It’s hard for me to get anything past my brother. He’s been propping me up and helping me just about all my life. So when I confessed to feeling anxious about open mic night and said I wasn’t sure I even wanted to go, a sly smile crept up his face. “Surely you don’t HAVE to go. You don’t even have a time slot,” he said yesterday morning. “If you don’t go, I won’t go, ’cause I don’t have a time slot either and like I really care about what other people are doing there tonight.” I nodded, told him I’d ponder my options, and let the day progress. At 5 p.m. he asked me how I was feeling about going down there and this is how he put it: “So….Are you gonna go tonight or stay at home and watch films since I gave you permission to not go?”. I laughed; he caught it and teased me about it and knew exactly where my head was about the whole frigging thing. My feet stayed dry and my head easy last night; thank you.
Yesterday was a drag – in so many ways. Time seemed very slow, and I was dragging myself around the place feeling tired and sore-footed all day. Managed to get over for some duckie love from George. Poor babies are really getting cold and hungry now. The seagulls are, too. It’s a good thing George and the gang are so used to me; those seagulls just keep getting bolder and bolder as winter progresses. Goddess knows what I looked like: standing on the grass with ducks all around my feet while I shooed away the seagulls. George’s posse is small enough that I can make sure everyone has a good amount of bread before I leave. The ladies are a bit more shy than the guys but with the seagulls reeling overhead ready to grab anything from anyone and George leading the way, they all approached me and waited for a big piece of bread to be tossed to them. Nobody does the duckie nibble but George, tho. And he approaches me differently. The other ducks approach me with their heads half turned (literally keeping an eye on me!) and ready to bolt. George looks me straight in the face and just waddles up with confidence. He’s so damn cute!
My smoking has increased. Without holding myself accountable out here, I’ve made all sorts of excuses to have just that little bit more every day. I managed to hold it to 5 Js yesterday, but it was tough and I really wanted the 6th. I’ve got to get back up on that horse and keep holding myself back. You may see the count start up again. If that’s the only way I can keep it low right now, then so be it. I’ve made up my mind: I’m picking up making my rag rugs again. It’s tough on my hands: I pull apart old clothes to do it, so I tug at the seams and wear my scissors down cutting the fabric into strips and then sew them all together and THEN crochet them into massive rugs. They look great, and on our hardwood floors they’re very useful. They also keep my fucking hands busy all afternoon. Impossible to smoke while I work on them. I’ve been avoiding them because the RA just isn’t that good, but I think it’s time to take out my stuff and get crackin’. Even if it’s just two hours a day, that’s two hours I’m not smoking or wanting to smoke.
I really want Addiction Central to get their act together and call me for my first appointment. The very fact that I’ll have something to get me out of the house for 2-4 hours is gonna help me cut back. Not at home = not smoking.
Today I’m gonna get some time in on my computer language lessons. Language is the key to life here; if I can get it, I can make friends and DO things without feeling isolated or a fool. There’s a center for handicapped people near my house. I could probably volunteer time there to do something once I can talk to everyone. Hell, if I can’t legally hold a job due to my residency status, I can at least do volunteer work to get me out of the house.
Gonna tackle housework. The dust bunnies have multiplied and made themselves a nuisance.
The studio is gonna get turned on, too. I’m in a piano mood. I want to lay my hands on the keys and shut my eyes and listen…listen…There’s a melody in the air that needs coaxing into reality. And it ain’t a techno piece. Techno is too jagged for me right now; I’ve been trying to write something on my groove box but I just can’t get anywhere. Back to the basics: piano. I drone in techno; I move in piano. This song moves. Swells. Breathes. I can feel it, panting on the back of my neck. I can’t HEAR it; wish I could. Just this feeling, this need to get my hands on the keyboard again. Somehow, my fingers will find what my inner ear can’t hear. It’s always been that way. Had a dream when I was in my 20s; I was in a ballet rehearsal studio with a great dancer. He needed music to dance to and told me to play the piano in the room. I didn’t know how to play, but my hands did; music poured out of me and he danced and danced. IRL, that’s pretty much the way it feels. My head hears nothing, knows nothing. My hands do. It’s become a near spiritual experience for me: the laying on of the hands. That’s what I call it in my head.
Time for a little healing.