Wednesday, October 13, 2010


I've always been pretty rational, rarely one to get emotional, and when I have strong feelings, these feelings are elicited by an action or event or person or thing or words that very reasonably would elicit said emotions.

One night that I stayed at my childhood friend Audrey's house, she explained to me that she could feel the unhappiness and the pain of others and it moved her to cry. It wasn't a reaction to a particular trigger, it was as if pain and suffering had taken the form of some invisible vapor that had filled the room and that she had inhaled, causing hysterics and bawling. It went beyond empathy and seemed like a terrifying affliction; I called home and insisted that her mother take me home. I think about this now and while I still lack understanding of what exactly brought on this behavior in her, I think that she must be a pretty wonderful person today.

Today I found out about the tragic death of a man in my community. I had met him once or twice but didn't know him by any stretch of the word. I knew of him, knew that he was an active member of the community with similar beliefs, who did work I respect and appreciate. When I saw his name in a headline, when I read about his sudden and too-soon death, I felt a sense of loss. It stuck with me throughout the day. In the late afternoon I saw some new haiku posted by a local woman; as I've said, I am rational, but this haiku moved me:

What I Want To Believe About Grief

Some days our hearts are
rocks, too big to skip. But tides
will tumble them right.

TSUNAMEE 10-13-10
You can commission your own haiku from TSUNAMEE at her etsy shop.

What I love about this haiku is that it shows recognition of the weight of loss and the process of healing over time with beauty and deliberate words, with a real sense of hope.

The feeling of sadness was paired with this sense of anxiety - it might be campaign stress. All day I felt tense and uneasy, like I was meant to be a million places and doing a million things, all the while I felt like I was always in the wrong place, fumbling life. It is the sort of vague feeling that brings about sneaking frowns and makes one's body vibrate with the involuntary contraction of every muscle. All day I felt like my body was bracing itself for some impending trauma. I think it is proven that a person will survive a great fall with less damage if one relaxes, but my body seems intent on doing it all wrong.

I would probably do well to just go to bed, but I'm wide awake and my mind is a mess of tangled thoughts about death and emotions and politics. I think that my brain is trying to match yesterday's weather with gale winds and torrential downpours.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Twenty-Eight Days Later

We've seen it in the movies, a lot can happen in twenty-eight days - disease can spread rampantly, societies can collapse, and zombies can wreak havoc upon the world we once knew. In twenty-eight days, in this reality, I will be fighting off fatigue on E-day, too tired to consciously hope for success, though I will have spent months prior doing just that. And fighting for it, too.

Today marks four weeks to the general mid-term election. It's as refreshing as it is frightening, because there is finally that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, but maybe it's just the spotlight of a train coming head on at you. Either way, it's almost over.

Aside from this, I haven't much to offer in the way of stories because, well, this is no Chelsea Handler memoir. I expect that you should all simply be relieved that I managed to survive my twenty-fifth birthweek. For those of you concerned that I might have died, I understand, but that was just the zombie walk.