i just wrote this to a sober penpal:
“I’m big on giving up stuff that doesn’t serve me…”
i’m pretty aware of subtle ups and downs in my day. My motivation and energy levels fluctuate some days more than I’d like. I get the work done, but some days I enjoy it, other days it’s a grind. Even within a couple of hours i can flip and feel like something is grindy. So i’m always on the lookout for ways to ensure that i’m happy more often than not.
I know this about me. If i run, i feel better. Therefore, i try to run as often as i can, for very short distances, just enough to get the ‘bump’. 10 minutes is enough. I usually try to go for 20 minutes. But 10 minutes is enough to change my mood.
I know this about me. i know that i’m shit worthless on less than 8 hrs sleep. I accept this about myself. I will never just crash on your floor or in your van. I will always go home and get into my own bed and have a good night’s sleep. Always.
I know this about me. ice cream makes my guts feel funny. so i have sorbet.
I know this about me. i don’t go *home* for christmas, i skip family events where the drama is high. summer is better. at least we can sit outside.
I know this about me. i feel better if i’ve set out something for tomorrow, something symbolic like putting the folder by the front door. something that means that when i get up, my behaviour will be intentional instead of just being adrift.
I know this about me. i feel better without the news. I don’t read the paper except when on vacation, and then i read the arts/food/family/travel sections.
I know this about me. Because i don’t have a tv, i don’t repeatedly watch shitty things in other parts of the world that have nothing to do with me (sinkholes, tornadoes, plane crashes, etc.). I did not see Hurricane Katrina on CNN. I didn’t see the olympics either. shocking, i know.
I know this about me. I have stopped writing fiction but it wasn’t really a decision. I just stopped. I never ‘had time’, I was always ‘busy with other things,’ and that’s it. years went by. then more years. now I realize that I wrote fiction to make other people happy. i had a talent that they insisted i use. For me, it’s too solitary. For me, I’m not compulsive enough (i.e. I don’t get up every day just dying to write fiction). I do get up thinking about pie, though. Turns out I had to get sober and be 46 to figure out what I’m really called to do. I’m CALLED to and dream about cinnamon buns. And pie. And today I made sour cream coffee cake and bagels and lamb pot pies.
I know this about me. I’m also (apparently) called to be sober penpal with a squillion people although this is a recent event and i’m not sure what it means yet. I seem to have fallen into it without really examining the ‘whys’ of it. I expect the meaning will be clearer later, maybe much later. This sober thing is part of a story, but i’m not sure what the story is yet.
I know this about me. I avoid crazy situations, even when they’re called Family. I stayed home from the funeral because y’all were fighting about who was going to inherit the bed.
I know this about me. i don’t have anyone in my life anymore who makes me feel small. If you make me cry, i’ll think very seriously about having anything to do with you again even if you apologize. if you think it’s OK to corner me, and to push even when i’ve said what’s best for me, then I’ll act silent. And then I’ll turn and walk away and never come back.
I know this about me. I do what’s best for me. even if you think i’m an idiot. or wrong. or that i’m selfish. or not brave enough. or whatever you’d like to project onto me. I do what’s best for me.
I know this about me. if you make me feel shitty because i got married and you’re single, and you liked me better when i was single, then please understand that i’ll pick my husband every day and twice on sundays. he’s adorable.
And really, Wolfie, if you think that listening to you is entertaining, then you’ve got another thing coming. i’m so fucking done with you, Wolfie. the empty space in my head and life now is filled with connections, and people, and cake. And bakeries and catering and sober friends and running. Fuck you wolfie. With sugar on top.
Durfee (day 97) sent me this photo a while ago, and i’ve been saving it for the perfect time. this is it.