Lists and things

Ever noticed how useful lists can be? Not just shopping lists and to-do lists. The other kind....lists that tell you who you are and how you got there, what you want and why. I like such lists. They sometimes teach me surprising things. Of course they work best if you ask surprising questions. My most recent one is headed "When am I faking it?" Different is not always normal. And normal is rarely interesting. My lists then aren't particularly meant to serve any purpose. They just exist..crystallized forms of my mind's meanderings. My soul's pilgrimage.

1. I fake attention when people are talking about sports. (I'm a girl, I don't 'do' sports.) And string theory, because..really, who cares.
2. I fake sympathy when I see someone who has so much, whining over petty nothings. I really just want to plant them a facer.
3. I fake concern when someone is telling me how they're too buzy to do a certain task because I'm too buzy dreading the request that follows.
4. I'm faking it when I tell people stripes look good on them. Or the color yellow, which I hate. Or both.
5. I am faking indifference when someone I care about is being delibrately mean to me, so they won't see how much it really hurts.
6. The look on my face that says 'whatever' when the people I love are telling me things that are good for me? Fake. Usually I'm plain mad. I hate when they are right.
7. I fake laughter when people on the ladder above me make innane jokes and remarks that I consider inappropriate and/or lacking in intelligence.
8. I fake politeness and curtesy to people who have stabbed me or my friends or my family in the back.
9. I fake understanding when the conversation is about the 'situation in the middle east'. (I'm never sure what that situation is exactly. As far as I know, there's always been a situation there. But maybe I'm just missing the finer points.)
10. I fake confidence because it seems like everyone around me have plans for their lives. I don't have a 'plan'. Unless you count eating breakfast and feeding the cat 'plans'. Where are they all going, I wonder? How do they know that's where they want to go? And who gave them a map?

Me? I live my life strictly on a day-to-day basis. Any day I haven't been run over is a good one. Any day I'm actually prepared with an umbrella and it rains, is a day marked with a red letter. I wander around...down blind alleys, unmarked streets, and sometimes losing my way. Turning corners and crossing bridges. Building sand-castles, watching them collapse. Crying because I really thought this one could stand the tide, I really did. Breaking the faith. Making friends and gaining enemies. Watching the relationships in my life change with time, distance, circumstances. Keeping the faith. Hurting and getting hurt. Trying to find myself, only to lose myself a little more.
But if you have lists, they can serve as markers on the journey. When you've lost your way yet again and you're really wishing you had that map, the lists can help you remember. Small things. Unimportant things. Things you'd forgotten. Things that will make you smile. Things that will shock. And it might not be a map but they're darned good at reminding you of what you've left behind. And the long way you've come. And somehow, knowing you've been there before or somewhere like it, and survived, makes it a little better.

Essay: In praise of days

It's been a while since I last took pen to paper. Sometimes that scares me more than anything else does. Because very often it means I've run out of things to feel. I only write what...when...I feel...and when that stops, your mind becomes a scary place. You become aware of the vaguely formed bogeys silently holding a vigil on the edges of your consciousness. And the recycled thoughts. Like a tape that's stuck so you hear the same tune over and over again. And in 2/3 rds indifference and 1/3 rd fascination you watch to see how long it will go on this time. If nothing else a degree in psychology teaches you to catalogue well and keep good records.
When the lights have been turned off and along with it all the noises of the day, it's easy to believe that I'm at the bottom of a very deep well. From where I am, the surface seems a long away off and the sky even further. If I squint I can almost see the brighteness that lies just outside, barely visible but as beyond my reach as the stars. And with horror I see that my hands have been digging deeper into the earth, as if by their own accord and most definitely against my will. No, I tell my hands, that's not the way to go, it's up I want. They don't seem to care but I still do. I think. Then I wonder if maybe they've pledged allegiance to an invisible enemy. Why is it so hard to get your mind to listen? But then the sun comes out and you find it's another brand new day, with so much to do, so much to accomplish, a schedule to stick to..so you can cheat a little and not listen to your mind either. You may never win the war but there's a measure of satisfaction in knowing you're not making it too easy either.
And that is why I like days best.