All posts by Iris

Small Realizations

I realized this week that I make certain assumptions about social dancing that may not make sense to people who don’t do it often (or at all): I assume that it is a generically social action that it’s just as generically social as dinner conversation, and I assume that because this is the case, it’s not something that should induce stage fright (not like singing karaoke might, just as a totally and completely random example).
Some people are amazing conversationalists, others aren’t. Most dinners involve many small conversations, some with people you know and like, others with people you don’t know at all, and some with people you don’t actually like but put up with for the sake of a congenial dinner. Most conversations include at least a couple of missed cues, most of which aren’t important enough to notice, some of which are hilarious, and only a few of which are actually embarrassing (though most of them may feel embarrassing at the time). There’s give and take, lulls and crescendos, excitement, boredom, grace, awkwardness….
In fact, laid out this way I guess that, for me, the only real difference between the two forms of socializing is that dancing is better exercise.
I forget that most of my formally trained dancer friends got stage fright before performances while I never did. I forget that my palms would sweat before piano performances while another student carried on as if it were the most natural thing in the world to press music out of the keyboard. And I hadn’t yet experienced the utter shock of realizing that I can barely even stand up while holding a microphone while others held it as easily as they’d hold a spoon.

The Benefits of Habit

As I went through my evening routine, I suddenly became grateful for a particular habit and order in my medicine cabinet. I brush my teeth (tooth brush and tooth paste all conveniently right in the middle of the medicine cabinet), floss (which is kept as inconveniently as possible right where I want to put my toothbrush, so that I remember it), use a little mouth wash (left side of the cabinet), take out my contacts (solution and case kept in the right side of the cabinet), and then go to bed (which is not kept in the medicine cabinet, just in case that was unclear).

Tonight I realized that it’s probably a good idea to keep the mouth wash as far from the contact solution as possible. Mixing the two up could be disastrous.

Notes to Self

Buy fruits and vegetables. Really. Even though that involves shopping after work and all you really want to do after work is either go home or go to the coffee shop. Fruits and vegetables won’t take that long to buy, and you know you want them.

Write more. Practice makes better, and thinking out loud can be fun. Remember, you were going to write about your day last Sunday? Do that before you forget the details. Remember especially “When do you think kids lose their sense of mystery…. 4th grade.”

Pace yourself tomorrow. Maybe this will be the day to break your long no-swing-dancing streak. Has it really been a year since the last dance? That’s far too long.

Being popular isn’t actually important. You’ve never been popular, and you’ve never really cared, historically. Why start now? There’s really no point.

Buy cat food. Sure wish that weren’t 10 miles down the road. Why is it that the cat get such specialized food, again? It’s not convenient.

Also, finish those things on your task list that are marked in red. They wouldn’t be red if they weren’t important. And tomorrow’s Friday, which means those things that were going to be done “by the end of the week” should get done. Tomorrow.

Go to bed soon. Like maybe now. Staying up isn’t helping, but listening to an iPod-icized book in bed probably will.

The Garden Party and the Goose

Each of the three acupuncture treatment rooms has its own black boom box, each with its own CD of soothing music. After each initial interview, Mae sets that CD playing while she places the needles, turns out the lights, and leaves me to lie still for twenty minutes. And I lie there.

Today, as I lay there reminding myself to relax those pesky places that prefer to stay tense, listening to the voices from my day play on endless loop in my mind’s ear, and wondering if this would be the day when I’d lose the battle and actually fall asleep during my treatment, I realized for the first time that the room I’m in determines the music I hear.

In one room, a rippling piano anchors the new age-y strains. In that room I find myself consciously relaxing sets of muscles in the same way that we’d relax in the last minutes of a yoga class. It seems that if I move my hands to either side of the treatment table I’ll feel the grooved hardwood floors of the yoga studio, and I find myself thinking that a sheet is a much nicer surface to lie on than a yoga mat.

In another room, a different piano picks its way delicately through the calmer classics. In that room, with that familiar music, the treatment table feels more like my parents’ couch on a summer evening as the cares of the day melt into the quiet question, “how shall I spend my evening?” With no urgency to come to a decision, I sink into the weave of the upholstery, feel the cording press into the small of my back, and wonder idly if I should lie still or expend the effort to turn onto my stomach.

The third room amuses me. In this room chamber music from the classical and romantic periods have been laced with nature sounds. The effect is very much like attending a concert in an arboretum (except for the one track when “Air on the G String” seems to have been performed on a sea-facing cliff). And for the most part, the effect can be relaxing as long as I work a little at imaging myself as the sort of person that would get invited to a chamber orchestra concert in an arboretum… and a sea-facing cliff. But then, just as I have the effect firmly in mind and can almost feel the organza of my garden party dress tickling my legs in the breeze, a goose honks. Geese are not relaxing or melodious. Geese would wander through the garden party nibbling the ribbons from our dresses, biting those who refused them hors d’oeuvres, and leaving piles of dung to decorate the bottoms of our shoes.

Tonight I spent time in the garden party room. The improbabilty of my place in such an environment turned out to be a welcome distraction from my internal narrative, which was bent on explaining to me that a goodly number of my current friends have only known the sick version of me. Sobering thought. Sobering, that is, until you realize that by this time in the garden party, there’s no way your shoes could have escaped all the goose dung.

No More Weekends Like This, Please

I’d planned a Day of Sloth for Saturday as part of my patience-regenerating regimen. So when I woke up Saturday morning I watched TV, read, wrote, and generally embarked on my mission to do as much of Nothing At All as possible. And things were going pretty well until one of my good friends got her heart broken right there in front of me.

In the afternoon I met a friend at the coffee shop so that she could write and I could read, only together rather than in our separate houses.

Back at home, things started falling apart….

First came the surprise nap that left me more tired when I woke up than I had been when I fell asleep. It felt like I’d been transported back to the dark days of early November when I’d lose days on end to mind-numbing fatigue. And I wasn’t hungry when I woke up, but I’m used to not being hungry when I get that tired, so I ate a little anyway.

Several hours later I learned just how bad an idea that had been, but we’ll skip lightly over that miserable portion of the night.

Which brings us to this morning. Most of the day was a miserable blur of naps, watching Hulu shows, and sipping water. At one point I called home and wound up crying at my mom and using histrionic phrases like “I feel like I’ll never be healthy again” and “I can’t do this any more.” Poor Mom. (The moral of the story? Don’t answer the phone if I call you today. Really. It won’t be pretty.)

But things seem to be improving. I’ve eaten a biscuit and drunk some lemon tea with honey. Making tea still takes just about every bit of energy that I have, but hey! I can drink tea! And by tomorrow, I have to be able to teach.

Surely this was rock bottom, right? It’s gotta be about time to start heading upwards. Stay tuned for posts about the strange and quirky things that happen around me and that I will soon have the capacity to notice again. I promise.