Monday, July 19, 2010

Dreaming backwards

I wake up feeling unbearably sad. No, first I wake up thinking oh, I slept a lot. Two days in a row -- maybe today will be a good day. I look at the clock: just before 10 am, perfect. But am I ready to get up? I feel like I could sleep more, but it seems depressing to stay in bed for longer than 12 hours.

I go out on the fire escape. That’s where I realize I feel awful. Because it’s gorgeous out, the sun is so soft. But I don’t even want to keep my eyes open. I try doing the thing where you look really slowly in one direction, noticing the things that draw your attention but not narrowing your gaze, allowing everything to stay soft, turning very slowly, and then in the other direction, back to the center. That does clear my head, and the sun feels great on my body, except then my hands start getting red, I cover them.

Back inside and I’m sitting at the kitchen table, music on, ready to do a little bit of editing. I start, but I can’t focus. Should I get back in bed? Wait: I already got back in bed. It worked for a minute, but now I feel unbearably sad. Maybe I’ll read, instead of editing. I’m reading Enchantment and Exploitation, a history of the mountains and the people in the area near Santa Fe. This introductory part is about the native peoples and their relationship to the land. It does calm me, but when I stop reading I feel sad again, in that way that feels like I’m dreaming backwards. Like I slept the wrong way: rest left my body instead of coming in. A hole in my head where dreams left me too open, open to this dark sadness that feels all-encompassing.

I guess I’ll eat something, and see if that helps. Even if it rarely does. Or, it does help, but not enough. And: it helps, but it also hurts. But wait -- all this air, all this air on the fire escape, thank you for this air! And the sun, always tricky at this time of day just before noon, but still, the sun, the sun on my skin, thank you. And actually these mung beans taste much better than yesterday. And the quinoa -- I guess it was a good idea to soak it overnight, and then cook it for an hour instead of 20 minutes -- there’s something about the energetics of the first bite that feels so different, does that make sense? I mean it feels like something healing. Maybe I’ll do that with all my grains, I’ll soak them overnight just to see. I mean, sometimes they don’t taste as good that way, soggy or watery, but maybe it will help anyway.

But now I know about that section of The End of San Francisco I was reading earlier, I know exactly what to do with it -- delete! Okay, I guess I’ll try some more editing, and see if my hands can deal. Editing does make me feel so much better, the concentration draws me out of everything else. Except for my hands, my arms, oh no. But still -- I figured out that section. It’s kind of intense, editing this book called The End of San Francisco, while trying to figure out where I’m going to move at the same time. I mean, that’s not in this book at all -- this book is about my political, cultural, social, sexual, and emotional formations and where they’ve failed me, where I’ve failed: everything that has made and unmade me. And then this question of where to go, that comes much later -- in the book, I’m still here.

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