My infernal internal clock seems unabated no matter what actions I might take. Staying up late (on multiple occasions) seems to have little impact; bad (or good) dreams are similarly unimpeding. It's a strange feeling, to wake up at the normal time when hoping to sleep in, especially when on so many occasions my mind is reasonably alert but my limbs are still hoping to stay relaxed and undisturbed for an indefinite period. Perhaps that's an indication that yesterday I tired myself out what with driving and classes and running up stairs with lots of books and cleaning and pickup (hooray) on the turf, but didn't bother to think hard enough all day. The mind needs 6 hours, the legs need 8. But despite my initial alertness, by now I'm feeling fuzzy in class, my fingers are slow (and incorrect) on the keyboard, and I dread the afternoon lecture with dim lights, slides, and a quite soothing voice. It doesn't quite seem fair.
I've been dreaming of food, perhaps reflecting my anxiety that Ethan's going to starve without a close-by supermarket to cure his every want. Last night was tasty though. After some odd preliminaries about frisbee and baseball players (also I have been dreaming about ultimate with much greater frequency than I used to - I think I'm ready to leave the off-season) we then got into audio-visual equipment difficulties and bus problems which somehow ended up with me being in a park looking for a snack and discovering my only option was afternoon tea, set up on fancy card tables amongst a field of badminton nets. I kid you not. And somehow we couldn't seem to decide what to eat - the $40 full tea option seemed like too much but the other, cheaper versions ($10.50 and $5.20) of picking a few things out of many seemed difficult. Fortunately this park allowed sampling, like a good ice cream store, so I managed to try a cheese that tasted like sweet potatoes (excellent, I must say) and a stinky-foot cheddar. I also took a hack at corn pudding, bok choi, some sort of beef thing - the sampler plate was covered with at least 15 different things all mushed together a bit. I avoided the mushroom part. We never ended up ordering - being ignored while sampling and then whoever I was with (it kept changing) ordered but I was torn with indecision until I woke up. Naturally I wake up hungry, but that's normal for me. But after dreams like that who needs to eat? I could taste it all, and it was delightful.
Today on white, reaching and slipping over and over again. Try this, Chris says, Michael says. I try to follow what Angelo did, unconventional but it worked for everyone else and still no good. I just need half an inch. Then Robin with his elbow, stepping on his fingers makes it easy. I wonder sometimes, like then, how much I rely on height as an excuse for lack of talent or strength or guts. But Robin took that safety away and it was me and the heel hook, the quick pull, the desperate reach, and then the side pull, the foot-hand match, the surprisingly steady push from my heel with the right foot scrabbling to smear, reaching what was never reached before. And I have it. And one more. And I can see the next, close to reaching, but my arms are so tired, fighting the overhang so I drop off, plan for next week. I feel like I'm getting back into it, like last spring, but this time more experienced and getting stronger. One final traverse at the end of the day, shaking from the strain by the end, remembering when I could go back and forth and back and forth with such great ease. Soon.
I am as fragmented as my attention, like the ADD babies my sister is concerned about these days. Apparently developing-brained babies get confused by the input from tv and end up being very ADD. Might explain the current explosion of diagnosis in our population, aside from overdiagnosis everywhere you look. But multitasking is confusing and I always leave something out (today, lunch) and get started on what matters later or never at all. I suppose my mood is influenced by the weather, throwing different shards at us day by day. The 70s of California, the 30s of Chicago, then the 50s and 60s and the summer-style thunderstorm and now I hardly know what to expect as I stay hidden, safe, inside, huddled and waiting for Ethan to come home. I suppose that's an exaggeration really (but they work so well!) although closer to the truth than I'm comfortable with. I do have these moments where the lovely modern ideal of a strong independent woman is a bit out of reach, and others where I can hardly believe I agreed to traditional marriage (commitment is fine, but really what's the point?). Although it's all moot when I sit around watching Jeopardy and eating cookies. I peek periodically at sitemeter and marvel how more and more this site is just for me, which I suppose should really be the point in the end. I suppose the RSS stuff doesn't show up quite the same way (and in some way I feel syndicated and important) although I do wonder how much I'd keep writing without the vague guilt of other people reading. See how scattered I am today? Like feathers on air currents, full of intention but awry with a whisper of air.
