It is Sunday afternoon here. Around 12:30.
I woke up early, as seems increasingly to be my habit. Read
and wrote a bit and ate a wonderful whole grain pancake with an
orange I had gotten at the Farmers Market.
Then, in acknowledgment of my fatigue—and acknowledgment
is the operative word here—I went back to sleep to try to
get more rest. I have definitely been sleep deprived these
past few weeks and the sleep that I have had, has been troubled
Now I am going to head out and take a walk and maybe see a dance
concert in the park.
I had said I would give myself the gift of a day of silence. Certainly
with no spoken aloud words. To rest my mind and mouth as
well as heart and to come back to the writing more refreshed.
(Kim: There was a
guy on NPR years ago who didn't talk one day a week...not a
peep. He would only listen to the world.
Then he met a woman
and the only day they could date was his silence day...so
they didn't talk. But they got married.
they have a kid and they are planning to continue the silent
kid can understand that.)
thought about doing that Saturday but then Saturday seemed
impossible. My father actually called to see how I
am and he never calls. And
he actually talked about his feelings, as did my mother.
So I wasn't about to move away from those rare openings.
Then, I woke up this morning, itching to finish a draft
of some song lyrics. I have a phone conference with
Richardson tomorrow (Monday) afternoon.
So I have already screwed up the no words part for the
I am going to try very hard not to talk with anyone today,
randomly or deliberately. Although that, too, will
be hard, since I want to check in with my mother and my
Well, maybe I will make them the exceptions. Sure, why
not. These are my rules and i can make them up.
Silence in general, is easy for me. I find it deeply
I am sorry that my talk of my mother brings up feeling
of loss for yours. Can you please say some more about
(Kim: When ever you
say "can you say more..." I think you are being my therapist.
But I will. Parents
are sticky. You are attached to them and you love them, and
yet you want to remove yourself from them (at least, I do).
I'm thinking of something where you try to pull it away and
then you are more stuck. My mom is especially hard to escape
because she was so forceful and all-knowing.
Don't worry about
writing about your mother. What is painful is how hard it is
to escape from her, even with her being dead for a 6 years.
I had a good dream
about my dad the other night. I was going with him to visit
one of his best friends. I thought his friend would like to
see my dad since he was dead. Sometimes dreams don't make a
lot of sense.
I'm a little confused still because they gave me Demerol for
a medical procedure and got very confused. Parts of yesterday
were stolen from my memory. How did I get dressed? How did I
move from point A to point B. What did the doctor say? Linda
says I spoke in full sentences with large words and made complete
sense . . . and I can't remember anything.)
I want my talk to
and with you to be productive. I don't want it to be unnecessarily
Would you rather that I not write about her?
The thing is, the situation with my mother—and everything
that surrounds it—seems be
the most important event in life
now. That and my growing daily awareness
my own mortality and my beloved sister's.
I think the real deal for me is my own mortality. Seeing how
is shed for the dead by their coworkers is kind of an eye opener.
And trying to figure out what I want to be doing 4 months from
deep, deep need to write more.
Awful as this may sound, relational issues
with Pseudonym are scarcely
even on my radar except
to resurface every
once in a
I go, "Oh, right. I have a lover.
Who I have not seen in two weeks.
To whom I do not seem to want to
or share. With
whom I am not getting along. And
with whom I need to officially end
as it currently exists. Right."
Let me know what you want.
That really is a beautiful request. Other than health and happiness
my family, it is to be a full-time artist.)
am concerned about your check up. Please let
me know how it and you go.
I realize that I'm writing this in the future . . . so I can
say that it went
Sunday, Jan 29, 2006