This writing in the evening thing hasn’t quite worked out, yet. LOL
I will have to begin again, on the writing in the evening thing. π
I woke precisely as the alarm went off, meaning to say, I woke and was in that process of becoming awake, and considering returning to sleep, when the alarm went off. I am not able to decide whether that was “convenient” or “annoying”. lol
My morning has continued in this strange fashion, and I find myself caught in a strange limbo between one understanding of circumstances, and another. The difference between one understanding and another? Mostly a matter of choice, and nothing more – a choice between perceptions or understandings, rather than a choice among actions. If I don’t “choose”… do I then not have a perception? That doesn’t seem to be how it works… eventually I settle on some understanding or another.
I put on headphones and grabΒ a mix to listen to that has really grabbed hold of me lately. (Best on headphones if you don’t have speakers with a lot of bass. lol)
Dancing in my seat, thinking about this existence that occurs in the space between that moment when I am certain I earnestly want to retire… and actually being ready/able to do so. lol Oops. Mind that gap! lol Similarly, existing in the space between meeting that singular human being I yearn to be with…like… all the time… and that moment when I understood living full-time with anyone may not work for me at all. Damn it. Mind that gap! No easier existing in the space between being this one person I’ve “always” been (have not)… and being the person I am eagerly becoming. On it goes, right? So much of life is this moment right here, between then, and later on… this “now” moment, that is what it is, and only that. Even the music holds my attention in an in-between-things place, this morning, made up, as it is, of samples of older things mixed in a new way. lol We become, surely, and the journey ahead is paved in the consequences of our earlier choices and actions; this morning I am also very much aware that those earlier iterations of this person “I am” are still with me, and I am fully inclusive of all those earlier moments, earlier actions, earlier yearnings… I am not separate from myself. Or… am I? How does that work, exactly? Something to think about another time; what are we “made of”? Funny in between sort of morning, this morning.
My mind wanders with the music. It’s that sort of morning. π
The holidays ahead begin to take shape. After a conversation with my Traveling Partner yesterday, I am happily planning for the possibility that he may come up for some portion of the holiday, a nice surprise. It’s not a certainty, and I am reluctant to become overly invested in sharing the holiday with him. I do like planning, though, and I’ll enjoy being prepared if/when. π It’s about little things, like having things he likes to snack on already stocked, and having gifts under the tree for him, too. The rest easily takes shape on its own; we comfortably spend time together, and enjoy hanging out together. Makes sense – he’s my best friend.
I notice the time. How the heck is it already 5:30 am? Then… I realize it is neither all that late, nor is it at all unexpected. I sigh out loud, and also sort of chuckle, awkwardly. Will today be built on a foundation of surreal weird moments of misperception and cognitive weirdness, generally? I don’t need that, I’ve got a busy work day ahead… I let the music pull me back to that in between space, neither fully “now”, nor truly any other moment, either. It’s enough to be.
I take a deep breath and relax as I exhale. I finish my coffee, and prepare to begin again. π
Sleeping in was nice this morning. Sipping my coffee, sitting in the open doorway to the deck on a rainy Friday morning felt luxurious. Today is mine. For me. I’ve got a long weekend.
I can’t help but think about the many hundreds of thousands (millions?) of retail workers who will not get this long weekend with their families, or to get some downtime for themselves, or the opportunity so many of us get to do our own thing for a few days after a holiday purportedly about gratitude. They are indentured servants to American Greed. Their employers force them back onto the clock (or they risk losing their jobs) in order to staff shops that Americans visit with a frenzy – a fury – that puts Greed on display for all the world to see. It is a purely American phenomenon as far as I am aware. I find it, personally, rather grotesque. I don’t participate. I don’t shop. I stay home, or go hiking. I stay out of retail spaces, and I stay off the city streets. It’s scary dangerous out there; shoppers have finished with all that “being grateful” stuff, and now it is open warfare to secure the goods for their family holiday (or, let’s be honest, themselves). No thank you.
I can’t hold it against people who are among the poor or working poor that they pull hard-earned limited funds together to do their holiday shopping on this one day of the year; retailers exploit that honest vulnerable yearning to give their families a little something more, to have something nice, to improve their quality of life. It sickens me to see people who can afford to quite properly shop on just any day, and comfortably afford sufficient holiday luxuries for their loved ones and safely avoid this horrible festival of exploitation and greed, getting out there rampaging through shops and malls showing off the worst of who they can be in order to save money they could have afforded to spend. Most particularly I object to this spectacle because it is the participation, in the first place, that makes it a thing at all.Β I find it uncomfortable that it falls on the day after Thanksgiving. Seriously? For fuck’s sake, the timing could not put our greed on higher contrast if we’d carefully selected the timing for that very purpose. It tends to call our gratitude into question.
So… I just don’t.
I’m not walking your mile, and I can’t point fingers or judge you as an individual for shopping on Black Friday. I just also feel sad that the very existence of Black Friday as a thing means that retail workers, specifically, some of the least adequately paid workers in America, get completely fucked out of enjoying a long holiday weekend with their families that many of us get to take for granted – and also don’t get to shop. It’s like an extra helping of “fuck you” for those workers. (How can I not show solidarity, myself, when this is my awareness, and my perspective?) Since I can’t actually change it, and I do actually object, I therefore do not participate, that’s all. π
I guess I’m just saying – if this is a “holiday”, it’s celebrating something pretty horrible, and just maybe we should take another look at what we’re celebrating.
I make another coffee. I consider the day ahead, here at home. It’s a nice one for a hike, mild and only somewhat drizzly. I could stay in and paint without interruption, or relax and read one of the books in the wee stack that has built up since last year, that I continue to promise myself I’ll get around to. I could commit to mindful service to hearth and home, break out that “to do list” and get to work on it. It is a day suitable for beginning again. π