Crushed Plums

My neighbor's plum tree hangs over his fence and drops half of the crop to spoil on the sidewalk.



A few days ago I accidentally stomped on one of the plums while walking the dog. It's a wonder that I didn't slip and fall. Instead, juice squished out of the fruit, smearing against the pavement and making the bottom of my flip-flop momentarily sticky.



I don't know why small broken things are so significant to me. Perhaps I relate to them--I have a history of being broken and feeling small. It's what I look for in a man: I want to be my tiniest self and feel safe in his arms. Yes, my desires are very cliche, which isn't necessarily a fault, but nevertheless I am ashamed.

I've eaten some of these plums. They're sweet and juicy in a bland way--no candy tartness. Too ripe.

The Main Reason People Lie

The main reason for human deceit, as interpreted by Nicholas Epley in his book Mindwise: How We Understand What Others Think, Feel, Believe, and Want. Background photo by Jeff Ruane.

Two Days Motherland

I've started writing in the morning, getting my words down first thing. Okay, it's only been two days so far, but I think this is a good practice to develop. Why not celebrate early? Also, two days running, I have felt nauseous before noon, but I don't think that's related. I hope it is not.

Last night and the previous night, I read Sylvia Plath in bed. I started with journal entries--I am still working through The Unabridged slowly--and then read a few poems out loud. It was hard to find a happy one to end on, which doesn't surprise me given the author. Poetry sounds best when voiced, and I understand it better when I say the words using my own mouth.

I haven't written a poem in a long time. My fingers didn't dry up, but I write to be read and almost no one reads poetry. I just bought A Thousand Heavens by Divya Persaud, so there's that. It was $4.80 which is less than some lattes. I know she offers a new perspective. I am about to reenter the business of learning.



The above is an excerpt--read the rest here.

Seaside Bunny Whirl

This morning I made some digital collages with snapshots of my rabbit Doof. Or I guess they're technically mixed-media pieces, since I added scribbles.



I love how curious he looks. Background: Floral Vortex by Anita Ritenour.



The larger version looks better. Background: Golden Gate Bridge landscape by Tobias.

Rescheduling Anxiety

// Football blues by Paul Stocker //

Today in therapy we talked about the idea of deferring worry. Here's what you do: Consider whether the thing you're obsessing about is necessary to pay attention to right now. If it is, then go ahead and take action to lessen your stress. But if it's not, then tell yourself, "I'll think about this issue later. Right now I'm gonna focus on washing the breakfast dishes," or whatever is the task at hand. Schedule a worry session for later. Say to yourself, "If I still feel like I need to deal with this when 6pm rolls around, then I'll take ten minutes to think about it." Put a note on your calendar, or set your phone to remind you. When more worries pop up, you can add them to the list, and firmly let them know that they'll have to wait for your attention. Hopefully, by allotting a specific time for fretting, you can keep the nervous tension out of the rest of your day.

I'm sure this technique won't work for everyone, because nothing works for everyone. But it provides an attitudinal tweak that really helps me, personally.

Another stress-reducing perspective-shift is the reminder that other people are not your responsibility. (Unless you have kids.) For example, at the moment my mom is trying to configure her new computer, and the process is apparently very frustrating. I feel an urge to go comfort her, or to make her approach the problem in a different way. I dunno. But what I do know is that 1) she doesn't want my help and 2) it's not my role to change how she does things. My job is to take care of myself. I must accept that other people are beyond my control.

I hope that this post doesn't seem sanctimonious or inappropriately instructional--I'm writing to myself as much as I am to any internet wanderer who happens to be reading here.

What Is Growing Up

I frequently resolve to stop picking at my acne, and just as frequently fail to resist temptation when I'm in front of the bathroom mirror. (My mild case of derma has come up before--see this entry and this one, for example.)



For once I'm annoyed at the camera for being overly flattering, because this picture doesn't accurately illustrate my wrecked skin. It's probably for the best anyway--no one wants to see that. Besides, I'm sure I look less raw than I feel. Humans tend to dramatize their experiences, especially teenage humans. Eventually I'll look back on young adulthood the same way I recollect middle school, with rueful embarrassment and condescending empathy for the petty agonies of a former self.

Right now my worries don't seem minor. (Pun intended, although technically I'm "legal".) Currently I'm falling in love with X again and trying to find a professional path that I can tread on daily. The inching progress in both respects is very potent; the muscles in my heart and limbs tear as they stretch. Still my surface preoccupies me as much as ever...

Nature Finds A Way

I like seeing plants grow through cracks in the sidewalk. They remind me that entropy is entropy is entropy: we can try to impose order on the system, but the system will defy a definitive arrangement. (Sort of--I don't understand entropy scientifically.) I try really hard to structure my life in ways that make sense, but those efforts can never be fully successful. I can't function without learning to tolerate a certain amount of randomness and disorganization.