It’s well past dawn. No hint of sunshine or blue skies this morning, just mists and gray clouds and a steady rain.
Waiting for a break in the rain.
I’ve got my boots on, and my rain jacket handy, waiting for a break in the rain sufficient to make walking pleasant. A bit later, walk or no walk, I’ll take the car to the mechanic for the last bit of work needed before my next long trip. It’s a relaxed rainy Saturday, and I’m short on sleep, and in pain. It is what it is. I’m aware of my experience here/now, but also recognize that it isn’t “personal”. it’s just an experience.
I sip my coffee (iced, black, to go), and alternate with sips of water. Waiting. Waiting as the minutes tick by toward the next thing, and listening to the rain fall. Pleasant quiet moments.
…Admittedly, this would be so much more pleasant without the headache and the arthritis pain…
I sit with my thoughts awhile, enjoying the stillness.
I’m enjoying what seems an unusually quiet morning, waiting for enough daylight on a dark rainy morning to make out this trail for a morning walk before work. The rain is a soft misty rain that makes no obvious noise on the windshield. An occasional larger drop falls from the branches hanging over head to land with a splat on the window or roof. The loudest sound I hear this morning is my own tinnitus, interrupted now and then with birdsong.
As the sky lightened from black to deep Prussian blue, the rain began to come down harder. So, I continue to wait, now for a break in the rain…
…The darkness dissipates as the day begins…
Yesterday was lovely. My Traveling Partner and I quietly celebrated our now-13-years married, just hanging out and enjoying each other. More elaborate such celebrations need to wait on his complete recovery from his December injury. Progress feels infernally slow sometimes (I imagine even more so for him, an active man in his prime). I do everything I can – and sometimes push myself beyond my understanding of my limits – seeking to make him more comfortable, and be as helpful as I can in making it easier for him to both rest and heal, and also to stay productive and occupied in a satisfying way. It’s hard sometimes, and I could do a better job of taking care of myself, too. He’s quite helpful there, always considerate of my wellness and likely limits. Good partner, and I am grateful.
…After thirteen years, I am also still very much in love with this man…
The rain makes my back ache fiercely. I add pain medication to my morning medications. It won’t completely resolve the pain I’m in, but it’s certain to help. It’s enough that I should be able to avoid being a bitch because I hurt, and that matters.
I took a moment in the garden in the afternoon, just to enjoy the sunshine after the rain, and to see how things are growing. It’s still early spring, but already the first roses are blooming.
Rose “Baby Love” blooming first in my garden, peeking out from beyond the curry plant.
I stepped gently across the soaking wet lawn, carefully making a point not to come back the way I came, to avoid compressing the moisture saturated ground too much. Everything is lush and green. The earliest planted peas are thriving and blooming.
I’ve already forgotten what specific sort of peas these are. I’ve got several types and varieties. I just enjoy peas.
Interesting greens in the salad bed are beginning to do interesting things. I like to plant a variety of salad greens, including things like dandelions, arugula, “corn salad”, and several other sorts.
Including this… whatever this is. I’ve forgotten.
…And some lettuces. I mean… salad. Obviously. Tender looseleaf red lettuces, and soft delicate butter lettuce… no iceberg lettuce, and rarely any romaine. Boring. I can do without. Flavor, texture, colors… I enjoy the crunch of iceberg lettuce, well enough, I suppose… but it’s rather bland otherwise and not much nutritional value. It’s a small garden; the nutritional density matters.
I took my time as I made my way around the garden. The walk around makes an irregular sort of open-ended oval, not quite a “U” shape, not quite an “O”. There are 13 roses to see along the way, and kitchen herbs tucked in here and there. There’s an assortment of blueberry bushes planted last year, with a hope that they’ll become an edible hedge along one stretch of the walk toward the front door, and a couple others just tucked in here and there for “shrubbery”. Most all the perennials (including most of the roses) are pretty young, having been planted some time in the not-quite-four years we’ve been here. (A couple of the roses are much older, having come along with me for multiple moves, in pots, over the years.) Some of the roses are new this year – they may not even flower until next year. The oldest of the roses, and those that were planted the first year we were here, I expect to bloom heartily. “Baby Love” will bloom more or less continuously, once she begins, through to January next year, unless I do something to force her to acknowledge the changing season (which I rarely do), like prune her back aggressively after the first frost. Our climate is relative mild, and it is not necessary to winter-over the roses.
…It’s definitely Spring…
The lupines are beginning to bloom. The dahlias have broken through the ground. The French tarragon has sent up new sprigs. The curry plant is setting buds and will bloom soon, too.
As I walk in the garden, I find myself strangely feeling that I’m in the company of my Granny, who would walk me through her garden when I was a kid, sampling the herbs and sharing their scents with me, and telling me all the things they were used for. I find myself in the company of my Dad, thinking about which new variety of this or that vegetable might be worth a try this year, picking weeds out from around the tomato plants, and carefully checking those for growth – do they need to be pinched back? I find myself imagining sharing this garden with my dear friend, and her delight over this flower or that one. My background stress recedes and my heart fills with love… and gardening tips. lol
The blue sky and breezes beckoned me to have a sit and rest awhile, listening to the birds. A blue jay stops at the edge of the garden – a familiar one, that comes regularly to see what I’m up to, and rummage around among the weeds and greens for whatever it is blue jays come to the garden for. He watches me fearlessly curious. I watch him back.
It’s cooler now. I’ve finished my time in the garden, and returned indoors to enjoy a quiet cup of tea and hang out with my Traveling Partner, and share my moment in the garden here, with you. It’s enough. I definitely needed it. 🙂
It’s hard to care about progress toward goals with tears pouring down. It’s hard to celebrate a joyful moment in the midst of angry criticism (however legitimate or well-intentioned). It’s hard to care about anything, and for the moment, I’m mired in this experience of deep sorrow and dread. I’m “shook”. I’m triggered. I’m grievously stressed out – by the person in my life who cares for me most, and who I hold most dear, myself.
…It’s just a moment…
…Breathe, exhale… begin again…
I tell myself the things I know I need to hear. I work towards perspective – and forgiveness – and I just… still hurt. I’m still crying. It’s still fresh.
I 100% absolutely unequivocally without exception completely and entirely loathe being yelled at. I don’t respond to it well at all. Maybe it doesn’t rise to the level of someone else’s idea of yelling? Perhaps it doesn’t, but I don’t do well with the escalated hostile angry confrontational tone to something that could have been handled with kindness, humor, and love, and treated as a human moment. Was it a big deal? Not for me to decide. Clearly it was a big enough deal for my Traveling Partner to lash out at me in the way that he did.
…It’s just a moment…
He’ll probably move past it far sooner than I will be able to. I hope he does, I don’t honestly want him also hurting over it, and I’d rather see him happy and okay with himself and with life, generally. I want that for both of us. Right now… I’m alone with my tears. At some point, I’ll probably be okay, and more easily able to nurture myself, and offer him kind words and put things right somehow.
(This wasn’t “a big deal”, and there’s nothing to see here, no violence, no trauma, just expressions of temper and frustration and angry words, and emotions, and it’s unpleasant and I’m unhappy, but these experiences are also part of the human experience – we’re not perfect creatures capable of full-time rationalism uncomplicated by our feelings, ever. We are creatures of emotion and reason – and emotion always arrives to the party first.)
detail of “Emotion and Reason”, acrylic on canvas with glow and ceramic details. 2011.
I breathe, exhale, and feel the throbbing of my headache, reliably worsened by the stressful moment. I didn’t sleep well last night, and although we were making light of that earlier in the day, it’s no laughing matter right now. The lack of rest has consequences for my emotional regulation. So… I’m alone with myself; the only person I know fully capable of accepting me as I am right now, and dealing with it without making it worse. (Which is a sign of real growth, and I take a moment to appreciate it that I can “be here for myself” in a way I simply couldn’t have 10 years ago.)
Fucking hell. What a shit show. People fucking suck… every one of us. So fucking human. Sometimes that really just sucks all the balls. My nerves are raw, and my emotions are in chaos. It’s a shitty place to be.
…I sit awhile “listening” to my tinnitus. It’s louder, too. It hisses and chimes and rings and buzzes in my ears while my head throbs and my heart pounds. Tears well up. My nose runs. I try not to make shit just that little bit worse by anticipating a shitty day tomorrow as a result of this shitty moment right here… tomorrow will be a new day. A new beginning. A reliable chance to reset and make choices in favor of a different experience. I’ll go to work. The routine will feel comfortable – and comforting. I remind myself this too will pass…
I take a moment for gratitude. It’s been such a lovely weekend. Rainy, mostly, but blue skies now; the sun came out at midday, and there’s a pleasant Spring breeze blowing. I got the things done I most needed to, and that I’d committed to doing. There’s still some laundry to fold, but I haven’t had to push a bunch of stuff off to another day. All of that matters, even if this moment seems to diminish it.
…I feel sad, though. As is so often the case, I was in such a lovely mood when shit went sideways. I suppose that’s likely to be the perspective any time shit does go sideways, eh? It’s probably going to feel as if “everything” has suddenly turned from golden joy and delight to … shit. I wonder how accurate that ever actually is? Was it just an ordinary moment that now seems vastly better than it was, because the moment that followed was just that bad? I think about that for a moment, and consider the nature of “perspective” and how subjective that can actually be.
The tears well up all over again, and I find myself feeling profound self-doubt about whether there’s even any value in hitting “publish” on this – whenever I finally stop writing. A missive of pain… seems… somehow tedious, or selfish, or pointless, or… just somehow lacking. I feel anhedonia lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of unsuspecting vulnerability to let that shit creep over me like clingwrap, smothering me in ennui and sadness and that horrible sense of grim futility I know so well… Not at all what I want for myself. That shit is a terrible way to treat oneself. I sigh quietly, resigned to the struggle – and the headache – and wondering how the evening ahead will unfold. For the moment, I don’t feel welcome in my home, nor even in my life. Just… sad and out of place. Like… a familiar stranger.
…There’s still laundry to fold. A partner to forgive. A moment to move on from. Water to get started drinking (you know, because of all the fucking crying). Like it or not, the way out is through, and I’d better get started… I’ve got to begin again somehow. This time, it’ll need some real work – and I know my results may vary. I’ll just start with stepping through it as a process, and trust that the process will… work.
…I miss the wise women of my lifetime… my Granny. My mother. Most particularly my recently departed dear friend. I feel so… lonely, right now. Thanks for listening, if you bothered to get this far. I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’m just hurting at this moment, right here… and it’ll pass. Moments are quite fleeting. You’re welcome to share your thoughts – perhaps your perspective will help. No expectations, just saying; I do read the comments.
G’damn this headache, though…
…Something, something… “begin again”… it sounds empty just at the moment, but I know the truth of it… so I’ll just get started on that… What else would I do?
I’m sipping my coffee, and trying my best not to be bitter. Too much anti-woman garbage in the news, and it inevitably filters into my consciousness. I put on music to soothe my soul, and remind me that the path ahead is not reliably smooth or paved.
I don’t prefer to pour my anger onto the page, spilling like the blood I’ve already shed, wasted like the time it would take to try to argue the point that women are fully human, conscious, with agency and their own reasons to live beyond being brood mares or objects to be used for sexual fulfillment. Fucking hell, I hope you’re at least not surprised to learn that there are many decision-making individuals in the world who don’t see women as fully human conscious beings with rights and agency… because, yeah, that’s a fucking thing. Unfortunately. Second-class. An after-thought. Hell, there are people who disagree with women having the vote – or the right to withhold their consent. No shit. Wild, right? Disappointing, certainly – and yeah, I’m angry about it. Are you kidding me? Ohio just criminalized marital rape – it’s 2024 – until now, it’s been just fine to go ahead and rape your wife. Hell, if that’s too much work, go ahead and drug her, then rape her, totally legal. Gross. We can’t do better than this?
…A lifetime of seething impotent rage, just waiting for an opportunity. I’m an American woman…
I take a breath and a sip of my coffee. These aren’t abstract concerns for me; I’m a woman. Lacking the option to willfully choose not to bear children would have changed my life dramatically. My educational options would have been diminished (because that was a thing, and not so long ago). My career options, too, would have been very different, and very limited. My leisure hours could not have been spent on art – I’d have been forced to devote my time to child-rearing. That wasn’t the life I wanted, at all. Nothing about me is particularly “maternal” beyond having a vagina and a uterus, and by the time I reached adulthood, my chaos and damage were so profound that any child of mine was going to have a rough fucking go of it – it takes a long time for trauma to heal, even with persistent self-work. I knew when I was just 14 that I did not want children. That’s still true. (I am fond of my stepson; I met him shortly after he finished high school. He’s a good guy, doing his best, and he’s come so far since I first met him. I enjoy being a bystander on the relationship my Traveling Partner shares with his son – and that’s close enough to motherhood for me.)
I breathe, exhale, relax – and remind myself not to allow my anger to poison me. “The way out is through”, for sure, but no need to be ridiculous about it. Tantrums and lashing out don’t help anyone understand things more clearly, and don’t help me feel better. Hell, tantrums and lashing out don’t even give me momentary relief. You know what does? Knowing that my Traveling Partner, the person I go home to each day and wake with each morning, doesn’t hate me, doesn’t hate women, and understands us to be wholly human people. There’s comfort and healing in that. I’ve come a long way from that angry young woman who stood on the threshold of adulthood wanting vengeance.
I sip my coffee, and watch the dismal rainy gray dawn unfold on an America that hates women. You know who you are (although you’re probably not reading this). Do better, for fucks’ sake. There are little girls everywhere each trying to become the woman they most want to be – give them a fucking chance.
I sigh quietly. I’ve gotten caught up in a moment of pain. I breathe, exhale, relax, and let it go – again. I watch the little brown birds in the park, and the traffic making the trip around the block below, looking for parking. The rain falls softly. It’s an ordinary day, and there is no cure for pain – just a new moment, and a chance to begin again…
Evening Light 