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Saturday, February 15, 2003
I tried to post a blog earlier today and Mr. Dell here in Napa wouldn’t let me do it. But so far, that was the only downer of the day.
It is gorgeous here, even though it is currently pouring down rain. Hovering around sixty degrees… light sweater weather… the sun peeking out occasionally and the breeze sweet and soft. Lovely. I spent last night with my dad and Carole and one of their neighbors, an unlikely foursome on Valentine’s Eve. The only place we could get in was Brix, here in the valley, and even then we “had” to sit and have martinis during the hour before our meal Wetalked politics, but my stomach didn’t turn, and I hardly gave a thought to the heartbreak I suffered two years ago on that day.
Today dawned cloudy and warm, well, comparatively warm to frigid New York, and we spent the day running errands and shopping. I spent the day thinking. It’s really important to get away from home every now and then. Important to release yourself from your life so you have time and perspective to think about what you need to do. Oh, and to sleep. I slept thirteen hours last night. If only I could ruminate on my problems for a full thirteen hours. Alas, I might toss myself off the Golden Gate if I did that, so… maybe only an hour or two. Today I sat on my dad and Carole’s porch, overlooking the Rutherford Bench, and watched two hawks circle the underpaid immigrant workers pruning the vines below. Still, it was peaceful, and the only two things I figured out in that hour of staring and drooling was that 1) I need to get out of credit card debt and B) I need a laptop computer. Neither of these were revelations, and nor are they in the order of importance, but really now. Not having a laptop means not being able to write 75% of the time that I need/want to. It’s just foolish and detrimental to my life. Credit card debt, well, that is a fact of life, and mine is only $5000, but it ties me to home, ties me to subsistence job, hangs over my head every time I think of running off to Africa for a couple of months to EMT some people back to health.
So that’s the only clarity so far. My dad bought me a kitchen apron. The night before I left, I found a hat my mom had gotten for me- a blue one with ears, exactly what I’d asked for during the first deep freeze. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am loved by my entire family. I know they are good people. I know that I am talented, and that I try to be good myself. You would think that just with this knowledge, I’d feel at least partially actualized.
I will free myself from the traps I have created. I will raze the walls that I have raised. I will do exactly what I want to do, create the life I need. I just haven’t figured out the first step.
It is gorgeous here, even though it is currently pouring down rain. Hovering around sixty degrees… light sweater weather… the sun peeking out occasionally and the breeze sweet and soft. Lovely. I spent last night with my dad and Carole and one of their neighbors, an unlikely foursome on Valentine’s Eve. The only place we could get in was Brix, here in the valley, and even then we “had” to sit and have martinis during the hour before our meal Wetalked politics, but my stomach didn’t turn, and I hardly gave a thought to the heartbreak I suffered two years ago on that day.
Today dawned cloudy and warm, well, comparatively warm to frigid New York, and we spent the day running errands and shopping. I spent the day thinking. It’s really important to get away from home every now and then. Important to release yourself from your life so you have time and perspective to think about what you need to do. Oh, and to sleep. I slept thirteen hours last night. If only I could ruminate on my problems for a full thirteen hours. Alas, I might toss myself off the Golden Gate if I did that, so… maybe only an hour or two. Today I sat on my dad and Carole’s porch, overlooking the Rutherford Bench, and watched two hawks circle the underpaid immigrant workers pruning the vines below. Still, it was peaceful, and the only two things I figured out in that hour of staring and drooling was that 1) I need to get out of credit card debt and B) I need a laptop computer. Neither of these were revelations, and nor are they in the order of importance, but really now. Not having a laptop means not being able to write 75% of the time that I need/want to. It’s just foolish and detrimental to my life. Credit card debt, well, that is a fact of life, and mine is only $5000, but it ties me to home, ties me to subsistence job, hangs over my head every time I think of running off to Africa for a couple of months to EMT some people back to health.
So that’s the only clarity so far. My dad bought me a kitchen apron. The night before I left, I found a hat my mom had gotten for me- a blue one with ears, exactly what I’d asked for during the first deep freeze. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am loved by my entire family. I know they are good people. I know that I am talented, and that I try to be good myself. You would think that just with this knowledge, I’d feel at least partially actualized.
I will free myself from the traps I have created. I will raze the walls that I have raised. I will do exactly what I want to do, create the life I need. I just haven’t figured out the first step.
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
My brother Ian has a blog (xtcian.net) which he has been writing for a few years now, and in it he updates how Celexa is affecting his life. Beyond that, it is brillantly written. Ian's writing reminds me of Beethoven. Both knock me over- surprise me, take my breath, break my heart. And every now and then, I have to wonder if I, too, should be medicated, like several of my brothers. But I really don't think so. I really think my feelings of unhappiness are situational, not chemical. I know when I've been happy, what it takes, what I need to do. That seems to be the problem now- I am fiercely devoted to the idea of having four careers, and yet, right now, I have none of them.
I think what I really need is a nap, and a trip to California.
I think what I really need is a nap, and a trip to California.
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
My life is not what I want it to be.
There is a theory of thought that if you try your hardest to accomplish something, that if you put all of your energy into it, the universe will respond by helping you reach your goal. I sat on the subway tonight, leaving yet another birthday party for yet another beloved, and cried. I cried because my life is not what I want it to be. I feel I do not belong in this city, at this job, in this life. I feel pathetic, useless, filling my time with nothingness. Again choosing a man who does not want to choose me. For the first time in my life, I wondered if I really wanted to be an actor. I've not auditioned well in quite some time. If this is the ultimate, what I really want, why aren't I trying my hardest? Why isn't all of my energy there? Am I absolutely full of shit? I'm not scared of success, I'm not really scared of anything. I don't want to spend whole days waiting in the cold for two minutes of a bored man's time. And that is what it takes. So do I not have what it takes? Does it really matter if you are an actor unless you are an actor in New York? On the subway tonight, as tears hit my book, I wondered if I should go to school to be a nurse or physician's assitant. Doctors Without Borders has no use for EMT's or paramedics, but they take nurses and PA's. But neither of those are emergency medicine.
I want to plan a trip away. I have no idea what I want, or where to go from here. I suppose that is the problem. I am treading water, barely keeping afloat, and can't decide which way to swim.
A few nights ago, I left work and walked to the subway. It is bitter again in New York, and the streets and sidewalks are sheets of ice. I turned into the Union Square kiosk and three people were bounding down the stairs before me. Just as I got a sick feeling in my stomach, watching the last guy's feet on the ice, he fell, and fell hard. He didn't slide all the way down, but hit his head and his back and his legs all at once. A few people asked him if he was okay as I gingerly worked my way down. When I reached the bottom, I found him leaning against the wall, holding his face, saying, "Oh, shit, oh... shit". I said, "Are you okay?" and he mumbled behind his hands that I should go away. I put my hand on his arm, looking at his filthy fingernails, and thought that he was either homeless or just really dirty. I said, "Did you hit your head? I'm an EMT, I can help you." He drew his hands away and looked at me, and said, "I'm fine. Thankyou. Really, I'm fine."
He was obviously embarassed, and people have to give permission to be helped, so I walked away. As I went down the steps for the Brooklyn Q, he called out thanks one more time from across the subway station.
And this just makes me think... it was such a small event, took three minutes of my life... but it reminds me that I could actually be DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE. Take five minutes and go to the Doctors Without Borders website. Click on the "Top Ten Most Underreported Humanitarian Stories of 2002" (http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/publications/reports/2002/top10_2002.html) and you will see what there is to be done. In many of those stories there are accounts of aid people being shot and murdered. Which frightens me. But I feel like if I stay here, live this life, go to work, serve people steaks which I would probably not eat under gunpoint... I feel like my only alternative is to go mad.
There is a theory of thought that if you try your hardest to accomplish something, that if you put all of your energy into it, the universe will respond by helping you reach your goal. I sat on the subway tonight, leaving yet another birthday party for yet another beloved, and cried. I cried because my life is not what I want it to be. I feel I do not belong in this city, at this job, in this life. I feel pathetic, useless, filling my time with nothingness. Again choosing a man who does not want to choose me. For the first time in my life, I wondered if I really wanted to be an actor. I've not auditioned well in quite some time. If this is the ultimate, what I really want, why aren't I trying my hardest? Why isn't all of my energy there? Am I absolutely full of shit? I'm not scared of success, I'm not really scared of anything. I don't want to spend whole days waiting in the cold for two minutes of a bored man's time. And that is what it takes. So do I not have what it takes? Does it really matter if you are an actor unless you are an actor in New York? On the subway tonight, as tears hit my book, I wondered if I should go to school to be a nurse or physician's assitant. Doctors Without Borders has no use for EMT's or paramedics, but they take nurses and PA's. But neither of those are emergency medicine.
I want to plan a trip away. I have no idea what I want, or where to go from here. I suppose that is the problem. I am treading water, barely keeping afloat, and can't decide which way to swim.
A few nights ago, I left work and walked to the subway. It is bitter again in New York, and the streets and sidewalks are sheets of ice. I turned into the Union Square kiosk and three people were bounding down the stairs before me. Just as I got a sick feeling in my stomach, watching the last guy's feet on the ice, he fell, and fell hard. He didn't slide all the way down, but hit his head and his back and his legs all at once. A few people asked him if he was okay as I gingerly worked my way down. When I reached the bottom, I found him leaning against the wall, holding his face, saying, "Oh, shit, oh... shit". I said, "Are you okay?" and he mumbled behind his hands that I should go away. I put my hand on his arm, looking at his filthy fingernails, and thought that he was either homeless or just really dirty. I said, "Did you hit your head? I'm an EMT, I can help you." He drew his hands away and looked at me, and said, "I'm fine. Thankyou. Really, I'm fine."
He was obviously embarassed, and people have to give permission to be helped, so I walked away. As I went down the steps for the Brooklyn Q, he called out thanks one more time from across the subway station.
And this just makes me think... it was such a small event, took three minutes of my life... but it reminds me that I could actually be DOING SOMETHING WITH MY LIFE. Take five minutes and go to the Doctors Without Borders website. Click on the "Top Ten Most Underreported Humanitarian Stories of 2002" (http://www.doctorswithoutborders.org/publications/reports/2002/top10_2002.html) and you will see what there is to be done. In many of those stories there are accounts of aid people being shot and murdered. Which frightens me. But I feel like if I stay here, live this life, go to work, serve people steaks which I would probably not eat under gunpoint... I feel like my only alternative is to go mad.