this blog is accompanied by my second cup of decaf today. my desire to drink decaf is never wavering, thus proof that a taste for coffee is the draw; caffeine is merely an option—and one not worth the THUMPTHUMPTHUMPETYSKIPTHUMPTHUMPETYSKIP of my arrhythmic heart. i do suspect my heart—much like my dog, according to the trainer, and my hair, according to the piles of it in the bathtub and everywhere else—reacts to my stress levels. i close my eyes and imagine myself unwinding, literally. spinning away the sticky, threadbare layers of ick and then being the purest form of me that ever was since birth. or since the last time life was butter-smooth, which was around 15 years ago.
in bed the other night i thought of my travels from the age of 18 to 36: sitting next to the cheese-wheel wielding hare krishna on the train to portland; next to the mike tyson lookalike on the bus from nyc to wv; next to my boss from the modeling agency in my convertible with the duct-taped slash on the way to nyc from miami; next to no one as i smiled for marcie snapping my photo before i boarded the plane back to wv from pensacola, fl; next to my part-pit bull copilot, kaiser, on the way to our first night living in memphis, tn.; next to various space-invading strangers on the l train from the upper east side to a stop somewhere on the lower east side a short walk from gansevoort street.
i do much more traveling in my mind than i do on turf. i'm in contingent acceptance of that. as in, it's okay for now, assuming i'll make it happen one day. as a rule (of being me), the latter is always assumed. i believe i'll make it (in its manifold forms) happen even when no one else does. an alchemist of circumstance, i am. my believing, however, doesn't come without a hefty lot of lamenting, pondering, and occasional outright despair—but those are just coughs and sneezes. they ought not be suppressed. because where do suppressed sneezes and coughs go? shoved up somewhere in your brain, i'd guess. infiltrating all your pleasant thoughts with their bacteria-laden yuck. i will never suppress one again<—call it an experiment in How To Increase The Happy. overall, i'm a creature of faith. i believe in belief. belief is like time: unstoppable.
i am, too, a creature of inspiration, the dearth of which in my current surroundings leads me to upcycle former muses. and why was i thinking of travel? my desire to leave, i guess. a natural reaction to the downside of the upside of the past two months. for weeks, my life was the sound of an old typewriter: clinkclinkclinckclinkclinkCHING. repeat. i was busy. a single mom-writer-editor-sorta runner-dog trainer-in-training. making it happen. freelancing, in my experience, has a life cycle that repeats itself over and over. and so this month it grew from vibrant youth to sluggish middle age. and so i wait, ever so impatiently, for the golden years. and in my sky-high threshold of hope, i endeavor to eventually find the freelancer fountain of youth. or some assurance of continued flow. movement. progress.
the clouds are inconsolable. decaf is cold, old. thoughts are warm. child is soon to awaken. hugs and kisses are free. travels on the calendar marked "one day" ...