Dry Rain

My hands are dry. Its pouring outside. I've got juxtapositions on my mind.

There are so many flowers and living things in the house, there are constant visitors stopping by, so much living is happening in the house right now. And on all our minds is death. It doesn't mean any of us, my dad especially, is giving up. He keeps saying, "I'm going to take a couple of whacks at this." Yet, its what we're all thinking about. Its what makes people come into the house and fill it with love and support and life. Its what makes us feel like life is actually happening around us.

When everything is good, when there isn't anything serious to focus on I find that life just flies by, it just keeps moving and you keep moving with it... there isn't anything to make you stop and look around.

Cancer makes you stop and look around. I really think about each day as I'm living it. Sometimes I don't want the days to end because it means another day has moved on. I think the days move a bit more slowly now too, because I'm very focused on their movement, I see each hour pass. I think about each moment I'm in and how it relates to the next. Especially being home this weekend, timing is everything. When was the last dose of pain medications? When was the last time we ate? When are the good shows/games/movies on to watch? When do I have to leave? Not yet. Right now I need to get some hand cream.

When

When he pulls me in tightly and wraps his arms around me. When I'm laying on his chest and feel his heart beating. When I fall asleep leaning on his stomach. When I hug him from behind and his back feels strong and warm. When I'm touching the inner part of his arms and their softness calms me.

That's where I'm safe. That's when I feel secure.

When I cry, he holds me.

And I'm reminded of how safe I am, I'm reminded of the security he provides.

Waves

I can't take credit for the terminology, but it is so fitting I have to use it. The sadness, the fear, the overwhelming anxiety, it washes into you like a tide coming in pushed hard by waves. It all becomes a wave washing over you.

I was sitting in the tower room watching House Hunters wrapped up in the Boys arms last night, who could want to be anywhere else, and a wave came in. I lost focus and could only imagine the loss, the uncertainty, the question that is lingering over all of us. That Suzanne Wang was bringing us back to a young couples house hunt, and Matt's arms were holding me tightly didn't matter. All that mattered was my Dad has cancer. It was a pretty big wave. And just like that (what is that phrase anyway, is there a better way to transition?) the tide went out, and I was satisfied to be watching House Hunters on a couch with the Boy. Doesn't mean its not coming back in.

Sammy, Rachel, Matt and I went and did errands this morning; it feels so good to be productive right now. We were driving back from the seacoast with the windows down and the sun coming in. Sigur Ros was playing, and unfortunately I can't stream it through the blog but if you can find a song and listen you'll understand. We were all quiet, watching the road ahead, listening to the mellowed music, the sun warming our heads and the breeze softening the glare. I think a wave was washing into all of us. And we all had to let the tide come and wait for it to start heading back out. I asked for a music change as mine receded and everyone nodded in agreement. These moments are going to keep hitting, I know. My Mom says it may become easier to function during them, to not have to stop everything.

I sit on the porch writing this. The sun is setting behind clouds in front of me, my feet peeking above the laptop screen perched on the railing. I feel connected to the green fields that roll in front of me and the chirping of the birds around me. I feel good, I feel at peace. But I can't stay here. My feet are starting to get cold, and the hairs on my arms are raised. And a wave may be on the horizon.

The Sweet Smell Of...

As a kid we'd play the "if you had to lose one sense what would it be?" game. I'm sure I changed my answer each time.

If I had to play it now, I wouldn't choose my sense of smell. Sure it can take you places you would never ever want to go, like to the brink of vomiting. Yet, for all the times it brings me pleasure and all the memories it helps to return, I think its all worth it.

I was walking back to my apartment one afternoon when I was transfixed by the smell of laundry. It was incredibly fragrant and pure. I immediately wanted to stop and just smell it, perhaps close my eyes and sit down to really take it in. In all honesty and with all cheesiness aside, it made me happy. I literally had a bounce in my step as I continued the walk and then craved the smell later in the day. I thought about searching Yankee Candle for their clean laundry smell, but realized it wouldn't be the same. As much as I love candles and scents, none of them ever compare to the actual.

When the Boy and I were in the first and second years of our relationship, and struggling with long distance, I would keep a shirt of his tucked under my pillow to smell. I would make him wear one shirt constantly during our visits, and then hold onto it when he left, literally. He doesn't wear cologne or deodorant, so it wasn't an artificial smell. Just him, his pure smell. My brother thought it was gross, would make fun of me for wearing the shirt to bed, "Eww, you smell like a boy." I didn't care, because it kept me closer to him, the smell comforted me. Recently he surprised me with a visit. He was waiting in my bedroom, the lights were off, he stood behind the door to hide and as I tried to open it and felt resistance I was at first scared and confused, but then I smelled him and was immediately relieved and excited.

I'd never want to lose the memories of those moments, or any of the moments I've connected to smells. Like muffins baking on a spring weekend morning, or the turkey roasting on Thanksgiving, or garlic sautéing for a dinner party.

And, going back to the game, I honestly don't think I could choose a sense to give up.

Crocuses

Spring is a time for change, rebirth, and renewal. It’s quite lovely. I love walking to Davis Sq. and seeing all the crocuses starting to bloom. The green stems pushing through the now warming soil, a sign of all the green that will follow and I'm green with envy. I love spring, I love all it represents. But... I don't feel any change coming. I don't feel any kind of rejuvenation; nothing is blossoming inside of me. I'm here, I'm happy, I've got good things going on... and yet nothing big is coming this season and I wish it were. Outside of the Pine St. Inn this morning, I saw a homeless man holding up a small red mirror for a homeless woman who was applying make up. I think she saw something big coming, was getting ready for the spring blossoming in her. I guess seeing that, sharing in that will tide me over for now.

A Spring State of Mind

I just switched over to a screen in one of my bedroom windows, so I could let the Spring air in. I'm so glad its finally here. This is the day I love- the day when it really truly feels like Spring is coming. The day they predicted would be gloomy and bring thunderstorms- not spring thunderstorms, spring isn't here yet thunderstorms- is sunny, with clouds yes- but springy clouds, and warm and the breeze it is just so Spring.

Tomorrow we change the clocks- spring forward. I don't enjoy losing an hour of sleep in the morning, but gaining that extra hour of light is magnificent. When it started to stay light for my drive home from work I was happy, but now I can go to the gym, stop and get dinner and it will still be light when I drive home. That is Spring.

Its still cool in my apartment, the sun hasn't fully seeped in yet, I think it will take a couple more weeks for it to warm up. But when I come home from walks hot from the weather, I can still cool off here. I know I'll be complaining about it being hot in my apartment in a couple of months, so I suppose I can enjoy the coolness now.

Everyone is out doors. I walked through Porter Square yesterday and everyone was outdoors. People are walking down my normally quiet street, they're sitting on sidewalks chatting, talking on porches as their children play on bikes. The postman is even wearing shorts. Guys are tuning up their bikes. Its SPRING.

I believe in...

The feeling of home.

The comfort I get when I drive up the road and see a car in the driveway and a light on upstairs. Knowing, that when I walk in the door it will be just like its always been and if there are any changes I will have helped make them, been instrumental in their making so they'll still feel like home. The delight I feel showing it off to others, this is where I was raised, this is where I come home. How easy the drive home is, although I dislike driving and I hate sitting in traffic, it never feels like too much. How simple things seem when at home.

The feeling after a good nap.

That I'm completely relaxed and at peace in that moment. The taste in your mouth when you wake up. How completely comfortable I am no matter what position I've moved myself into. How soft and comfortable the pillows and blankets feel. How clear my head is, I'm thinking about only one or two things instead of 500.

Plants

How being surrounded by nature and greenery is calming for me. How excited I get to fill my work space and home with them. How rewarding it is to grow plants. How fresh and new a place feels with a new plant. How cheerful fresh flowers can make me feel. That growing plants, having plants, means having sun light coming in. That I never care about ruining a manicure by gardening.

Pictures

That any space is instantly made your own when you hang up pictures. That show and tell can live on through sharing photos. How anything can be blown up to 8X10 or taken in Black and White and its art. That pictures help build a history and a story to tell future generations.

Myself

Loneliness

There's a line/scene in Sex and the City that always struck me. Carrie is at her book release party and her and Charlotte are talking. Carrie says, "I'm lonely. The loneliness is palpable." Charlotte doesn't really say much, kind of looks at her with a sad face. Someone else interrupts them, and then Charlotte just leaves, leaves Carrie alone. This has always struck me for two reasons; one being it is just so true to life-there are often times when you can really reach and grab the loneliness, it takes hold of you in such a strong way its physical, two being why does Charlotte just leave? One of her best friends has just confessed to how alone she's feeling and then you just walk away? It has always disappointed me.

I was thinking about that line a lot today. I'm lonely, and it is palpable. I have a number of little things I usually do to help with loneliness, its something I'm somewhat experienced at having been in a long distance relationship for almost 6 years. I've done all these things, and I'm still not able to move past the loneliness. Usually the longer you do something, the easier it becomes, the more natural it becomes- this is not true with long distance. The longer you're with someone and the more you understand that they are the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, the harder it becomes to cope with being far away from them.

Its wonderful how easy it is to adjust to them visiting for longer periods of time, how easy it is to have them be a part of your usual everyday routine, how quickly you feel comfortable with them beside you in bed and next to you on the couch. And you don't even realize that you've adjusted to it until they are gone and you're left alone and with an empty spot next to you in bed and across from you at the table.

And then, you're just left with the empty feeling, the palpable loneliness. And you know they feel it too, and whining about it to each other can only go so far. And when I'm lonely I usually just want to be alone, to mope about and feel sorry for myself. I know it doesn't do me much good, and that distractions help make the adjustment easier, and yet thinking through it and coming out of the funk on my own is the path I usually take.

So, I think back to being upset about Charlotte's reaction to Carrie's confession and I realize- that as a friend I would never leave someone who'd just told me they were lonely- but as Carrie, I think I'd rather be left alone. And, I don't think I'd ever be in Carrie's situation because I don't usually talk about it when I'm lonely, its the aftermath of being the only one of my friends in a serious relationship for so many years- I always felt guilty talking about being lonely when my friends were still in the process of finding someone. But maybe I should learn to speak up, reach out, maybe this is my way of doing it.

Nevertheless, I'm still lonely.

Driving

Volkswagen says- "On the road of life there are passengers and there are drivers." I know its supposed to excite the drivers out there, attract them to Volkswagen, encourage them to drive VWs.
I own a Volkswagen and prefer to be a passenger, when there is actual driving. Usually I say I don't like driving, but I've come to realize that I don't like being the one doing the driving, and am starting to enjoy being the passenger.

This weekend was the turning point for me. I had my camera out on a car trip and snapped a couple of shots of the typical things you usually drive by and never really look at it. Since I was a passenger I could take the extra time to look at them, through my camera lens, and find the interest in them. One would normally see the wires of a traffic light as blocking the landscape around it, creating a disruption to the nature surrounding the road. Road signs are usually something to glance at and make sure you're following correctly, not a piece of artistic interest to delight you on your journey.

On this particular part of the road of life, I am glad I got to be a passenger.

Agita

I first learned the word in 1998. I was counselor for 15 11-12 year olds. They were a precocious bunch. The other counselors and I would walk around saying, "You're giving us agita!" I joined the bunk half way through the summer, and thus just picked up the word and its general meaning without any real clarification. One of the more unruly campers had a name similar to the word, all I can remember is us calling her Agita for the summer, her given name escapes me.

I've since used the word sporadically over the last several years, always just assuming it was a descriptor for unease, nervous stomach, an unsettling feeling. I have in fact passed it on to others as a great word for describing anxiety caused by others or events out of your control.

Over the last year I'd started to learn that it really meant indigestion. In fact when googled the only related result you get is a message board about prilosec where the string was titled Agita.

Monday night I was seized with overwhelming anxiety as a result of circumstances that were beginning to move out of my control. I wanted to say to others the next morning, "I had wicked ajada last night." But stopped myself. Did I really? Did I have indigestion? No. However, the word still seemed the perfect way to describe it. Saying I was anxious didn't capture it for me, I wasn't nervous, I wasn't worried, I just had agita.

So, I got to thinking did it matter that it meant indigestion, do most people even know the definition? I'd convinced many friends over the years of my definition, maybe in fact it was okay if I kept using it that way. The empty google search convinced me even more that I could use it however I wanted, google didn't have any way of proving me wrong. On the other hand, it wasn't backing me up either.

In the end, I think people will get it if I use it, and if they don't I can explain... "Well it means indigestion, but I use it to describe an unsettling feeling, or anxious stomach, cause really, doesn't Agita just sound so much better?"

UPDATE:

Thanks to Mom and Jen- the correct spelling is Agita and below I've pasted what I found on a great website- Word Detective

Dear Word Detective: What is the Italian or Yiddish word for heartburn? I grew up hearing my parents saying "argada," but since I've moved to the South no one seems to believe it's actually a word. Help! -- Kelly, via the internet.

Tell me about it. Ever since I moved to rural Ohio from New York City a few years ago, I've been getting funny looks from people whenever I use standard New-Yorkisms such as "go figure" or "fugeddaboudit." Of course, they also think "bialy" is a breed of dog, so I guess it's hopeless.

In any case, the word your parents were using was almost certainly "agita." You won't find "agita" in most dictionaries, although it is a quintessential Italian-American slang word. Strictly speaking, "agita" is a stomach upset or heartburn. But "agita" can also mean that special kind of existential dyspepsia of the soul you get when absolutely everything goes wrong. Comedian Jackie Mason has explained "agita" as "when you have been aggravated to the point where it feels like you have a serious migraine headache throughout your whole body." "Agita" is thus more or less the Italian-American equivalent of the Yiddish "tsuris" ("misery"), an equation not lost on Woody Allen, who made a song about "agita" the centerpiece of his 1984 film "Broadway Danny Rose."

"Agita" is not a standard Italian word, and linguists are not certain where came from. One possible source is the Italian word "agitare" ("to agitate" or "to trouble"), which in turn came from the Latin "agitare," which meant "to stir up." To be "agitato" in Italy is to be very excited, and a musical score marked "agitato" is intended to be played at a frenzied pace. But it's also possible that the source is "acido" (pronounced "AH-chee-do"), Italian for "stomach acid," which then possibly became "agita" ("AH-jih-ta") over time. Whatever the source, "agita" seems to have arrived in New York with Italian immigrants around the turn of the century, and has been in constant use, especially in places like New York City, ever since.

In the Rearview Mirror

Driving to work this morning I was stopped at a red light and watched as three men walked past on the sidewalk next to the line of traffic. It was early, I was tired, all I could think of was "3 guys coming from The Pine Street Inn" (Which is the local homeless shelter near my office). I looked at their faces and thought a bit more deeply for 7:30am "Such normal looking guys, I wonder what they were like as children, and why are they homeless now."

I sat there, maybe I was pondering them and people in general, maybe I was thinking about drinking my coffee, I can't remember, and then I happened to glance in the rear view mirror. I noticed that the car behind me which hadn't been able to turn off of 93 and who were definitely now lost had pulled one of the three men over to ask for directions. Would I have asked them for directions if I didn't known where they were walking from? I had just thought they looked normal, so why not. These lost drivers who didn't know the area and thus had no pre-conceived prejudices had asked them. I saw smiling, and gesturing of hands, the man they had asked knew the area and he was happy to point them in the right direction. The man at the wheel was leaning over to get the details in addition to what the passenger was taking in. They were excited to be getting pointed in the right direction, excited to get back on track. Who cares who the men are or where they are coming from, they know the area probably better than anyone and why not ask them for directions.

I may have said, "hmm" out loud, I'm not sure. But I definitely thought it.

Its the things that happen in your rearview mirror that can sometimes make you stop, not what's happening right in front of you- like the light turning green.

Where I Come From

The snow was a steady stream of white and I so wanted to be able to capture it. The constant motion of falling flakes making everything seem still and calm. I knew the camera wouldn't be able to capture that, but I also knew I'd want to capture the newly snow covered items. I love being from a place where the snow draws you outdoors instead of forcing you to stay inside, or I guess I should say I love being from a family where the snow means time to head outside to play.

My jacket was too big for me, completely covering my hands, which made it easy to hold my camera and keep it tucked away in the sleeves of the jacket ready to pop out at the prime photo opportunity.

The landscape around the house where I grew up is primarily farm land, which peaks into lush greens in the summer. I tend to notice it more when its snow covered. The white vastness of fields untouched by anything but the flakes. However, as you look around at the items bordering these fields you'll find items that have been touched, by humans and time. The parking of a car next to a field, the sapping of a tree in a graveyard, the bending of wire and wood over time. These to me represent where I've grown up, where I'm from. They are the markers of time, the telling of a story, the signs of how people have moved and shaped the area.

The farm in the middle is the center of it all, what the fields have been built for, who the graveyard was created for, what has drawn the people that built a bench and parked a car. Its all those scribbled in pieces of the picture that make up where I'm from.

Bagels

I would say that bagels are one of my weaknesses when it comes to food. I tend to eat them a lot on weekends, and especially when I'm in NYC visiting the Boy (duh!). This past weekend I was there and we were having a late late brunch with friends, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to enjoy a bagel in the earlier morning to tide me over. It was warm, and toasted to perfection and the sesame seeds gave it that extra factor I look for from them. The cream cheese was heavily smeared on- which I always enjoy- I highly dislike how some bagel joints really cheat you out of the right amount of cream cheese aka Brueggers.

Unfortunately it was not my lucky bagel day. First- my description of the bagel is from when it was first ready for my eating, it did not get handed to me until at least 15 minutes after that. At this point it was starting to cool and harden, utterly disappointing. I started to eat it anyway, can't waste a bagel when I have such a good excuse to eat one. Half way through, for reasons not to be outlined/detailed here, I was struck with the need to cry. Crying while eating/in food is never a pleasant experience. You try to muster through without letting it out and keep on plugging through eating- you figure it will distract you from the sadness. However, as you continue to eat the flow of tears do not subside, in fact your throat starts to swell a bit and eating becomes more laborious as you try to hold back your tears. This is when I would consider you are crying in your food. Although tears may not be falling, I still consider it crying because its the eating that is stopping them. This process completely ruins whatever you are eating. You lose your appetite, the food doesn't taste good anymore and all you want to do is sob, not be sitting in a little cafe eating a bagel that's gotten cold.

I haven't wanted a bagel since.

Cheering

I enjoy sports. I enjoy the excitement of a close game, rooting for your home team, getting excited and pumped up for a big game, and cheering even if you're not at the game. (My neighbors once asked me how the game was going when I crossed them coming and going from our cars, and only later did I realize it was because they could hear me yelling at the TV).
Got hooked up with 1/2 priced tickets for the Celtics game on Friday. Basketball is definitely not my favorite sport, but heading to the game was a great Friday night. Here's a picture from the game.

Beauty?

Sitting at my desk yesterday I saw a peek of something outside my window and when I looked again I realized it was a plastic bag, floating through the air. As I continued looking out the window I noticed more bags, just floating in the wind, above the buildings around mine. Usually when we see something interesting out our floor to ceiling windows, the cubes perk up and we chat about what we're watching, awwing if its a dog, laughing if its an interesting South End character. This time I stayed quiet. I figured, maybe this is something just I can appreciate. Then I thought about American Beauty, when they are watching the video of the plastic bag dancing in the breeze. Even watching that I realized the depth of the message, how you can find beauty in so many small things, how even trash floating around in the air is beautiful.
Is it the somewhat mystifying image of something that can't fly doing so? Is it the secret that you may be the only one seeing it? There is something beautiful about it, floating in the air, you sitting behind a window watching, and it just floating there hanging on to the breeze that's filled it, rising again after its been tossed out. I won't go too deep, but it was a lovely moment. Sitting at my desk, figuring out which task to take on next and just looking out the window focused instead on this little vision of what someone else threw out turned into what someone else was finding beautiful.

When One Door Closes

I buried my cat this morning, and met a friend for lunch that is starting the process of burying her relationship. When I was driving back from lunch there were these moments of brilliant sun light and then when you looked ahead, towards where I was heading home, it was dark and dreary clouds. Foreboding. When I pulled up to my house there was a stream of sun light pouring towards the house, and yet the foreboding clouds were still hovering over it. We'll all get through it, we'll mourn our loses and the sun will keep shining through our clouds to guide us to the next cycle. With my cat gone it is the door opening for my parents to hopefully adopt a cat from a woman who desperately needs a good home for hers. And, the friend burying the relationship will have many doors opening to move into and out of. Its quiet in the house, and it was quiet when Lyla was still alive- she had gotten so old she mostly just slept, but its the kind of quiet that comes when you're missing a piece of the puzzle and the new shape doesn't feel quite right yet. Yet.

I found her when I came home last night. My parents were in the air flying back from vacation. It was one of my fears, that I would come home to an empty house some night for a visit and she wouldn't be just sleeping on the grate she would have passed. "She fell asleep where she was happy." The Boy commented, and its true. I'm sure she was happy, fading into a permanent sleep. I didn't see her body moving with her breathing, that was my first sign. I thought that maybe it was just such a shallow breath I couldn't see it. I petted her a couple of times to see if it would rouse her, she felt stiff. I sat in the living room and called Sammy to break the news and hope he would drive up from Worcester. I walked back over to where she was laying and pushed on her feet, knowing it would just confirm what I already knew, but feeling like I had to do a lot more to actual believe it. Her body was so stiff. I went upstairs and sat, zoned out on the couch until Sammy got home, talking to the friend, distracting myself with the lose she was beginning. The house was freezing, I didn't want the air blowing through her causing smells or disturbances. Sammy brought people, more life to the house, I had people over too, I needed the distractions, the noises the fun, the beer.

We buried her with some deli turkey, which she loved. All standing together, all taking turns with the shovel. A foggy mist hovered in the air, the sun hadn't broken through yet. We said our goodbyes as the water vapor surronded us, a heaviness in the air, a heaviness in our hearts. Another door would open, the sun would stream through. We knew that, but Lyla's door was closing and we needed to lean against it for a bit longer.

Sneakers

On Sunday I was sitting in the window of a new cafe on Elm St. in Davis Sq. Originally I was going to go into Starbucks and sit in a comfy chair and support "the man" but it was too crowded and so I decided to try this new place instead. I'm so glad I did.
I was sitting on a counter stool at the window counter reading and often gazing up to watch everyone walk by.
I saw sneakers. The shoe in between boots and sandals, a hope for warm weather to continue but an acknowledgment of the reality that it might not. They are practical and useful, but can be stylish and trendy. And everyone I saw walking by was wearing them- really- I looked for a while once I realized what was going on. It was as if the unseasonal warmth of the late January day had brought out this hope in people that they could put their boots in storage and start dusting off the sandals that had sat for so many months unused in the back of the closet or under the bed. The even more outstanding phenomena was that everyone had gotten this same urge to wear their sneakers that Sunday- even I had. Something had compelled me to choose them over every other shoe I own, and its a lot. I looked around at the other people in the cafe and they to had donned the shoe of the day.
I was literally staring at everyone's feet as they walked by into and out of Davis Sq. There was a bounce to people's steps and an excitement that the warm air had brought on.
Father's marched by with their young sons bouncing behind in their laced up Nikes. Groups of college girls strolled along, giggling in their sweatshirts and sneakers. Couples walked, sneakered, arms linked, looking for a good cup of coffee and a place to read the Sunday paper.
I sat, my sneakered feet swinging below me, head rested on my hand, watching the locals stroll by, happy to have found such a prime viewing location, happy I had my moleskin book and pen in hand. I had caught the sneaker bug too.

Sleep is Good

I feel like crap. I can't sleep at night because the people that live upstairs decided that from 10:30-12:30 they would completely remodel and rearrange their room- every night. Sleep is way underrated. I find it hard to concentrate when I'm sleep deprived, I find it impossible to think rationally, I get overly emotional and take everything way too literally and personally. In short I cannot be be in a work environment. Even sitting here hearing the "work" noises around me I'm finding it hard not to want to shut everyone up and every machine off so I can just relax and not have to think and not have to take in what's around me.
I just looked at my calendar to think about taking a personal day. Maybe even having that on the calendar will make it easier for me to get through the next few days. I don't know. I'm a friggin' basket case.
I wrote a note for the people upstairs. I've tried talking to them- "can you please make sure you take your shoes off when you're in the apartment, especially at night". I tried going up when it was happening and pointing it out, "Can you guys please try to keep it down, I'm finding it really hard to fall asleep". Obviously those don't work. So lets see what a note does:
Hey Guys-
I just wanted to be sure you realized that my bedroom is directly below your front room. Because the ceilings are so thin- I can basically hear every step you take and everything you do- especially at night. Last night was particularly loud which prompted me to write this.
I'm hoping there is an easy solution to this. I try to go to bed close to 10:30 every week night and if you can do what you need to in the front room before then that would be great.
Thanks Guys
Adrienne

What do you think? I think whatever I write they'll take it the wrong way- I think whatever I do the noise will continue. I'll keep you updated. Maybe I'll rewrite the note- its easier then committing to concentrating on anything else.

The Space Behind the Bed

While I was changing my sheets today I pulled my bed out from the wall and stumbled upon a bit of a junkyard of stuff that had been pushed behind the bed. 3 tshirts I had misplaced and wondered what had happend too- always thinking they must be in the laundry, never noticing they didn't come back from the wash-, 2 half empty bottles of seltzer, 2 hairbands- is that where all the ones I lose go?, a pair of shoes I bought cheap but they were fabulous and I still haven't found an outfit to wear them with, and a lot of dust. Finding this stuff made me think a couple of things.
Should I pull my bed out from the wall more often and check to see what's been lost? What else have I hidden into corners to be forgettn until I move? And, maybe I should vacuum behind there more often.
I also recently stumbled upon MySpace and reconnected with friends from HighSchool. Friends that I assumed I'd run back into someday, but never have the connection we're hopefully re-building now. Who and what else is out there waiting for me to "refind" (yes I'm quite aware that I just made up a word).
What relationships can I rekindle? What shirts I can really put in the wash and add back into the wardrobe cycle?
Maybe someday all those socks I lost in the dryer will reappear in The Space Behind another bed. I know I'll keep looking.

Spinning

Its safe to say that Spinning is still a pretty big "movement", "trend", etc. I know some people might be annoyed with it,
"what's the big deal?"
"Who cares? its just biking?"
"Spinners need to get over themselves"
I'm here to vouch for it.
The first time I tried spinning I had just found out that a beloved great aunt had died. I was pretty shaken up, but at work so I couldn't really express it. I had already planned to head to spinning after work as my workout- thank god. I'm sure if I hadn't already committed to going with a friend I would have skipped it headed home and been bummed out and depressed all night. Instead I was in this dark, cool room with loud base pumping an instructor yelling and all I had to do was move my legs. I could completely zone out and just sweat everything out, release. It was exactly what I needed. I was still extremely sad, but I had spun through a lot of the initial emotions that often cause you to check out as you process them. And, I had a found a great new workout. I felt exhausted, excited and refreshed.
I find that every time I go the feeling is the same. Thrill from getting through a hard workout, refreshed emotionally and physically, exhausted in that really good way, excited- the endorphins speeding around my head.
I also find that every time I go the feelings before are completely different. That's the most wonderful thing about it. I can go in feeling excited to spin, or completely exhausted or like I'm getting sick, or even in no mood at all to be in the class. At the end its always the same- I feel wonderful. Even if after I leave something comes up that really annoys me- I'll get annoyed for a moment and then all of a sudden find myself back in a great mood- those endorphins really do the trick.

So, clearly I went spinning tonight- and you know what I really didn't want to... but now as you can read... I'm so glad I did.