calms by noon, and the roads are fine by 1.  That was the case on Thursday.

However, once I got to Cerrillos, the snow took over,

 

and there was nothing to do.  I built a fire in the casita on Friday (and totally smoked the place out).  We spent the afternoon doing crosswords and reading and basking by the fire, and we made dinner (pasta with olives and tomatoes and garlic, chicken pounded with chopped nuts and fried in garlic and olive oil, with capers and lemon juice added, salad made by E.)  And by 8 pm I was long past ready for bed.  Same thing on Saturday.  I chopped kindling for the casita and C/M's pod, and that was about it.  I was in bed by 7, and cancelled my 10 pm tutoring session.  C called me, and talked, talked, talked, and I kept nodding off, and he kept saying "K? are you there?  are you awake?" and I'd mumble, yeah.

 

What is it about this place that makes me want to sleep, sleep, sleep?

 

I guess that's why I didn't accomplish much during the 18 months I lived here.  I focused on domestic activities, doing Tai Chi Chih, walking (with and without E), shopping, cooking.  I read, took pix, practiced some music.  But the pace was very slow, and I didn't really do much except heal.  Now that I'm back in the swing of DOING things (even though it's still not much), I'm aware of how little happens here.  No wonder E feels like her life has halted.  No wonder she wants to return to the more active lifestyle she used to have. 

 

I think about my friend SC, who is in prison for the next 8 years.  She calls me regularly (since I can't call her and we can't e-mail), and her life is boredom personified.  She's read 20 books in the 3 months that she's been in.  She has several books of her own in process, but she has to pay for paper and pen and can't use a computer, so that's a slow process.  In fact, the whole system is set up to actively discourage any productive or creative activity, and to destroy any connections with the outside world.  It seems counter-productive to me, although I guess the idea is to make it so unpleasant no one will want to come back.  But, recidivism is rampant, and I think it's because the system slaps down the impulse to improve one's life.  So, it's difficult for anyone to acquire the skills that will take her someplace positive when she leaves the system.

 

In fact, since it's a for-profit agency, the prisoners are exploited.  They have to buy the necessities, and many of those necessities are "out of stock."  For example, my friend still has no washcloth:  she uses her underwear.  We can't send her paper or stamps or warm sweaters.  We can put money in her account, and get charged an extra $7 per transaction for the privilege.  If we want her to call us, she has to queue up for the phone, and we have to put money in that account, too.  Often, when we are talking, the call is interrupted:  a random lockdown on the holiday, a call for her to meet with someone, and one bizarre time when the monitor thought I had initiated a third party call.  (I hadn't.)  Even when things go well, the calls are restricted to 20 minutes, and if we want to continue talking, she has to call again.  There are TV's but no sound:  she has to buy a radio and earplugs to get that, and guess what?  it's out of stock. 

She is feeling a little more productive now, because she finally got a job sewing, which is a step up from sweeping the "pod."  She gets 20 cents an hour, with the chance of increasing to $1.20.  This would be outrageous in any other society, but I guess she should be glad she doesn't have to pay for her room and board as well as her necessities and communication needs.  And, there's the possibility of another job that will give her access to a computer.  Woo hoo!

So, I think about her situation, and I wonder how she is managing to keep her spirit, her sense of humor, and her creativity.  Even setting aside the reason she is there and the legal fight for which she is gearing up, she has plenty of cause for depression in the institutional boredom.   I look at her and marvel.  Could I do the same?  I don't have any reason to fall prey to boredom in my situation:  I am free to walk outside, to take pictures, to write, to work at a good job, to see my friends. I can surround myself with beauty. I can make music.  I can cook a healthy meal. She has none of this, but she continues to take her meager possessions and make the most of them.  The other day, she concocted a foot scrub out of food bits (I can't recall the details.)  In other words, she is not just surviving, she is thriving.  I wish I could say the same for myself.  But even now that I'm off the mountain, working a 40-hour week and building community, I don't seem to have the drive to create.  I am so tired.

Have I created a prison?

Introverts

I was talking with an introvert friend the other day.  My understanding is that the term is all about where you get your energy:  from solitude or from other people.   Or, conversely, it's all about what drains your energy.

Is it possible to be  part introvert, part extrovert?  On my OkCupid profile, I claim to be a closet introvert.  Most people think of me as an extrovert, but years of working with the public drained my energy, and I needed vast amounts of alone time to replenish.  Now, however, I have all the alone time I could ask for, and I still seem to be fatigued, and I still want to hole up in my room.  I'm trying to figure out if it's a mental or physical issue.  

I am looking up

Symptoms of diabetes.

I have half of them.

We were talking about this because I'm very lonely, and I don't know what to do with that.  Yes, I know I've written about this a LOT, but it's still rearing its ugly head.  People don't have time for me and I feel rejected, but I can't blame them. I feel unattractive and unnecessary.  I don't want to force my unhappy self on other people, but I don't want to be alone either.  I have heard all my life that, to be attractive or lovable, you have to love yourself. I still don't know what that means.  It's almost like blaming the victim:  it's your own damn fault no one wants to be around you.  Well, gee, that makes me feel a whole lot better.  So....all I have to do is take my unlovable self and be confident that my unlovable self is really lovable?  How does that alchemy work?

So, I started thinking about personality traits. What is it about me that can be attractive?  What makes me want to get up in the morning and live in my skin?  How do I build self-confidence?  Is it something innate, or something that can be created?  And thus, back to the question of extroversion vs introversion.

One would think that confidence is part of being an extrovert, but lovability is clearly not restricted to the extroverts.  My friend is very lovable, after all.  And extroverts can just be annoying sometimes.  They seem to be all about self.  In fact,  I remember editing an article by an introvert customer service person.  It was illuminating:  the thesis was that you often provide better service if you are an introvert, because you take yourself out of the equation and really focus on the other person.  There is no bigger attractant than someone's undivided attention.

However, that doesn't seem to be the answer, either.  Here's what thesaurus.com has to say about introverts:
noun:  person who retreats mentally

• wallflower
• brooder
• egoist
• egotist
• loner
• narcissist
• solitary

Wow.  How do you go from being solitary to being a narcissist?  I would never have thought an introvert was an egotist.  On the other hand, a brooder does have that tendency.

Quietly watching

Clouds rolling in, birds flitting.

Am I brooding?

Extroverts don't sound great, either, though:

noun:   sociable person  (okay, that's nice) but.....

• character
• exhibitionist
• show-off
• showboat
• gregarious person
• life of the party

There seem to be some similar traits in the two lists:  egotism and showing-off for example.  Both are exceedingly unattractive.  However, the synonyms certainly point out the bias in favor of extroverts.  I think most people would find a sociable person to be more attractive than one who retreats mentally.  And there just isn't much in the introvert list that you'd want to be around.

And now I think I understand my problem.  I AM an introvert.  I need to be solitary, to think (brood if you will), to figure things out.  And that is unattractive to a large part of our culture. So, my game face is that of an extrovert.  And that is unattractive to me.

It's time to turn my back on the whole thing and remember what my friend A said, in the aftermath of her divorce to a charismatic, arrogantly brilliant scholar.  The very things that attracted her to him were the things that made him unlivable, not to mention unlovable.  And she retreated to a Henry James quote:  "Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind."

And the kindness has to be to myself, as well.

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?

Easter morning

So many of my friends are heathens like me, that it is a surprise to log into FB and discover other friends  commenting on Christian joys and sunrise services.  I used to be in sync with that.  I remember in previous years going to church and singing Easter hymns in four-part harmony, looking at the lilies by the altar, enjoying the pastels and veiled hats and really cute little girls in little white shoes and stockings with lacy tops.  I used to decorate Easter eggs and take pix of them among the garden flowers.  I created origami baskets and filled them with Whopper Robin's Eggs for the family.  I harvested spring herbs for special omelets, and I made breakfast breads with cinnamon and raisins.  I was into it.

But today I am celebrating a quieter, less domestic, less-communal sort of re-birth.  I want to bring myself back to life, and that needs to happen alone.

It's a rocky path, though.  I woke at 5 and listened to the birds singing in anticipation of the dawn.  I put on a robe and went outside:  the air was cool, springlike, almost balmy.  I felt almost too warm in my fuzzy yellow robe.  The scent of some flower drifted past on a fresh early morning breeze, a light caress.  Daphne?  Lilac?  Something spicy, something sweet, something uplifting.  I breathed it in, sensing the serenity of the morning, but my eyes were still gritty and wanted to close, so I went back to bed and had an AWFUL dream about shopping for antiques, paying $75 for a broken box, and somehow upsetting two of my sisters.  I woke up and decided to start this day differently.  D is at the beach with his men's group, I have the shedroom to myself.  I will turn things around, do some Qi Gong, some Tai Chi Chuh, make some coffee, snuggle with my dog.

And it works.  The neighborhood is quiet, and my shedroom is like a little cabin in the woods.  My urban cabin:  I love it so much.  The light streams through the skylights, and I look east over my garden while I practise and putter about the little kitchen area.  The cat leaps to the window ledge and watches me.  She doesn't seem to want in, she is companionable but not snuggly today.

I realize that what I really want is to go back to where I was 20 years ago, living in a one-room converted milk barn.  Back then, I walked across the driveway to the big house to take my shower, and it was perfect:  I figured out what the weather was and planned my clothing while I washed away the sleep.  My house felt connected to the earth and sky, and I felt connected, too.  I read A LOT and listened to music.  I went for long walks with the landlord's dog, and spent a lot of time with friends.  I put a darkroom in the landlord's laundry room.   I had everything I needed.  I was serene, content.

My shedroom feels very similar:  I start every day with a stroll through my garden.  I walk around the house to shower, do laundry, use the bathroom, watch TV, use the kitchen.   I don't need those last three, at least not often.  My kitchenette is sufficient for the basics, TV is a time and brain drain, and once the composting toilet is installed, I am set for most daily living.  The big problem is that I cannot really go back to this simpler life and still live with D.  The shedroom is too small for two, and he can't live without the amenities.  It's really a space built with my needs in mind.  He likes it, but only on limited terms.

It's been a tough spring, a tough year, a tough time all around, and not just for me.   In general, I know how lucky I have been, how supported.  I still have my home, my family, my friends, my pets, my sanity, my health, my work.  Basically.  There have been stresses on all of these, and I find myself bone-tired by 9 pm, every day.  I don't answer phone calls, I don't go to choir or music night, I hurt people's feelings, I hide from them and the consequences of my actions.  I lose track of my keys, my phone charger, and my checkbook.  (I'm still looking for my keys.)  There is no rhythm to my days, and I haven't meditated or practised Tai Chi Chuh or violin or viola da gamba since.....I can't recall when.

The home is evolving, and it's an ongoing process:  working with the new tenants, trying to keep the airbnb going, still painting the house and fixing up the yard.  There's some remodeling left to do, and some reorganizing and de-cluttering (who knew we had so many pictures?  books?  vitamins?  bottles of cortisone cream?  ditto of lotion and shampoo?)  Every day has a big project attached to it, sometimes two.   Order is slowly being wrought out of the chaos, but it feels like it's taking too long.  I yearn for a stable environment.  I miss my friends.  I miss myself.

But, I do seem to have the remnants of hope to build upon.  I have proof, in fact.  Recently I sent this message to a friend who was checking up on me:

Thanks! The sale is over and garnered almost enough income to cover vet emergencies and paint and floor refinishing! We had spent a week trying to toss things, and then left the sale to the professional and skipped town to recover. The sale was 3/24-25.

We went up to Port Angeles to visit Dave's wonderful cousins, and Carbon's laryngeal paralysis kicked in....after one hour on the way home it was so bad we stopped at the nearest clinic. 3 hours later, after several shots, and oxygen treatment, we were on our way, only to stop yet again to spend the night at a Motel 6. Total cost, for all of this, $400.

It's really scary to hear your sweet old dog panting for breath for 5 hours straight. No more road trips for her.

Then we got home and found Simone had an abscess. It was so bad they put in a drain. She's a tuxedo cat, and it looks like a grotesque bow tie. It stays in for 72 hours, which means an RCA victor collar and being sequestered inside. When I put the collar on her, she backed into a corner, eyes round with fright, and refused to eat or drink. We left her in the living room over night, and in the morning she greeted me sans collar and made a bolt for the outdoors. But, we've managed to keep her fairly well contained, and she's leaving the drain alone, so such is life. She really is quite sweet, and doesn't fight me too much over all this unnatural treatment.

Cost for that, $170. It would have been closer to $700, but I got a wellness plan last year when she had what has become her annual spring abscess.

Amongst all of this, I decided that, while the rooms were empty, we really should refinish the floors and paint the walls before the new housemates move in. That's tomorrow. Needless to say, we are not meeting that deadline. Cost for floors, $500. Cost for paint, $350. Will be working with the housemates to finish up.

We made $1375 on the sale. You do the math!

I spent today reorganizing the entire kitchen and clearing away the grime of 20 years, prepping for a shared kitchen. The floor guys came today, so it was the only room we could access. Fortunately, the shed room remodel is basically done, and we can sleep and rest out there. We put Carbon and Simone out there to keep them away from the chaos.

During all of it, I've been bickering with D. It makes me so sad that we don't always pull together.  This work could be fun, or at least a way to build closeness.  Instead we argue about what to do and how to do it.  The moments of consensus emphasize the disconnects, and I can't seem to focus on the positives.

On the plus side, the various changes to my homestead are wonderful, and once the final arrangements are made, it'll be a huge relief. I've needed to declutter for a long time. I really like my little shed. It's like a cabin, with a peaked roof, roses peeping in the windows, rain on the skylights, a little kitchenette, and a shuttered closet. The only thing it lacks is a bathroom. We're adding an outhouse next week, and regular bathroom stuff will be in the main house. Reminds me of my days in the milk barn on Taylor's Ferry Road. 

Still, I'm doing okay. Still interviewing for library gigs, still renting the studio for airbnb, still working on call, still wishing for a new career. Looks like innkeeper or landlord is the most likely. At any rate, I'll try not to let you all down. I hope you are right about my ability to ride this out. It's pretty exhausting right now.

Okay, so, the remnants of hope are a little tattered.

Sleep vs work vs play

Last night I came home from work at 10 pm.  I was greeted with the microwave crisis:  sometimes it gets overloaded and stops working or displaying any signs of life.   The key is to leave it alone for awhile.  If you do that, it will emit a little beep, the electronic version of a deep breath.  The lights will come back on, and it's ready to rock.  D did not know this, so he had checked the breaker box and then shlepped the whole thing into the studio to test it on the plugs in there.  No dice.  He returned it to the kitchen, grumbling the whole way.  I sashayed in, jiggled the plug, and voila!  We once more had a working microwave.

But the damage was done.  It had been an exhausting day for me:  I got up early to walk the dog, then baked a pie and a quiche for tonight's gathering.  Then I spent 2 hours doing virtual reference ("is there a site for table manners in Israel?")  M stopped by to cut some juniper and cedar and gather some pine cones for her home decor.  (Smells are the most important part of the seasonal activities:  greenery, spices, baking.)  During breaks, I edited some OLAQ articles.  I did dishes, put away groceries, changed into khaki and white, and took off for the mall, which was frantically busy.  Again, I spent a good 15 minutes hunting for a parking space that wasn't in another state.

It was so busy in the store that the cleanup happened after we locked the gates.  It was my first time with the push broom.  I didn't like it.

However, I was determined to spend an hour on decorating the tree and listening to Christmas music and enjoying the lights and the annual ornament discoveries (where's the pickle?  the sailing santa?  the skaters?  the grandma ornaments?)  Unfortunately, D did not recover so quickly from the microwave incident.  We bickered, I fought with the tangle of lights.  The usual discussion ensued re:  process.  I believe in deploying the glass balls symmetrically around the tree, making sure the reds and golds are evenly distributed.  Then, I fill in the spaces with the ornaments.  D thinks the balls take up too much space.  Bicker, bicker, bicker.

By the time we were done with the main tree and the Charlie Brown tree in the studio, it was 1 am, and I had to get up for a 9 am rehearsal.  But I was too wired from the events of the day to sleep, and I had forgotten my restless legs meds.  So, it was another half hour of electronic scrabble, e-mail, etc before I got to sleep.  Today I rehearse from 9-noon, work from 1-6, and dash home to make toffee and cut up fruit for the gathering, which starts at 7.

Next week I am essentially working every day, sometimes at two sites in one day.

I am starting to feel like the microwave.