It's all about Hamlet

People read this blog, and the blog tells me which pages they read. Usually it seems like the data comes from one person who finds this internet place on accident and binges through a year of my ramblings. I follow in their footsteps to see what they find. One post I had totally forgotten is this one, which is notable for the line "IF I EVER FEEL MORE HAMLET THAN TEMPEST, IT’S QUICKLY CLEAR THAT IT’S A JOKE OF TIME."

A joke of time indeed. I was "Miranda" for a long time. Naive, dazzled, chipper. That was the trick of time! Now I fall asleep to Hamlet, most nights. I try to find audiobook versions without too much fanfare, literally. Random horns playing between scenes hardly create deeper immersion. And I have finally understood his malaise, his desperate paralysis, his moral outrage, his desire to do right... I think I'm emerging from my own version of it. I had let myself lose all my mirth, forgoe all custom of exercise, and indeed, it went so heavily with my disposition that this goodly park, look you, Lands End, seemed to me sterile promontory. I felt like a rogue and peasant slave. Seeing videos and pictures of people kidnapped and killed, and thus prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, I, like a whore, unpacked my heart with words on Twitter and LinkedIn, and fell a-cursing like a very drab, a scullion. Not worried about dreams after death, but rather about not being able to find a community to connect with for effective activism, the native hue of resolution was sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pitch and moment with this regard their currents turned awry and lost the name of action.

Tis now the very witching time of night (9 pm on a Friday). I have sent an email out to people who I have cajoled into committing to host more parties this year. A year ago or so, the idea for "Party Pledge" (rebranded per community feedback but I don't want to be too obvious here), came out of rumination on how to contribute to the resilience of the country. Recently I mentioned to a friend that I was thinking about volunteering for a cause, and he said "you volunteer with us," talking about silly workshops I host to help people explore themselves, their communities, etc. I am donating blood on Monday. 

So no, I am not stopping any genocide or blowing a whistle when ICE is on the street. And I am no longer treating my stress and fear as a step on the way to some action - I was fully stuck in it and it didn't have any impact. I still spiral a bit on Twitter most days, even though as I open it I think "brace yourself for psychic damage." Creating the world that I want to exist around me is within my power. When there's something bigger I can do, I'll find it.

Back to the original point - I am still in my Hamlet phase. I want to memorize the Rogue and Peasant slave speech and also To Be Or Not To Be. But maybe I'll return to the Tempest after this trick of time. Maybe I'll be Prospero, old and petty and magical. 

The reader also saw this one. It's not true yet.

Changing my attitude

My best friend suggested that I was depressed. I think she's right. I think it intensified this summer during the illness/travel whirlwind, but probably started during the election. That's when I stopped journaling. So, some of the problems I blamed on my relationship were actually my chemical imbalances/bigger emotional issues. But, that doesn't mean that the breakup was a mistake. Can't forget that. 

So I am now on a mission - touch grass and be happy. Me freaking out and doom scrolling isn't getting anyone out of detention, isn't stopping the grift and theft, and isn't spreading a love of freedom. 

I still want to scope out some political organizing options. Maybe even go canvass for the election in Fresno over a weekend. But also, "make me happier" is now a sufficient justification for my actions. Spending time outside. Getting endorphins. Enjoying treats. Making new friends. Deepening my existing friendships. Throwing parties.

Crushed

Y'all remember the guy I was close friends with, whom I've had an on-and-off crush on for the last ten years? He has changed so much in the last five months. He used to wish he hadn't been born and scoff at the idea of love and procreating. Now family is the most important thing, and he's dating.

Our conversation tonight made me miss my ex; made me wonder if I shouldn't have kept trying. 

I don't want to journal about it. I want to stop thinking about it and watch someone play Age of Empires and wait until it wears off. Spending life waiting for feelings to wear off sounds like a kind of death.

He has been using AI as a thought partner on technical issues. I tried my question about how much money a utility makes on grid assets, and how much customers pay for a grid asset again. The numbers seemed reasonable this time. It even added extra information and suggestions. I guess AI has gotten good enough to help me with my job, but now I'm worried I'll become a microgrid girl once I realize how much the bulk grid really costs.

Well, I've said too much about everything. But I feel brave for writing that my friend's change in perspective threatened my identity, my decisions. To be fair, he talked a lot, I asked all the questions, and that kind of conversation tends to leave me feeling vulnerable.

So look at me, processing my night just a little. I should really start a digital journal that isn't online, so that when I'm too lazy to grab a pen, I don't have to self-censor.

On the upswing?

My crush invited me to his birthday party, but I'll be out of town.

Crush is a strong word. I fell asleep with tears in my eyes about my breakup last night. We are in "baby steps" mode, romantically.

And my body image is a disaster. I should probably just pay for the extra gym even if I'm not getting optimal value. Gym proximity will be an extra reason to go downtown to cowork, too, which is an extra reason to meal-prep healthy food. And then, gradually, I will be able to wear all the clothes I want to again, and they will look more like I want them to. And maybe then I can work on a healthier relationship with my body.

I certainly don't hate my body like magazines and media suggest many do. I try to think of it as a given - this is my body. It's a canvas, it's a tool... I am its steward, and it is my home, like the earth is my home. We are entwined, both separate and inseparable. Destined, not chosen, our journey together defined by chance more than choice. But of course, the relationship is not just emotional and spiritual, it is physical. Sometimes my body changes and that annoys me, despite the fact that I do have some agency over those changes. 

I invited my crush on my mushroom walk tomorrow.

I was going to write about writing, reading, word-craft and imagination or something along those lines. Some other time.

Hibernation

working thinking trying

arguing with myself

imagining impossibilities

paralyzed by largeness, smallness

to breathe for a moment

to lose a season

and after all

that's how

many

survive

Beauty - Sovereignty - Patience

 Once upon a time, my friend and I did a tarot reading about my love life. The framework resonated, and I ended up writing poems about two exes and two world-shifting crushes. The framework doesn't seem to apply as clearly to my most recent breakup. Maybe that is progress, or at least the attempt at it. Maybe I just need the emotional dust to settle, and I'll see it.

Typing these up here so that they don't get lost when I recycle the notebook that holds them, which is mostly Mossy Minds reading notes and some Morning Pages. 

III

The reason is beauty

Yes yes the curve of his hip, the crook of his teeth

 But more so everything else

The world turning from circle to sphere

Birds and rocks and joshua trees suddenly animated and speaking to me

Big horned sheep peeking at us before sunset

A car with a birthday, a house with a reputation

The problem is sovereignty 

He said life always feels like a mess

When I lamented that he'd never known me with stability

I should have know that after five yeras

I might not be the one depriving myself

That borrowing feels very different from sharing

No matter if I think it's a gift

The tool is patience

I often fall in love while I'm already in love

I always run past the finish line

Because I don't want the race to be over

I can wait without knowing what for

Without knowing if I'm moving or standing still

I

The reason is beauty

We created together

Structures that brought silliness to the world

We broke reality and rebuilt it in a bubble

When we broke up I was fine

But when I saw him afterwards we cried and got together again

Twice

Anal on acid to consummate our second reunion

His mind only pictures

My work all stories

His jobs wrenching, me quitting mine to cheat on him in Cuba

To tell him when I got back

To make up on a beach in the Grand Canyon

The problem is sovereignty

Our home together disappeared

He moved us to the mountains while I was across the ocean

The mining shack smelled like a hundred animals

I painted the walls, I learned the forest roads

The wheels on our cars kept losing purchase

The hills too steep, the gravel too loose

In a place he belonged and I did not

The tool is patience

First love is gets a number for a reason

Innocence and growth find themselves at odds

II

The reason is beauty

I stared into his almond eyes for four minutes

We had been saving each other - best for last

I pretended to be afraid of the dark so that he'd walk me home

The problem is sovereignty

His vanity is alien

We gave his girlfriends nicknames

My abandon was too strong

And when I moved on he missed it

Six years later he remembered how my mouth made him come through the antidepressants 

The tool is patience

He texted me on Thanksgiving that he loves me

9 months too late. 6 years too late.

Now I know that he chose not to give me his best

And I deserve more than he can offer 

IV

The reason is beauty

I hear sounds I wouldn't have heard

I seek puzzles I wouldn't have solved

I taste delights that belong more to him than me

I make beauty for us to share

We show each other new horizons

Blackberries on the highway

Fishing in the Yunnan mountains

His smile is the best I can imagine

His eyes are big without his glasses

The problem is sovereignty

I might offer too much. More than I get back and more than he wants.

He stays a mystery. I tell him so much but still surprise him. 

We don't see each other more than once a week but I think about him every day

The tool is patience

We have each changed so much

How I like him has changed, and will change more

There is no right answer

And I can rest in shades of grey

Only ___ can judge me.

 I turned ye olde blog private because I was in the running for a high-profile job. I didn't get it! Did they find the blog (because if anyone could, they could, wink wink), or was my aversion to bureaucracy palpable through the Zoom? I was ambivalent about the organization. It would have been so exciting, but in a very similar way to my current job. So, the impetus to change, to leave the devil I know, was less than it would have been if it had been a new world.

The experience made me value my current role more: recognizing what I take for granted, and how I limit myself, and how I could embrace my opportunity more fully. I didn't fight for the job, but I did take it seriously. It helped me see that I could step outside of the professional role I've been in for five years (with many changes) and have another adventure. 

Part of me wants the next thing to be in journalism or education, or art. My ex is passionate about education. We just broke up last week - a week ago right now, actually. I don't want to write too much about it. I think there wasn't anything either of us could have done. The chemistry wasn't there for me. I don't need a husband or a family. I need magic. I need personal expansiveness. I need inspiration. I thought I could find those things with him, but I lost them in myself as I invested in our relationship. In the end, we would have been a lovely family. But today, that's not what my heart asks for. Is this fair? Is this true? The truth is there were a number of overlapping and intersecting problems for us. That in itself was a problem: that I couldn't disentangle one challenge or block from the next, when I was with him. Where to live was a big one. And now that we're broken up, I'm pretty happy in my current spot. Rents spiking hasn't helped with the idea of trying out solo-living. I started reading old posts - themes from 2021 persist.

I mean, there was never a chance that I was going to write a whole blog post about work, right? Two more weeks of it until two weeks off! Lots to do, but also those two weeks will go very quickly, since I have one all-day event this week, a flying-day next week (two, if you count leaving in the evening on Friday), and two-ish staff retreat days. So basically one full week of work days. I may dabble in labor over the break. Strategic planning should be so fun, but when I try to do it during work hours I get distracted or stressed.

Back to what I might want for the next "thing." My play for the last two years has been oriented around creative workshops and parties. Turning that into work could be a big mistake. Going into politics, insanely, feels appealing too. I would learn a lot. Why not fail at something, next? I can't just keep being an improbable success! That's not sustainable.

Or I could write more, for real. I would learn from that. But would I stick to it, stick into it, sink like into sand suspended in water and breath through my skin?

Only way to find out is the hard way.

My upstairs landlord is rolling her walker over my ceiling. I am sorry she is so sick. And I am very sorry that it wakes me up most nights at least once. It used to be more often, 3-5 times a night, but I think I'm less anxious and emotionally repressed and she is less active.

On the couch today, after my reading club finished its discussions, my co-hosts and I discussed how bad it would be if a mildly risque party we hosted got back to our professional networks. I find it hard to take their concerns seriously. I have 356 (soon to be 357) entries on crimes, emotional turbulence, drugs, immaturity, and growth that are freely available on the internet. Sexy Earth Day is nothing.

I fell into a rabbit hole of rereading old posts. I am torn about sending my SF Bestie any part of the blog. It's such a behemoth, but she does love stories about Reed.

Bedtime comes! I spent about two hours scrolling on Youtube shorts this evening instead of reading, painting, and writing. This vibe-download is my penance. I'll tell a whole story someday again. Future Julia will read this and remember (almost) discussing David Graeber's "What's the Point if We Can't Have Fun?" And eating cookies and showing everyone the dandelion-root tea. The sunset over my computer screen, from the chair I used to call Dertron. Its fat red corduroy is covered by a gold blanked.