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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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A Day In The Works
A Day In The Life Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way into the kitchen and drank a cup of coffee, and looking up, I noticed it was 4 a.m. I had breakfast (beans and salsa and avacado and steamed chard) and I sat down to do my daily half hour of writing. Two hours later I looked up from my laptop and I gave Max a wake up call. I had a second breakfast (a quorn cutlet with some mustard on it) and prepped a salad for lunch, then I drank some more coffee and changed into my walking clothes. I have been feeling a bit under the weather, have been drinking water like crazy (almost three gallons today), which is a sign that I am fighting off something, some illness. I also slept in the middle of the day and took a deserved break from the gym (I try to take a complete day of rest from all exercise once a week, which doesn't always work out what with the walking I do with Judi every day). I took Max to work and stopped at the local linen place (Bed, Bath and Linens and Things or whatever), where I almost, but not quite, bought a tablecloth. I went instead to the grocers for some protein supplies (Quorn naked cutlets, soy sausage, some new kind of veggie burger, protein powder) and other assorted things (Emergen'C Lite with MSM, fresh spinach, salsa and the like). I came home, had an early lunch of my salad and some scrambled egg whites and soy sausage, and wrote for another hour or so. I took a nap and got up feeling tired and hungry again, so I made a couple of veggie burger soft tacos. I was way under on my caloric intake for the day despite the four meals, so I had some watermelon and tomato and took a bath and read some Madeline L'Engle. I have this new thing where, in order to combat the lethargy that threatens to overtake me every late August/early September, I penalize myself for not wanting to leave the house by adding 20 minutes to my cardio routine or 200 calories burned on the nearest elliptical trainer or a two mile walk. Anything to make myself fight off the dreaded "I can't leave the house" feeling that is the result/habit of years of depression. Today, since I wasn't planning on doing any cardio and didn't want to get my lethargic ass to the gym, and didn't want to be out in the midday sun for two miles or heat exhaustion or whichever came first, I got dressed and headed up to the coffee shop near Max's office. I never quite made it as yesterday I bought the latest remake CD by the B-52's, which includes "Private Idaho" a song that requires lots of driving to listen to. So I drove instead of stopping for coffee, all the while thinking my way through the drive as though I were riding Frida. I picked up Max from work, prepped dinner (marinated tofu with cruciferous veggies and baked squash for dessert) and planned out the evening's Frida ride. While Max went off to class, I sat down and did some more writing and ate dinner because I was starving. (I ate a salad and dessert with Max when he came back from class.) And then I took Frida out. I made a Frida altar a couple of days ago with some Frida Kahlo things I had laying around the house, including one tiny but exquisite piece by one of my favorite local collage artists, Cynthia Cook. Of course, the altar incorporates my riding gear, my jacket and helmet and boots, as well as fresh flowers (sunflowers mainly, but also some gerbera (?) daisies that I bought at the farmer's market on Saturday) in a hanging vase that I made. Around the altar, I placed another Frida piece by another local artist as well as several mudra (sp?) pieces that I made from the hands of various men whose hands have touched my body. The Dream Frida's tires are stuck full of nails and I try to pull them out, but this of course causes the tires to go flat. I call the police to report that my bike has been vandalized, but some man who doesn't look so much like a policeman answers the call. I go with him in a white truck that is very much like the truck I learned how to drive in. We go to the man's house and after a while my older brother, the brother who taught me how to drive the truck, shows up. The Interpretation I am grateful. I am grateful for nails in my tires dreams and for my brother who taught me how to drive. I am grateful for my independence, however it manifests itself, however problematic it is. I am grateful for R/K, my once and future writing teacher. I am grateful for acorn squash and frozen yogurt and cigarettes. I am grateful for my beautiful neighbor Megan, whose smile would have, at some point in history, launched a thousand ships. I am grateful for the B-52's. I am grateful for it all. I am grateful and obedient. I am grateful and humble. I am grateful.
More lies:
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