09.17.2002 - 7:59 p.m.
My cat's in a prying mood right
now. I don't mean she's sitting around asking me personal questions
or anything, because that would certainly be weird, but rather
that she's channeling a crowbar or something and trying to jimmy
her way into every closet, cupboard, and drawer in our house.
She gets this way sometimes. When in this particular mood, she
also likes to paw all of my clothes out of any partially open
drawer so that they're in a big pile on the floor. It fulfills
some deep need, that's all I know.
It's quiet in the house. No
TV noise (yet, anyway, because I'm really hoping to catch that
Anna Nicole Smith show tonight because DAYum is she a full fledged
train wreck or what?). Just the whoosh of the heat coming on,
the blurble of the fish tank, and the soft whump of my t-shirt
drawer being emptied onto the carpet.
Several years ago when living
in Oregon, I left a small town and a big-ass rut to live in Portland.
I rented a tiny one bedroom apartment in a high rise. I found
a decent job nearby. I made new friends at work, and adjusted
to life away from everything I was familiar with.
The quiet, the aloneness
without loneliness of my house right now reminds me of
that time. I was content with my things, my little routines,
my own self. I could look out my window and take pleasure in
the sights before me, much as I can now.
I think it's good that JB and
I have some time apart. Not because there is something wrong
with us, but I think I've become somehow detached from
myself lately. Not fully plugged in to what I am feeling and
thinking. I come home, we have dinner, and we watch TV, and then
JB usually has some work to catch up on, so I disappear into
I guess I mean that I've been
running on autopilot, and this change, this quiet house with
my own stranger's face peering back at me in the mirrors, is
nice. Hey, you, I think. There you are.
I've been neglecting my body,
too. It deserves better than to be driven from point A to point
B like some junker station wagon. So recently I've been checking
out yoga classes. I've been taking advantage of those Workplace
massages. Not because I want to change my name to Granola McMoonStar,
but because I need to make that circuit complete again - where
my body and my mind are playing nicely in the sandbox.
It's the first time I really
feel like I understand what people in bad novels mean when they
say they have to "find themselves". You know?
I don't think I'm missing.
Just hiding under the bed, maybe. Near the pile of clothes from
Hey, maybe she's trying to
find me, too.
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004