Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Is there anything more annoying

than voice automation?

Sunday, November 20, 2005

finding gratitude

Maybe we're not supposed to be happy. Maybe gratitude has nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful means recognizing what you have for what it is. Appreciating small victories. Admiring the strength it takes to simply be human. Maybe we're thankful for the familiar things we know, and maybe we're thankful for the things we'll never know. At the end of the day, the fact that we have the courage to still be standing is reason enough to celebrate.
- Meredith, Grey's Anatomy

the dog will not leave the porch

There's a point, on a bad day, where you make calls. You make a stab at making plans because you don't want to be alone. Enough time goes by, and that desire passes. You find yourself hoping no one calls back because the thought of having to open your mouth and make conversation becomes overwhelming. You don't want to hear one more person say, What's wrong? So then you isolate. And sink further into your own head --which is the one place no one wants to be. You find yourself watching the clock, wishing for the hours to pass so it can be late enough to justify going to bed. You find yourself dreading bedtime because you probably won't sleep. You dread sleeping just as much. Sleeping means waking up and having to do it all over again.

You understand, intellectually, that nothing is that bad. You understand that many people, people you know and love, are dealing with unspeakable pain. You feel selfish for the way you feel. You can't feel otherwise. The very idea that you might feel good anywhere in the future is nonsense. You make the mistake of letting your mother hear it in your voice. She calls you six times in a day. You want to stop answering. She will worry. And call more. So you answer, and try to make your voice sound otherwise. It's exhausting.

I once heard Padgett Powell describe depression as the dog of loneliness. Others call it the beast. I call it a vicious, never-ending cycle.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Soul viewing moments.

Have you ever known someone who you didn't think much of - or didn't give much thought to - and then you saw that person in his/her element and everything changed? Or maybe even someone you thought quite a lot of, but never quite saw them in the light that you had this feeling they could live in, if only they chose to do so?

I once dated a guy whom I'll call A because his name did not start with A. A was a sweet guy. My only real problem with him was that he liked me so much more than I liked him. I wanted to like him more. I just didn't. One night, he invited me to see his band play. It was just before a holiday break and I didn't really want to go. I had a plane to catch the next morning, somewhat early. Yet I felt obligated and, so, I went, vowing to end things with A as soon after Christmas as possible.

And then I saw him play. He was in his element. His drumsticks flew over his drums and his face transformed into something I hadn't seen before. And it was beautiful. And I wanted every inch of A to belong to me.

We shared a cab to the airport the next morning.

It's a decent story: Girl doesn't like boy that much; girl sees boy in new light; girl falls head over heels for boy. Unfortunately, he didn't play the drums every night in my living room. He was just regular A, non-drum-playing A who still liked me more than I liked him and, thus, the relationship ended. Not prettily. But still. That moment. I won't forget that moment.

I watched Spanglish on Saturday, and there's a scene where Flor watches John cook, something his wife seemingly never does. He was in his element. He came alive, and Flor - though already attracted to him - truly saw him in that moment. Her attraction to him - really, her love for him - was cemented.

Being able to see that moment, to glimpse into a person's core, his/her soul - even for the most fleeting of moments - can instigate an inward shift. You see his brilliance. You realize that he is, in fact, capable of the greatness you thought all along. And you are hypnotically drawn in.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Probably not a good sign.

Is it a problem that I start dreading Monday morning Saturday night?