Tonight’s meditation was on change, how all things change–sensations in the body, emotions, circumstances, constantly. I did another guided meditation because I was worried that I might start to fall asleep on my own.
It is cold here tonight, and it was easier to stay present because sitting in my corner is chilly.
Today, we went to Milwaukie and heard several talks by Master Gardener’s from the county extension service. It was inspiring and a bit depressing, because it will take so long to get the yard from where we are to where I see it. But inspiring in that I think blueberries are possible now. I’ve called an arborist for a quote for a tree removal and a “planning consultation.”
We’ve also hired a local to clean out the crawl space. I’m hoping that that means it will be insulated in the next two weeks or so.
Because of this March Shredness tournament I’m participating in, I’ve been spending time back on social media. I had done well to unhook from FB and I’d uninstalled Twitter from my phone. I made of them both destinations, not holding patterns. I still did some endless scrolling on IG and now on WW Connect, but it was less. Anyway, someone on FB today (in reference to yet another terrible man, shown to be terrible before us all–or at least those of us who didn’t already know) said that all addiction has at its heart an intimacy disorder. I think about my broken child heart when my mom left the us of she and I and got remarried and had another kid and started all over, leaving me a dangling chad, a remainder. My broken child heart, when my dad moved far away for reasons I did not (do not) understand and never moved back into the same state as me, for the rest of my life. And I think, okay, sure. Maybe the real and believed rejection of both of one’s parents could constitute some trauma. Maybe that’s why I smoked a pack and a half a day at the end of my smoking life. Why I liked cocaine the first time I tried it all the way clear to the last. Why sometimes I like the taste of ice cream more than the feeling of my clothes fitting. It is why I will scroll scroll scroll waiting for the little chemical ping of connection imagined. But also why I can write on an essay until two in the morning once I finally start it. Why I will track my food for months and follow the running workout until I can cross a finish line. Why I will sit and breathe in and breathe out, in the hope of comfort. It is an empty, empty bowl sometimes, my heart.
But everything changes, every minute of every day, right?