Starred

faithrhyne@gmail.com

show details 5:36 PM (13 hours ago)

It rained all night and all day.
Finally it stopped and some of the sky was cloudy, some clear.

A believing in god sort of sky.

I called a friend and left a message: “I hope you are outside right now. The sky is amazing.” Then I blathered for a moment. I should have just said, “the sky is beautiful and I had to tell someone. The first person I thought of was you.”

Friends are hard for me. I haven’t had “friends” in a really time as the result of a really long story-of-my-life series of events. I don’t feel like telling that story. I only want to say that sometimes the sky blows my mind and I just desperately want to tell someone to be sure to look up. To notice. I don’t know if foisting these experiential gift suggestions onto to people is appropriate behavior, but I am impulsive when it comes to pretty skies and compliments. I notice a lot.

Sometimes, I am aware that the only times I am lonely in the real sense of the word is when I realize that I have noone to exclaim to other than my mom and my kids.

I still exclaim. The fact that noone is really listening doesn’t inhibit me as much as it probably should.

I played violin today for the first time in about five years. In front of people no less. I am slightly shy of awful, but the resonance was remarkable nonetheless. It made my hands shake. The bow tremble.

My pinky has been sore and swollen for several weeks now. It seems worse on damp days, an ache deep in the joint. I wear small ring on this finger, a circle of jade. I’ve had to take it off a few times; It got too tight.

My ring finger has become sore as well in recent days.

Even when I was in my early twenties, my hands would become swollen and knotted if I played piano for too long. They look big and red, strong but painful, not like my hands at all.

I don’t want to get old. To have sore hands all the time. Like those arthritis medication commercials where people watch longingly from the sidelines as their friends and families enjoy wonderful times. Rubbing their sore hands in a way that suggests a futility of effort, a definite defeat.

Marketing has diminished our conception of our abilities to a really remarkable degree. I know a woman with rheumatoid arthritis so severe she has to take chemotherapy drugs to suppress the condition, but she never, ever complains. For weeks at a time, I forget that she is likely in pain.

I wonder what the correlation is between tv watching and prescribed helplessness is? Some people let diagnoses define their lives and abilities. Some people just lay down. Perhaps get up for a while with a new prescription, but the effects almost invariably wane. And these waxing and wanings of medicated illness become the story of those people’s lives. TV sucks all the life out of life. Really.

These are things that I’ll still do, even if my hands hurt.
I wonder, but I guess I know the answer to the question:

Are some human beings more inclined to inertia than others?

faithrhyne@gmail.com

show details 8:14 PM (11 hours ago)

(The light was golden like sand.)

Certainly. Maybe it’s in our genes. I fought against inertia for a long time. Against wanting the same but not wanting the same but wanting the same again and again. Like a cat chasing it’s tail. I rode thousands of miles on a Greyhound bus, drove across this big, big country seven times, often alone. Even those times when the passenger seat was filled with a passenger…(Odd, I was always the driver – having coaxed someone, anyone really, into having an adventure with me. Even then, I seemed to be on an adventure of my own. The most miserable of endless roads, trying to find a same I might want.)
I crave inertia in some real way. I wonder why the word – the definition of which is the tendency for objects to continue doing just what they are doing – has such negative connotations in my mind.

Is there really anything to say?

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