Psychiatry

My second psychiatrist's appointment confirmed what I thought after the first: I don't like this shrink. I thought perhaps I was misremembering, or had been uncomfortable for some other reason and just blamed it on him. But for the second visit in a row I got the distinct impression that he's trying to catch me at something. He asks me questions that don't seem to have anything to do with my mental health, and takes notes at inexplicable intervals. "Do you typically get your oil changed on time? Mhmm. And how many miles till your next oil change? Uh-huh," (nods, jots down note). I can't figure out what he's getting at. I get defensive, only I'm careful to hide it, lest he think he's hit on something. I'm living a scene from a poorly written comedy.

An Exercise

I figure I just have to write something or I'll keep not writing instead. I started and nearly finished a post about being in New York, but decided it was either too obvious or too cynical, so I let it go. There are other things that I wish I had let go, but didn't. I'm not even saying I should have dropped them. Only that the outcome isn't what I wanted.

I was happy to see friends in New York, but in general it was a lonely trip, and quite unhappy at times. I think I'm at a point where I have to ride things out and wait to come to some understanding or peace of mind. It's not the easiest thing for a person like me, but there's not much I can do about it. And besides, it's probably a good lesson.

On a positive note, I finally feel ready for a schedule. I'm trying to ease myself into it through the rest of this week and stick to it properly starting Monday. I'll have specific times for yoga, meditation, quilting, random other projects, babysitting, and doing some laundry and cooking for Tim and Kaylan. I just want to be sure that I don't create something arbitrary, and miss whatever productive conclusion I might draw from the confusion and groundlessness that has marked recent months. Because there's got to be something good there, right? Some lesson about no-self or emptiness or something? It feels like there must be. I've got my eyes peeled.

Civic Satori

I spend a lot of time driving these days–back and forth between Greensboro and Chapel Hill with Winston-Salem occasionally thrown into the mix. Everything seems really simple in my car. I'm usually either thinking about my intentions (that is, the guiding principles of my life in general) or trying to just be (a kind of meditation on driving). I like the car, probably because there's no reason to second guess myself. There's never a question as to whether I should be doing something more important or productive. I'm not attached to anything. The only thing I can do is drive.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to drive forever. Not like a truck driver who needs to get to a certain place by a certain time, but not aimlessly either. More like if the well-known highway between points A and B just stretched out, and my exit never came. I wonder if that's what life without desire feels like. If I took a long enough road trip, do you think I could find enlightenment?

Definition

screw-glue: verb. literally, to glue screws into place; to carry out a task in so rigorous and thorough a manner as to ultimately create problems for the undertaking as a whole; to overdo. He really screw-glued those dishes by wrapping each one in newspaper, bubblewrap, and then duct tape before boxing them up.

The term is derived from the process of permanently affixing a small post to its base with multiple four-inch screws and glue, despite the fact that it will eventually need to be moved.

Pre-hibernation

I've had a bizarre couple of weeks. Sometimes exciting, sometimes depressing, always crazy. There have been points when it felt like a lose/lose situation. I was just hoping to salvage something recognizable from the aftermath. But now it appears that everything is alright, and my worries are coming to nothing.

Worrying is something I've been trying to do less, actually. It's not terribly easy to tell the difference between necessary consideration and unnecessary anxiety, but when it's obviously fruitless, I try to remember to leave it alone. Of course that brings up the whole other issue of noticing a thought or feeling and letting it go, rather than just suppressing it. They say these things get easier with practice. Keep your fingers crossed.

As part of my efforts, I've been putting away the accumulated mess of a million unstarted projects. I invented these activities for myself, so why do I get so stressed when I don't make them happen immediately and all at once? Back into the boxes you go, crafts. You will not get done until I damn well choose, which may be two years from now. Or possibly never. So there! And as simple as that, I'm no longer worried about the wood I didn't refinish, the vinyl I didn't paint, or the books I didn't bind.

My mind has got other things on it, anyway. There are only a few days left of razing, building, cleaning, curating, and drinking before my little artkidcommune experience goes into hibernation for the winter along with the sleeping beauty of thriftstoreartmuseums. It's an unavoidably microcosmic, life-in-fast-forward environment, and there's nothing to do but be in it till it's done, apparently. I'll miss the campers when they're gone.

Pretty soon I'll be going to New York for Thanksgiving. Then I'll be looking forward to a wedding and seeing everyone over New Years. But right now, the only thing I want to think about is all the Nintendo I'm going to play. I love you, Professor Layton. I'm coming home.

In Retrospect

I met someone's ex once, along with said ex's boyfriend at the time, who was a really nice guy. "Poor Mark (not his actual name, of course)," my friend said, in reference to his being tied to this girl, and then, "I wonder if people said that about me when she and I were together." I didn't say so, and probably didn't even know it yet, but I think it was the other way around. People felt sorry for her, which is saying a lot, because she's no dream.

A different someone had a birthday yesterday. He shows me up, because his lifestyle adheres too closely to my ideals, which it turns out I'm afraid to live by. So I bought him The Dharma Bums, only to begin re-reading myself to stay busy while he sleeps (and sleeps, and sleeps) off a poorly-timed flu. He said, "It should be illegal to be sick on your birthday...but then I guess I'd be in jail."

I planned to be a devout little bikkhu, Ray Smith style, and a dried-veggie-and-bulgar-eating minimalist, a la Japhy Ryder. That was more than two years ago. For a while I meditated devoutly, and it was an exhilarating, strange, scary/happy time. My best friend asked if I was having a manic episode. I'm sure I didn't quit on purpose, but I forget what happened exactly. I think it was about the same time I stopped doing yoga, and around the point when I met Evan. Go figure. I keep meaning to get back to it, but months go by and the inertia just gets thicker. I don't like it at all, but I don't change it either. I need a kick in the ass from my personal Bodhisattva. Ty, where are you?

Upturn

Faith emails me my Free Will Astrology horoscope every week. The crux of this week's was, "...there's a good chance you will have excellent intuition about what to do in order to at least partially restore yourself to power."

Most of Friday was alright, but nothing to suggest a major shift. In fact, it seemed like everyone I talked to was in a similar funk. I drove into Greensboro without any sort of plan, doubtful that I'd find something to do. But!!! But!!! I had a totally stellar weekend! Nothing in particular happened, but it's been a while since I so thoroughly enjoyed myself. I went to a dance party with the Elsewhere crew on Friday night. My poor little atrophied muscles could hardly take all the stimulation. I didn't know I missed dancing so much!

Saturday was lazy and full of diner food with a late-night trip back to Chapel Hill where we stayed up all night emulsing screens, listening to music, and doing research for a trend-tracking project.

Sunday was maybe my favorite, though. Sleep dep. trip to the mall for no particular reason. I've never had so much fun trying on sunglasses. Ever. Later on there was a big chunk of helping George put his bed together, but even that was alright with me.

I think I should start every weekend with dancing.