I think that last night, I must have been tossing and turning. I remember a few anxious dreams. At one point, I turned over, and touched the catís leg next to me, but he didnít move. He must have been sleeping. I jolted awake, scared because he hadnít immediately reacted to my touch (he usually stays next to me, alert, in case I wake up, so he can be cuddled). Within seconds, he was all over me, rubbing his head on me, and licking my face.
I havenít been able to go to karate the past couple of weeks. The dojo is changing locations and problems with construction permits slowed down the opening of the new location.
I feel like my whole body is falling apart. Iíve been doing an hour of yoga a night, hiking, etc, but thatís not the same as 6 hours of karate a week. I didnít slow down my eating, and I became terrified to step on the scale. Last night, I sucked it up and checked my weight. Iíve lost weight; muscle loss. Iím turning soft and fat.
Youíd think with a boyfriend with a degree in exercise physiology that I would be well-equipped to combat this problem. I told Adam my concerns over the phone last night. He was exhausted and falling asleep.
He yawned at me that I am fine and that I had nothing to worry about. I told him about how my hip started hurting during yoga, and I think itís because my body is protesting the lack of karate and that I probably need to go to physical therapy to get back to normal. He yawned more, completely unconcerned, and then reassured me that heíd ďlook at it.Ē Although, I donít know what looking at it will do.
I worked on my rakusu last night. At first, I thought all this sewing would be nothing but a giant nuisance.
I had forgotten that I had learned to sew as a little girl. My motherís family sews. My grandmother made my mothers wedding gown, by hand; meaning, needle-and-thread, without the help of any machinery. That was not a simple garment, either. It was designed by my aunt, who went to fashion school in Tokyo.
At first, I was feeling daunted by the task of making a rakusu, but as soon as I had the material cut and a needle and thread in my hand, I raced off, like someone who thought sheíd forgotten how to ride a bike, only to discover that itís just like riding a bike!
Itís been relaxing and very meditative. I suppose thatís the point, isnít it?
Sunday, we went to see the Dalai Lama. It was better than I expected. Iíll need some time to write about that, but I also have to write about the trip to Lake Placid on 4th of July weekend. It seems that I am just stockpiling half-finished writing along with photographs, these days. Thatís what happens when I start having standards. Itís much better when I just let it be what it is. Like this, see?
I received another long email from my brother. The world seems like a better place when we are in regular contact. We are both very involved with our relationships, lately. Iím glad to know that heís happy, but I was hopeful that our lives had stopped paralleling one another. I guess not.
Today, I was thinking about how it weíre constantly obligated to be happy. If weíre not happy and satisfied, we damn well better start problem solving. If we donít want to blame it on a chemical imbalance, then we can blame it on our bad relationships, our crappy jobs, the economy, our evil parents, our government, some foreign government or the weather.
Sometimes I enjoy being plain unhappy. Dissatisfaction is the human condition. I donít take it out on other people unless they start demanding that I be happy. Why should I compound my lack of happiness by panicking because Iím not happy enough?
Perhaps happiness is merely an illusion that weíve inherited by our puritan American ideals. I am not perpetually unhappy, but I reject the notion that happiness is a thing to be achieved. To be owned, set on a shelf and admired.
Itís the nature of the human brain to constantly swing back and forth between misery and bliss.
Thereís change, too. Itís the nature of the universe to change, but we have no control over how much and in which direction. All we can do is hope to be flexible enough to move with the change or weíll kill ourselves fighting it.
Oh, I was in Lake Placid with the group. Itís like a clique, but we pretend that weíre not a clique because we hate the idea of exclusion. Iím automatically included because I am the girlfriend of the guy who controls everything; the one whoís involved with everything. Heís the one people are afraid to cross because he makes the decisions, and they know that he adores me.
For once in my life, Iím part of the in crowd and I donít have to lift a finger. I can be as bizarre and unfit as I like, and no one will even think to exclude me.
Of course, he doesnít know what itís like to not fit in. Heís a person who doesnít even know how not to fit in. Heís the guy everyone likes, and the kind of person people always pick first to be on their team.
There were also some new people. They came late. I think they were confused and scared when they first arrived, but I wasnít there.
I was hurt later when I realized the rest of the group wasnít friendly and didnít include them. They felt different, maybe even apologetic for being who they are.
I feel awful for not seeing the clique for what it is. If Iíd seen it, Iíd have shown the new people that weíre all human beings, and everyone is welcome to be part of the human race (and some animals, too).
Iím not socially smart enough to see those things, though. I didnít know until the ride home when someone mentioned that a few people had felt excluded. Adam said he didnít like how cliquey the group is getting. Isnít that also human nature, though? Is exclusion a form of misguided self-preservation?
I stopped caring what people think of me years ago. If I feel like talking, Iíll talk. I will be straight-forward and unflinchingly me. Other times Iíll be unflinching me, by being completely anti-social, too.
So, sometimes I forget that other people still care. I forget that other people feel they need an invitation before they can speak or sit down next to someone. I forget that sometimes people wonít extend invitations, even when theyíre clearly needed. I forget that sometimes people do worse and suggest a complete lack of an invitation.
I told my close friends that I would do better next time. I would be more aware so I can be more inclusive. They told me that I am plenty inclusive. I think I was the only person to tell the woman that they are invited to sit with the group, but it was late by that time. It was late before I even realized that an invitation was necessary.
I not even fond of the group. They cause me stress and make me fantasize about being away from all people for a long, long time.
|Thursday, Jul. 17, 2008 at 7:21 PM|