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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 a book.

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 the cat.

Hey, maybe she's trying to find me, too.

0 comments so far.

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