Ephemeroptera

Are we not men?



Well, I'm no man, not by a long shot.

* * *

Life is short. Take it from the mayfly, whose lifespan lasts from 30 minutes to one day. Not very long, is it? And where are you? Me, I'm more than halfway done, and there's something I learned from my grandma: since we don't have forever and ever, let's focus on the stuff we like doing and the people we want in our lives. The years we have are finite. Have courage. Buck up, li'l trooper. I plan to spend the rest of it with my friends, for as long as I have them. And I have some good ones. I mean to get more. I like who I like, and I guess I've been lucky. I plan to save up, and to travel.

Lost Weekend, Found Weekend

New haircut! New haircut! That's how I started my weekend, a fresh start, new hair. I was sorely tempted to chop it all off, but I decided to not be so drastic.



Hair in my eyes. Something to hide behind.

* * *
Easter. Saint Patrick's. Two holidays that came and went, and I barely noticed. It's sad not to have a family to celebrate with, but I guess it's less sad than it used to be.

I went to a friend's house this Easter and we made food — so much of it! I was fed asparagus, bread, feta cheese, fresh tomatoes of all hues, and probably six cups of coffee. Eggs, bacon, potato pancakes. Pure generosity. Fueled by coffee and weeks of keeping things bottled inside I talked, and I was listened to. Very nice, to have a listener, and to listen. Back and forth.

After that I came home and was listened to some more, by another friend, who touched on the radiance of fortunate women and those who are less so. Ah, nice.

I called my family, but they weren't home. I had a few similar brushes with experience, near-misses, all a result of my own reluctance. By way of contrast, these brushes inform the real, solid stuff of life. By solid, I mean being sought out on a day that was meant to be spent in company and having a full stomach and achieving satisfaction. I've been starved.

This weekend contained some mystery, too. Someone secretly passed me a note, crumpling it into my palm. Someone else has my favorite hat, and I called him to ask for it back. I wonder if it's on a table, hanging on a hook, given away as a gift, floating down a river.

Revelation

You know what? Sometimes it's not me. Sometimes it's them. Really!

Wow.

(To reiterate: sometimes. Which, for me, is often enough to be revelatory.)

Okay, So

you want to feel better? Get in shape! That's what I'm doing. I don't feel miraculously and instantly wonderful, but I like being so busy wheezing & sweating that I don't have as much room in my head to feel sad. My arms are soooo weak, but just now, I burned 300 calories. Tonight I have stuff to do for work, and it's cramping my weekend style, but that's what work looks like for everyone these days. My boss left a detailed message on my machine, and as Matty pointed out, she's a great mentor.

Before I get started on my work thing, I'm going to do four tasks to improve myself and my surroundings (Beth Lisick inspired me, I guess). Four is a big number, but I need to make up for lost time, since I spent the weekend trying to have pure, selfish, whoop-te-doo fun. And for as long as I can make myself do it, I'm going to do at least one thing every single day — that is, beyond the stuff I really should be doing, such as dishes and laundry — to make my immediate surroundings more comfortable, and one thing to make myself look and feel great.

I hope it works. God, I hope so.

Beth Lisick

Last night I saw Beth Lisick, who wrote a very funny new book called Helping Me Help Myself. It's an account of how, over a one-year period, she read and followed the advice of one self-help book per month. What a great idea!

Beth Lisick



Had a blast, got my book signed ("To my best friend, my inspiration, my secret lover."), and afterwards I went out with my friend T to this bar called the Edinburgh Castle where we talked to lots of writer-types and dashing men with Scottish accents.

Finally opened my mail (ginab, thanks!!). I'm off to do chores, then back home for a shower, then out again for a night of music and friends and books. Things are looking up again, and I'm happy. Whew!

Bhi Bhiman

Tonight, Cafe du Nord, yes!!! The Equal In My Tea. Man, I'm so lucky to live just steps away from great music, great shows. Aaaah.



More later. I want to tell you about dancing. But it's time for bed.

Happy Birthday,

Edward Albee!





Just watched Margot at the Wedding. Loved it, loved it, loved it. In real life, I hate not knowing for sure what I think, feel, and want. But I guess life will continue to be this ongoing struggle with the truth. I guess the stupid future is always uncertain. And secretly, that's what I live for. If I knew what was coming next, I'd have nothing to write about. Because sure, we get over these little humps every so often, but there's always the next one. Things keep getting deeper and more complicated. I'm glad to be forty.

Donovan. I need to get me some Donovan. I've overdone Nick Drake.

Can't wait for Sunday!

Full Disclosure

Lately I've had a couple of conversations about what should be public and what should be private, what we choose to disclose and what we choose not to disclose. Which is funny to write about here, in this forum, because here I used to feel so safe and private. But over time, my audience has expanded. For instance, I have a feeling my family checks in occasionally, though I'm not certain they do. However, I'm practically certain and the only reason I can't say so without a doubt is because no one in my family has actually disclosed this. Instead, they've mentioned googling my name, and if one googles my name they often find a certain web page. Both my brother and my father have found it, and they've said so. And get this: on that web page they've mentioned is displayed, quite prominently, a link that will take the viewer here.

What's interesting to me (though perhaps not to you) is that I could have that link removed, if I wanted to, yet I've decided to leave it. Also, I have never asked my relatives who've clearly seen this link whether or not they clicked through. I wonder if this is delicacy on my part, or if it is delicacy on their part, or if I am trying to be close and distant at the same time, or if I fear love is really that fragile, or if love really is that fragile, or if choosing not to disclose is part of what keeps us together.

I've always wanted to hide my innermost thoughts from my family for fear they would misinterpret and wind up hurt, or maybe I mean that I would write poorly and make it easy to misinterpret. To write poorly is to write irresponsibly, and maybe I'm overstating this now, but I think both physicians and writers (and everyone, really) should first do no harm.

So in light of that, I also have to consider how much of me my family really wants to know. I'm experienced enough to understand that complete self-disclosure is not necessarily a virtue. At the same time, I yearn to hide nothing and to be free at last.

And then what about this: while in writing I strive so hard to be honest, words can represent a truth without representing the truth (even while giving the appearance of doing so).

That's all for now.