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Rhythms

Time stretches and it seems I haven’t felt organized and in a solid rhythm for a long time. What is a long time? It’s hard to gauge since I still manage to be productive. To the observer it might be imperceptible but I know I am running with a stone in my shoe and my undies in my butt crack. Neither will cause damage or disability, neither will hinder the tasks ahead, but I know the process is unpleasant and uncomfortable. The things that compound the arrhythmia include a lack of sleep (or rather a lack of quality sleep), eating crappy food, not eating enough protein, repressed emotions (good or bad) and the knowledge I am not completing tasks but rather partially addressing them. The inability to clear the metaphorical or literal desk off is tantamount to getting a good rhythm. I need to start from a good position. If I am burdened with chores or tasks or errands; if I have deadlines or a full Day-runner of meetings or obligations around which I must wedge everything else, it’s the equivalent of foot binding and whale-bone lined corsets laced so tight inhalation is limited and forget sitting down.

To get my rhythm back a few things must happen. First, I must become aware I am out of rhythm. The avant garde tempo is not always unpleasant but it does eventually grate on your nerves. I have to recognize the asynchronicity. Then I need to get good sleep. That means true darkness and silence. I blot out the clock radio. I wear earplugs. I go to bed earlier. And then….I dream. I dream funky, outrageous, dense and lucid Quentin Tarantino Nora Ephron mash up screen plays. I woke Saturday morning from a dream. IN the dream I had just awakened from a dream. MY entire family was on vacation (and my parents were still married, although I was definitely divorced). I had a massive elaborate 3/4 sleeve tattoo down my right arm in vibrant, primary colors befitting a parrot. Embedded in the violent and claret and chartreuse were horses heads and their flowing manes. It didn’t stop there. On my right shoulder I had a large Grateful Dead dancing bear holding hands with a smaller ‘baby’ bear. My entire back from neck to low back was a frame-by-frame black and white graphic novel filled with highly detailed face cards, especially the Jack of Hearts or the Jack of Diamonds. This tattoo and my realization in the dream that it was obviously not new, had taken many months to complete for which I had absolutely zero recollection of and all I could think of was that I wanted my plain skin back and who ever was with me when I had all the ink work didn’t try to stop me and therefore must not know me. Anyone who knows me knows I can’t leave my sofa in one place very long. A permanent quarter body tattoo? What the….. And all that information was in a flash. The dream went on from there in astonishing detail. That is what my brain needs to regain rhythm. It needs a data dump, a subconscious purge, a psychic blood letting.

After sleep, I need to just slow down and be kind to myself and focus on the simple things. Simple, fresh food. Simple and positive self talk. Simple acts of kindness. Little treats. I went and saw the movie Brave. I started listening to a new audiobook. I did some pencil drawing. I wrote a few letters. I literally laid down on the floor and watched an episode of Point of View on PBS about the night sky and intrusive city lights. The cats curled up with me.

Being quiet and mono-tasking, sleeping well and dreaming, feeding my body and also my mind by learning new things help me get back into step. Tonight it’s a big salad full of freshness, a juicy peach and PBS Masterpiece Mystery with Inspector Lewis. It’s a good thing.

 

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