Things I Like

  1. Finally pulling the containers of dead food out of the fridge.
  2. The way my Siamese frequently looks like a door-stop.
  3. Houses that keep their Christmas lights up year-round.
  4. Doing Warrior II.
  5. Talking to other shoppers at the grocery store.
  6. Not stressing in rush-hour traffic because no one expects me at home.
  7.  Lighting a dozen candles in one room.
  8. The way every cell immediately remembers an ex-lover’s body.
  9. The hug my father gave me after I was a complete asshole.
  10. The way my mother would gladly let you steal the gold that falls out of that brilliant head.

Writing and Other Things that are Less Painful to Do than Not .

I write because finally it’s become less painful than not writing (it also happens to be a helluva lot of fun).  That’s the same reason I’ve been sending loving-kindness towards those I have resentments against: it hurts my body less to send them loving thoughts than it does to feel anger.

Except when I don’t write, and don’t send kindness.

I’m behind in blogging classes I signed up for. I was heading to my blog, but got sidetracked and saw a blurb for the movie about Aaron Schwartz, “The Internet’s Own Boy.” The blurb was so compelling that I watched the movie, cried at the ending, read a book, and went to bed. I was thrown before I even got near the empty page. (The movie was so good it was largely worth not writing, but even so, I registered the scratchy feeling of disappointment in myself).

And the other day I called someone a gossip. Well, I yelled it from an elevator the doors of which were closing. (Hey – I’m not a coward: I do posses the ability to engage in conflict face to face, but at the very last minute I couldn’t keep my mouth shut AND THE DOORS JUST HAPPENED TO BE CLOSING, OK?).

I probably didn’t make her day any better. Good chance I made it worse. And my own, too, as my self-righteousness wore off. I felt like I would have if someone had shouted the same thing to me.

So I ended up putting more pain into the world by not keeping my mouth shut. I don’t know. I should have gone to her in private? She’s a neighbor in my building, and we now have a conflict thing….it’s depressing.

Anyway, I try. I’m getting there, with both writing and being a better person. I’m here now, and I do let most slights real-or-imagined go; I see when I’m writing resistant, and I see when I fuck up dealing with an unpleasant person-whereas-I’m-delightful.

Isn’t noticing at least a tiny part of the point?