The Edge of Tuesday

I haven't really had enough coffee yet, so forgive me if I fall asleep sometime while posting...I ran into a blog last night, about Steubenville again, called: "Black Girl Dangerous". I am going to give you the link here, because her writing style and content is simply amazing: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Black-Girl-Dangerous/184890874945927

Good luck following that link. I told you it was early.

Of course, I don't want to have to pay the price she must have, as a lesbian, black chick, but I would love to write the way she does. She has a brilliance and a fire I haven't seen since I first read Toni Morrison in Beloved.

Getting to see my therapist yesterday, was a stunning feat for me. I couldn't manage a shower, but I did take the anti-Evil pills, and ate. But this is why I do therapy. I found out that I can change my own mind and the way I think if my therapist helps me re-think. So, sometime this morning, I will take a shower and act as if I were an 'everyday' person and run errands. At least, those are my plans. Not very exciting I know. But it is soothing to concentrate on the most ordinary of tasks sometimes, and draw the mind away from excitement. With the news coming out of our heartlands, Sandy Hook (remember that?) and Steubenville, I think we need less excitement, not more...

It truly is as if, as Jerold J. Kreisman, M.D. and Hal Strause suggested in their book, I Hate You, Don't Leave Me: Understanding the Borderline Personality, have suggested. That we have become a Borderline Society, scrabbling at the sides of the well we have fallen into; afraid of abandonment, or separation, real or imagined. We are impulsive: it takes a lot of that kind of thinking to send a death threat to a 16 year old girl, who did nothing to merit that kind of attention. We are intense: idealizing the 'new love' in our lives, Sandy Hook, Steubenville, guns, and then demonizing them. I could go on all day about our illnesses, the rape culture, the gun culture, the prison culture, we live in. We are a mess, and it's going to take some long haul work to straighten us out. But if I can do it, anyone can.


But let's turn our mind away from 'The World' for a moment. Everyone needs a time of reflection during one's awake time. It is a deep spring in this small corner of the world. Just last summer, I was hoping for the kind of spring we used to have before climate change started kicking our butt; the kind of spring we are having this year. It is cold and blustery, well into March, although the ground is softening under the rain. The daffodils are long since up, and yesterday-and I have saved this in my memory for you here-I saw two, unashamedly pink trees. They are glorious: I am holding them in my eyes until the trees around my yard start assuming color. And the pool outside is more like a pond than any other time of year. I simply wait for the frogs.

Some nocturnal creature has chewed a hole in the bag of trash I set out last night. Most likely, it is a raccoon. The rain is supposed to clear up sometime today, but the March winds will be blowing a storm our way. I love the wind driving the clouds and rain before it. It would simply be more pleasant at a warmer temperature. I hold onto the thought that this year perhaps, as a fluke, we do not go back into a drought, with derechos, and storms of that order.

It is much simpler to wish for a more ordered Universe...one we see in our mind's eye as safer, more perfect, than what we have today. I particularly long for a remembered Easter, in my grandparents' back yard. I have a distant memory: of a new pink dress, and white gloves, of a blooming dogwood, and grass emerald. Of my brother's hair, shining in the sunlight and his blue suit the same color as his eyes. It is a memory before alcohol, rapes, creative, mental disorders: there are two small baskets waiting for us in the house. My father is taking pictures of us, wandering around on the grass, like two small calves bathing in the sunlight. My mother is beautiful, like a Spanish princess with her red lips, like my father used to say.


You should know by now, from too many sources over the centuries to list here, that rebirth is possible only through change and struggle. So take deep breaths, the Quickening is started.