Babble Rave

Well, today is another crappy-feeling day. Its dank outside, and most of my body is doing that achy-throbby-swelling-feels-like-my-bones-have-been-shattered-and-are-stabbing-my-insides thing. So, sort of a high normal for nowadays. But you know what? I don’t feel like complaining; guess I'm just not in the mood. Today feels much more like a babble-rave day: that's where I think non-rant thoughts and babble about them. Here’s the list for today:

Thunderstorms. Actually, I hate thunderstorms. Freaks me out. The cat and me, we huddle, we pretend we’re cool with it, but really, we’re freaked. But – stalled thunderstorms (and up here on Sugar Hill, the thunderstorms stall A LOT. Yeah, things to know before you move, right?), where the lightning and thunder are simultaneously going off right above your head, where the blinding flash comes in from every single window on all three sides and you suddenly realize that you are five stories above the ground and a great sitting target? Well that is so freaking scary as to actually be cool, as long as the cat and I stay off the roof and away from the walls.

Music that takes you places. Right now, I am actually taking a mental trip to India. With my next CD, I’ll be going down to Brazil. This is why it is nice to live with a man who lives, breathes and eats music. Thank you, K!

Waves. It is summertime, after all. Even if I can’t see them, I know that somewhere, people are sitting on a beach and enjoying them. Ok, actually, that doesn’t really help me much.

White rooms cooled by darkened shades. This describes our apartment most days now, and there I times when I look around and can almost smell the sea air of Miami Beach. My family has strong ties to Miami. My father grew up there; it is where my grandparents are buried. During my Grandmother's later years, one of her closer friends was Irma. Irma lived in a house on one of the islands in Biscayne Bay. She was the widow of a man who was big in movie makeup during the glamour days of Hollywood. Tall and gaunt, she spoke with a pronounced East European accent that might have been German. She always wore large sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. I don’t remember her ever leaving her house, which always felt like dusk no matter how light it was in the outside world. I think she was actually afraid of the sun: even as a child, I knew that this woman was seriously weird, yet I loved going over to visit. The whole place smelt of decaying newspaper. I was allowed to look at her husband’s old makeup boxes, but was never allowed to touch any of it. She once gave me a giant (4ft? 5ft? it was taller than me, at any rate) harlequin rag doll that was all arms and legs with a scarecrow face on top. It had to be propped up, so it usually got left in a corner somewhere. With hindsight, I realize that this freak of a doll scared the hell out of every adult who laid eyes on it. I, of course, loved it. My mother managed to find an excuse to throw it away when I went to collage.

Rooftop parties. It’s a rooftop and it’s a party – what’s not to like? I think I will find a way to put the roof deck into every rave post I write.

Reading medieval sourcebooks for inspiration for my novels. It’s sort of like hunting for that perfect accent piece for that bald spot in the living room. Except that I am looking at things like flank formations, military bands, ancient torture devices, and the proper way to tie a toga.

Sunshine. Because I am not, nor will I ever be, Irma.

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Bad day

I have tried hard not to be negative in these posts, under the belief that no one wants to read a whiner. Not only has this not been a true depiction of my reality (I whine a lot), it also isn’t true. I, at least, don't mind listening to my SCBFs complain. So, for the sake of fairness, I am putting up a small rant today.

I feel like crap. My body is heavy. I can feel gravity pressing down on me, and it hurts. It hurts a lot, and there is no escape from it. That good mood from the last post? Gone. Like it never happened. I’ve spent the last five days barely able to move from one end of the apartment to the other. The pain is starting to make serious inroads into my psyche, which is never a good sign. I feel like I will never be able to move again. My K and I are supposed to go watch a World Cup match tomorrow and I am afraid that there will be too much of a crowd, and that my fragility is going to ruin it for everyone. I hate being afraid; I never used to be this afraid, and I am not sure how to fix it. It might not be fixable. Reality has changed somewhat since that car accident; I don’t want to accept that, but there you go. I hate that my K spends so much time trying to make life better for us. I hate that he has so little time to help me. I hate not being able to go out on my own. I hate being so dependant on others. I hate not being able to contribute. I hate feeling helpless.

Ok. So I guess I’m pretty pissed off today in general. Now you know I haven’t been posting rants; they’re not particularly pretty. Time to shake it off. I’ve been working on some writing – chances are the stuff today (like this one) won’t be the best, but doing something is always better than doing nothing. Tomorrow will hopefully be a better day. If it isn’t, there is always the next one. Good days always come along, eventually. If I look hard enough, I’ll find one again.

Thanks for listening.

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One small rave

Well, it has been a rough few weeks. NYC is having its first real spring in years: damp, wet weather with lots of wind and oscillating temperatures - great for the trees, bad for me. I was pure red all last week, and even spiked to red-black for a few days. Yet I was still able was able to work on the novel a bit and tinker with this site, which is a real accomplishment for me. Hence the cocktails last night, planned in a fit of exuberance as the sun came out.

Only this is a real spring, and by the time I left the apt, rain was back in the air. It was hard just getting down to Rock Center; and I was forced to call my K and tell him to come and get me once I got there. As I waited for him, watching all the Spors rush by, not even realizing how lucky they were to be able to move so quickly (rush-rush-rush- rush-rush!) I admit I got a bit overwhelmed. Everything seemed so hard at that moment. But then my K came and refused to let me feel sorry for myself (he’s good at that, the jerk). And as always, we managed to find just the perfect place to sit and rest. Sometimes, sitting in a beautiful bar with a beautiful man, watching the rain come down, is all you need to remember how special life is.

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Everyday rave

My list for today of things that make me happy.

Watering my plants and watching them grow.
Watching the city sparrows come and eat at our bird feeder.
Seeing our cat luxuriate in the sunshine.
Waving to K from our window as he walks to work.
Hearing from family and friends.
Setting goals and trying to attain them.
Going up the stairs to the roof (yea roof!) and then, as a reward, enjoying the sunshine (yea sunshine!) and the breeze and the view.
Being able to type again.
Being able to write again.

Now, I suppose that some might say that this is a pretty mundane list; that these things make me happy because they are the only things that I can do. To these types, I say, “Bite me.” I can (and do) enjoy the 'finer' things in life - we live in NYC, after all. But that great meal we had or that glorious concert we heard isn’t really going to cheer me up when I feel rotten.

Yes, my life can be difficult. Sometimes it actually sucks. Yet there are good things that come out of always being ill. I know plenty of Spors who go through life missing the beauty of the everyday. If it is not bright and shiny and new (or at least expensive) then it is of no use to them. Deep down I’ve always had the awful feeling that, had I not become ill when I was a child, I might have turned into one of those types. Instead, I have been granted the grace to see the world as the wonderous, miraculous mess that it is, and to revel in it.

So then, why not think of good days (like today, for me) as shiny pennys. Pick 'em up and put them in your pocket and save 'em for a rainy day. You'll be glad you did. Trust me.

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