Thursday, January 3, 2013

Gratitude on a Seesaw...

Quick, quick, quick...

Although, on the other hand, as I'm waiting for a pot of water to boil, perhaps I can afford to dawdle, just a bit...

What an odd, seesaw-y kind of day.  Early on, feeling the all-too-familiar sense of blurry dislocation.  Plus, time was doing that odd scrunchy thing again, where, if I walked across the kitchen, fifteen minutes seemed to pass by the time I'd reached the refrigerator.  Which I had pledged to clean out.  Which, grudgingly, I did, to no great effect alas.

Laundry.  Usually a kind of no-brainer fall-back activity, which usually at least leavens my state of mind just a tad.  Today, not so much.  Just... laundry again.

The kitchen sink is backed up.  (Hence the water heating on the stove, so I can wash the dishes, without having to carry everything down to the basement and use the utility sink.  My back would never forgive me)  I have to start thinking about taking down the Christmas tree.

Then, at about 4 pm, it was time to get ready for the evening's event -- an artists' presentation, with the Combat Paper NJ group, at the Montclair Art Museum.  I'm such a nervous guy, when it comes to arriving on time -- and driving from South Orange to Montclair is an ordeal, as I never seem to remember at which of the many twisty turns I'm supposed to make the sharp left -- or is it right?  I managed to begin climbing a significant hill at one point in the trip, and actually knew that was wrong, before I ended up in Kentucky.

Of course, in spite of my struggles -- and the liberal use of every curse word in my significant cache of such verbiage -- I managed to find the Museum, and park legally, and arrive before everyone else. Huge sigh of relief.

I was to be part of a six-person panel, talking about the artwork we make in the Combat Paper program.  We were told, sternly, that we had to be very mindful of time, as we wanted to allow audience members (if there were any) to ask questions.  I immediately began editing what little I'd planned to say. 

But when the actual program began, it became apparent that the time warning had gone out the window.  And because I was slated as next-to-last, I was sure that the line-up would be cropped, for time, and I'd have made that torturous trip to Montclair, only to sit in the audience, instead of participating.  I mean, I did see some Combat Paper art that was new to me, and learned more of the group's history.  But it wouldn't be quite the same... 

Instead, to my amazement, I actually did get to be part of the line-up, and I talked more about my three lino-cut prints than I'd expected to do, and I read my poem 'Mission' (which I still think is a cheeky bit of writing for me to have produced), and then I got to talk about Sarah's print, and her military experience (to the extent that I know this story), and read another little piece that I wrote about her, and her paper.  And then Eli Wright got up, talked about his military experience, and the impact of Combat Paper on his life and his art-making, and voila -- it was over!  No time for questions, and I got some very positive feedback about my contribution.  Was this the same day that had begun with a stopped-up sink and arguably the world's largest supply of used kitty litter?  (I forgot to mention that, didn't I?)

I even managed to get myself back home without breaking too many basic traffic laws -- although I did drive right through a red light, looking for my turn.  Which, as it happened, I didn't actually have right then.  Small miracles are fine by me. 

But I'm not sure, entirely, what impact, if any, this unusual social event has had on my state of mind.   What I've noticed, of late, is a kind of immediate deflation, at the end of whatever pleasant experience comes my way.  Psssssst -- the air goes out, and I'm back to the flattened affect, and the corrosive negativity that seems inescapable.

Well, the water has boiled (which means, of course, that it's now too hot to put my hands into), so I'd best attend to the dishwashing chore.  And switch the laundry around in the basement, as I recall needs to be done.  And move the trash can out to the curb, which I always try to do, when I'm offloading another portion of the world's largest supply of used kitty litter.  All glamour, all the time. At least, when I'm done with the dishes, even if I've scalded my hands, my fingernails will be clean.  I'm trying to learn to be thankful for even the very tiniest things.      


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