I recently became a cat owner. (in case the photo is no clue).
I don't want to be boring about it, but as any pet owner will agree it does have a fairly significant effect on your life. (Budgies and goldfish, obviously less so than cats and dogs.)
So, my cat seems to have taken on some kind of symbolic significance in my subconscious. She has starred in three dreams.
In the first she'd been in the "care" of friends, who'd left open glasses and bottles of alcohol around. She sampled all of them and was seriously drunk. Dangerously. As in Alcoholic poisoning. As she staggered around i screamed at those people who'd been so irresponsible. Yelled and screamed like i've never screamed at anyone in real life ever before.
Or ever will, knowing me.
It was kind of cathartic.
In the next dream she went completely limp in my arms and I was running around in a panic. Afraid she'd die. Trying to find help and not succeeding.
This was the opposite of cathartic.
In the third, my friend (who is soon to be actually cat sitting for me), was explaining that she'd not be able to look after the cat like i do; would not be able to copy all my patterns and follow all my rules. She seemed unworried by this. As if my "rules" for cat tending and raising were impossible and silly. Or too personal. She was going to do it her own way.
At least this last one wasn't a nightmare.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Exercise 4
I know that one breath of air will not keep me alive and oxygenated for the rest of my life. I need to keep breathing in and out.
I know that the next meal i eat will only sustain me until i'm hungry again.
When i'm thirsty and take a drink, i don't expect it to cure my thirst for eternity.
So why, when i'm feeling happy, do i think that this is how i will stay, and that i no longer need to feed myself happy making things?
I felt great.
So - unconsciously i might add - I stopped the gratitude exercises, the herbal supplements, the walks along the beach, walking my neighbour's dog.....
And i wonder why i feel blah?
I know that the next meal i eat will only sustain me until i'm hungry again.
When i'm thirsty and take a drink, i don't expect it to cure my thirst for eternity.
So why, when i'm feeling happy, do i think that this is how i will stay, and that i no longer need to feed myself happy making things?
I felt great.
So - unconsciously i might add - I stopped the gratitude exercises, the herbal supplements, the walks along the beach, walking my neighbour's dog.....
And i wonder why i feel blah?
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Friday, August 3, 2007
Exercise 3
Keep conditioning your mind or it will run rampant
i was at a workshop and each participant in the room had to stand up and tell the group about themselves and why they were there. The facilitator acknowledged that this was usually an uncomfortable process and several people admitted how nervous it made them. Thus primed and forewarned, and put somewhat at ease, I spent a good deal of time, while waiting for my turn to come around, remaining calm and reminding myself there was nothing to fear from this simple, harmless thing.
But it failed me when my turn came. Unnerved, As usual I spoke too quickly as if the faster i spoke the more i could correct the blather that was spilling out and i ran quickly off my track and lost focus and memory, only recovering enough to make my main point, but rather badly.
In a conversation you pause after each point for your partner to respond. You can then clarify, say things differently, better. And so the back and forth continues until you have adequately expressed yourself. You have a chance to right wrongs.
But in the stage fright pressure of a monologue, the words come out before i have time to compose, think of what they really mean, their real impact.
I cannot edit myself.
until much later.
until it's way too late and i'm walking back to my car, alone, because everyone has scattered, even the couple of attendees who I could call friends.
so the paranoia begins,
the mind runs rampant.
I think over and over what i said. What a jerk i must have seemed. I drive myself crazy with regret and wishful do-overs as i drive home.
I replay the scene in my mind, the way it *should* have gone. in this version I don't panic. I say exactly what i mean to say, in just the right words. And if i don't get them quite right at first, i have the presence of mind to pause, rewind, then calmly say what i really meant to say. in this version I don't blather mindlessly and keep making it worse.
And I play it over and over in my mind the way i think it really went, but with no-doubt memory-based distortions, and analyse and question every word for its possible impact and interpretation. Searching simultaneously for hope that it wasn't that bad, and for the true awfulness of what i said and what it says about me. Just looking for the flaw and holding it under that magnifying glass, staring at it, torturingly.
I grow frustrated and cranky at how easily i made a bad impression on a group of people with whom i am to be spending the next 2 days (for i seem to have decided that's the most likely result of my speech). i can feel my pulse quickening, and all the other physical affects of raised adrenalin, i can sense myself working towards tears and a kind of madness if i let this run on.
I catch myself in the supermarket walking the aisles without aim, unable to really function in the most basic way. All I am supposed to be doing is choosing some dinner supplies, but I can't. i am unable to think because my head is too full of this mental horror film on endless playback loop.
I only have one choice.
Embrace it.
Learn from it.
Accept that i did not speak well and that they will form a distorted view of me – if they are biased and overly quick to judge on a first impression.
Practice: Make sure i put myself in this situation often, so eventually i will improve. I avoid these types of things, so i've no practice.
Use it: go deep into this neurosis and let it inspire my creative work.
(this blog excluded - just catharsis here now, no art)
And remind myself (this is part of the anti-rampancy training) that on the scale of stuff-ups this one was so far from monumental it's not even worth mentioning, let alone writing about.
We do not have scriptwriters planning what we say, stage managing our lives.
We do not have edit suites.
If only.
If i had someone at home to discuss this with, rationalise and diffuse this, i wouldn't need to be writing it...
Maybe.
When a friend of mine had a similar experience, she could have talked out her own paranoidly perceived stuff-up with her husband. But she didn't. She had to tell someone and emailed me - perhaps because i'd been there, at the scene of what she thought was a social faux pas. And as a sane and unbiased bystander i was able to restore her peace.
Perhaps the final lesson is choosing who you confess your paranoia to.
And a nice chamomile tea before bedtime.
Thanks for listening.
i was at a workshop and each participant in the room had to stand up and tell the group about themselves and why they were there. The facilitator acknowledged that this was usually an uncomfortable process and several people admitted how nervous it made them. Thus primed and forewarned, and put somewhat at ease, I spent a good deal of time, while waiting for my turn to come around, remaining calm and reminding myself there was nothing to fear from this simple, harmless thing.
But it failed me when my turn came. Unnerved, As usual I spoke too quickly as if the faster i spoke the more i could correct the blather that was spilling out and i ran quickly off my track and lost focus and memory, only recovering enough to make my main point, but rather badly.
In a conversation you pause after each point for your partner to respond. You can then clarify, say things differently, better. And so the back and forth continues until you have adequately expressed yourself. You have a chance to right wrongs.
But in the stage fright pressure of a monologue, the words come out before i have time to compose, think of what they really mean, their real impact.
I cannot edit myself.
until much later.
until it's way too late and i'm walking back to my car, alone, because everyone has scattered, even the couple of attendees who I could call friends.
so the paranoia begins,
the mind runs rampant.
I think over and over what i said. What a jerk i must have seemed. I drive myself crazy with regret and wishful do-overs as i drive home.
I replay the scene in my mind, the way it *should* have gone. in this version I don't panic. I say exactly what i mean to say, in just the right words. And if i don't get them quite right at first, i have the presence of mind to pause, rewind, then calmly say what i really meant to say. in this version I don't blather mindlessly and keep making it worse.
And I play it over and over in my mind the way i think it really went, but with no-doubt memory-based distortions, and analyse and question every word for its possible impact and interpretation. Searching simultaneously for hope that it wasn't that bad, and for the true awfulness of what i said and what it says about me. Just looking for the flaw and holding it under that magnifying glass, staring at it, torturingly.
I grow frustrated and cranky at how easily i made a bad impression on a group of people with whom i am to be spending the next 2 days (for i seem to have decided that's the most likely result of my speech). i can feel my pulse quickening, and all the other physical affects of raised adrenalin, i can sense myself working towards tears and a kind of madness if i let this run on.
I catch myself in the supermarket walking the aisles without aim, unable to really function in the most basic way. All I am supposed to be doing is choosing some dinner supplies, but I can't. i am unable to think because my head is too full of this mental horror film on endless playback loop.
I only have one choice.
Embrace it.
Learn from it.
Accept that i did not speak well and that they will form a distorted view of me – if they are biased and overly quick to judge on a first impression.
Practice: Make sure i put myself in this situation often, so eventually i will improve. I avoid these types of things, so i've no practice.
Use it: go deep into this neurosis and let it inspire my creative work.
(this blog excluded - just catharsis here now, no art)
And remind myself (this is part of the anti-rampancy training) that on the scale of stuff-ups this one was so far from monumental it's not even worth mentioning, let alone writing about.
We do not have scriptwriters planning what we say, stage managing our lives.
We do not have edit suites.
If only.
If i had someone at home to discuss this with, rationalise and diffuse this, i wouldn't need to be writing it...
Maybe.
When a friend of mine had a similar experience, she could have talked out her own paranoidly perceived stuff-up with her husband. But she didn't. She had to tell someone and emailed me - perhaps because i'd been there, at the scene of what she thought was a social faux pas. And as a sane and unbiased bystander i was able to restore her peace.
Perhaps the final lesson is choosing who you confess your paranoia to.
And a nice chamomile tea before bedtime.
Thanks for listening.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
aufgabe zwei
July 16 2007
i woke wearing ski socks and a hat of live kitten.
that i hadn't kicked the socks off during the night is proof that it's really cold here.
really, unusually, record-setting, even-the-Canadians-are-complaining cold.
it's not just our imagination or that typical memory lapse that has us all saying we can never remember being 'this hot before' or 'this cold before' whenever the seasons change suddenly.
it's finger achingly cold to the point of something hinting at nausea as i cycle up the hill.
it's muscle freezing cold as the almost useless bricks in my legs push me somehow up that hill which i'm sure is longer today than last week.
it's so cold i have to put the heater on in my bedroom at night and will have to wear full-fingered gloves on tomorrow's ride.
i cycle for the good of the environment.
it's nice to know i've done my part to reduce global warming.
i woke wearing ski socks and a hat of live kitten.
that i hadn't kicked the socks off during the night is proof that it's really cold here.
really, unusually, record-setting, even-the-Canadians-are-complaining cold.
it's not just our imagination or that typical memory lapse that has us all saying we can never remember being 'this hot before' or 'this cold before' whenever the seasons change suddenly.
it's finger achingly cold to the point of something hinting at nausea as i cycle up the hill.
it's muscle freezing cold as the almost useless bricks in my legs push me somehow up that hill which i'm sure is longer today than last week.
it's so cold i have to put the heater on in my bedroom at night and will have to wear full-fingered gloves on tomorrow's ride.
i cycle for the good of the environment.
it's nice to know i've done my part to reduce global warming.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
exercise 1
2 car doors,
2 pedestrians-on-the-road and
1 car-from-side-street incidents on my ride home tonight.
If i thought anyone was reading this blog, i might feel inclined to make it a voice for an endangered species who seems (in my city at least) to suffer from a rare form of invisibility: the cyclist
but this isn't the place
.......
i've found a new isport: blog naming
(no catchy title for the sport as yet. naming it can be another new sport)
i found i could not give my blog a URL to even vaguely match my blog id because, as you'd expect in the webspace in 2007, others had already taken all the options;
unfashionably i thought it would make sense to give it a URL that corresponded to my online name: fred's blog, logically, would be found under fred.blogspot.com. for example.
but apparently this is un-cool.
that it's 2007 and i've started my first blog is testament enough to my lack of trend setting on the interweb
wondering who had "my URL" and why, led me on a little voyage from one blog to the next. the blogger of the URL i wanted had a name very similar to mine but not quite. so why take a such a close but not exact match? because someone else had already taken the URL that exactly matched his/her name. and so on. my journey continued, like connecting random dots, until soon the sport just became "type any-random-word.blogspot.com and see what you find".
two things i found
three things
1. ideally there is little or no correspondence between the URL, the blog's title or the name of the blogger. random is IN.
2. a LOT of people build a blog just for the hell of it, add very obvious test-only entries and never touch it again. from just my short sampling i can tell there must be so very many dead blogs out there with a half life of eternity given google's apparent user-friendly 'freedom-to-start-a-blog-and-only-you-can-delete-it' policy
3. those who progress beyond the test entry have an attention span of less than a year, before the posts cease. wonder how long i'll last.
2 pedestrians-on-the-road and
1 car-from-side-street incidents on my ride home tonight.
If i thought anyone was reading this blog, i might feel inclined to make it a voice for an endangered species who seems (in my city at least) to suffer from a rare form of invisibility: the cyclist
but this isn't the place
.......
i've found a new isport: blog naming
(no catchy title for the sport as yet. naming it can be another new sport)
i found i could not give my blog a URL to even vaguely match my blog id because, as you'd expect in the webspace in 2007, others had already taken all the options;
unfashionably i thought it would make sense to give it a URL that corresponded to my online name: fred's blog, logically, would be found under fred.blogspot.com. for example.
but apparently this is un-cool.
that it's 2007 and i've started my first blog is testament enough to my lack of trend setting on the interweb
wondering who had "my URL" and why, led me on a little voyage from one blog to the next. the blogger of the URL i wanted had a name very similar to mine but not quite. so why take a such a close but not exact match? because someone else had already taken the URL that exactly matched his/her name. and so on. my journey continued, like connecting random dots, until soon the sport just became "type any-random-word.blogspot.com and see what you find".
two things i found
three things
1. ideally there is little or no correspondence between the URL, the blog's title or the name of the blogger. random is IN.
2. a LOT of people build a blog just for the hell of it, add very obvious test-only entries and never touch it again. from just my short sampling i can tell there must be so very many dead blogs out there with a half life of eternity given google's apparent user-friendly 'freedom-to-start-a-blog-and-only-you-can-delete-it' policy
3. those who progress beyond the test entry have an attention span of less than a year, before the posts cease. wonder how long i'll last.
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