Tomorrow

After my "Reboot" post, I decided to consciously give up a quiver of bad habits in an effort to--I don't know--better myself, or something. It seemed like I was stuck in a rut, so why not shake off the things that were obviously detrimental? I was also overweight, something that troubled me because I've always been an active and (if I may say so) adventurous person my entire life, so I took the opportunity to do a brief fast to clear my mind and start the process of getting back to whomever I was, at least physically.

That two-day fast turned into a five-day, and then a six-day. Last night I broke it, with a strawberry. I'm sorry to report that I have eaten the sweetest, most delicious strawberry that ever grew upon the face of the earth, and that you missed it. Had you been here, I hope that I could say that I would have shared--but maybe not! That strawberry was followed by blueberries, blackberries, sprigs of the most tender asparagus... !

You think a lot when you fast. We spend so much time driving to get food or ingredients, or to restaurants, or eating, or cleaning up after eating, or planning meals. I did none of that for the last week, and the hours crawled by slowly. I worked, I cleaned, I did all those things we do each day except for the simple survival expedient of eating. With so much time, one must think.

Today I cleaned the house from top to bottom, and took a fast & hard ride of four miles around the hills here, coming home tired and drenched in sweat, but elated. And then I cooked. I haven't cooked in so long... cooking is a kind of meditation, a gift to oneself. It's a way of saying "hey, you're a good person, I'm making this for you." When I don't cook--when I heat packaged food from a store--it's a mechanical, meaningless act.

Tomorrow is a new day, and I have schemes.

And a quote

I'm up late tonight, but clutching a text of my favorite author, Jorge Luis Borges, before I go to sleep.  A quote of his once changed my life:

Truly fine poetry must be read aloud. A good poem does not allow itself to be read in a low voice or silently. If we can read it silently, it is not a valid poem: a poem demands pronunciation. Poetry always remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art. It remembers that it was first song.

I always felt that to be a metaphor for life.

Reboot

It's hard for me to admit that I've been dealing with some depression issues, but I have.  Human bodies and minds are a complex feedback system, they deal with interactions with other people, your own sense of self worth, how you live your daily life, your diet, your activities, etc.  I can eat right, and do right, and I try to do both.

And each night I have dreams, unlike anything I've had before.  It's one thing to dream the usual dreams that we all have, but another to awaken with a memory of a dream of something from 35 years ago.  Why is that happening?  And why is it happening every night now?  Each day I awaken to insights that I really don't want or need, about things that I can no longer change?

For example:
When I was ten, I lived in a country home, and I walked a quarter mile to school.  Each morning, I woke up, I ate breakfast, and I walked to school.  One day, I picked up a rock, and when a car came by, I quietly tossed the rock at the side of the car.  Each time I heard it hit, I laughed.

I did that for months.  But one day the car screeched to a stop, and backed up and cut me off from escape.  The driver jumped out and started cursing at me, because he knew what I'd done.  I ran, and nothing came of it.

Another time:
I had to awaken early to catch my bus to high school.  This was years after the rock event above.  One day I was very early, and I arrived at the bus stop before anyone.  There was a woman there in a car, crying, hunched over her steering wheel.  She composed herself and drove off before the bus arrived.

These are just two of the confusing dreams that I've had recently.  The angry man, and the crying woman.  Both are very old now, if not dead.  But I keep dreaming their memory.  Why?

Pale Blue Dot

I saw this again tonight. It's always inspiring. I miss Sagan.

Random nice video

Yes, I'm still alive :)

¿Qué te importa que te ame,
si tú no me quieres ya?
El amor que ya ha pasado
no se debe recordar

Fui la ilusión de tu vida
un día lejano ya,
Hoy represento al pasado,
no me puedo conformar.

Si las cosas que uno quiere
se pudieran alcanzar,
tú me quisieras lo mismo
que veinte años atrás.

Con qué tristeza miramos
un amor que se nos va
Es un pedazo del alma
que se arranca sin piedad

Music Sunday

A friend of mine just pointed me at this cover, which is amazing:

Art

 Ever since Laura moved out, this home has seemed empty.  I'm making a start to address this by looking for cool art to put around the house.  Anyone have any suggestions?  Yes, I'm going to get kitties to fill the void of the missing two, although none can replace them.  Laura, if you ever want to give me either one of them, they're welcome here.  In fact, I'm going to pray that Zooey starts pooping on your bed again, although to what or whom I'm going to pray, I have no idea.

P.S. Thanks to DGNY for reminding me via comment that I still have a blog!