listening to love
-
Essay #28: permission
Someone recently asked permission to use a poem of mine in her movement therapy class. She invited me to attend when she read it, with the added incentive, “You can dance to your poem!” This pissed me off. Who the hell is she to give me permission to dance to my own poem? I kept…
-
Essay #27: stuck
I’ve been spending a lot of time in my car lately, driving to rehearsals far away. “So far away… Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?” sings Carol King. Sometimes I get stuck in traffic. I try to relax, breathe, let it be, but the truth is I hate it. I’m afraid I’ll be here…
-
Essay #26: labor
Labor: to work hard; to struggle to do something very difficult or very tiring; [of love] something demanding or difficult that is done just for pleasure rather than for money (Word 2011 Dictionary) I am posting this from my new (to me) computer. I have been dragged into the 21st century. Finally. Garth Brooks wrote…
-
Essay #25: bike rack
How to affix a bike rack so it acts as a barrier between road dirt and your butt: First, barter with a guy at a garage sale and buy a Specialized mountain bike for thirty dollars cash. From his roommate, buy a bike rack and a bungee cord for a buck. Roommate explains that the…
-
Essay #24: halfway
I am halfway through the 48 essays I promised to post. It has not gotten any easier. It is still hard to write the truth and share it with you. Seems simple enough: write a bunch of words, edit them, then publish on the worldwide web. Many people do it every day. Simple, yes, except…
-
Essay #23: billboards
I spent last week in Southern California, where I grew up. Huge billboards line the freeways, featuring smiling women or men, posing sideways, with the phone number: 1-800-GET-THIN. “I lost 100 pounds!” they boast. Lap band surgery. My stomach hurts just thinking about it. I have felt fat most of my life, regardless of actual…
-
Essay #22: packing
Last time I packed for a funeral, I was in high school. I don’t remember what I packed, or what I wore. But I do remember telling Mr. Perry, the marine biology teacher, that I was going to Arizona because my grandmother had died. Mimi, my mother’s mother, always sent the perfect clothes for my…
-
Essay #21: jill
My childhood friend died last week. Jill. She had a hard life: anorexia, substance abuse, broken marriage. She had a 7-year-old boy she adores. Adored. Adores. I’ve known Jill most of her life (she’s three years younger). Our physical therapist mothers met when we were little. When Nita (her mom) took maternity leave to have…
-
Essay #20: operating systems
“Update your operating system.” Hotmail, Yahoo, WordPress, Facebook – they all say the same thing: You will not receive the full scope of services until you upgrade your operating system. They’re right. My operating system is way out of date. It’s getting harder to send and receive messages, information, data, code. It affects how I…
-
Essay #19: tania
Do you actually need that screaming voice in your head telling you to get out of bed? Is there a kinder way to treat yourself? Tania is the name of one of my screamers. She’s like a personal assistant: in charge of the mundane parts of my existence — paying bills, doing laundry, looking for…
words & art by shé 