Vulgar Saturday

Despite feeling like shit because of a cold, i spent most of the weekend with my two tias. Tia Emilia was staying at tia Beatriz's since Tuesday, i think, and i basically saw them every day since Wednesday. Oh except for Friday, when they went on a day trip to Atlantic City and i saw "The Expendables" after work with G & S.

On Saturday evening, tia and i went to 34th street for some home shopping and poor tia was very strong despite the pain in her feet. Her stamina is just ridiculous. By the time she was trying on sandals at Macy's it was nearly 9:30 and her feet were so swollen that it made buying shoes an impossible task.

We popped into the Manhattan mall for a bit to sit down and rest and then i took tia down to JC Penny to use the bathroom and because she'd never seen it before.
So when we went down there, we walked right through...the coat section. Winter coats. Yes, they're back. Yes, it's the middle of August but i'm already used to this.
As soon as i saw them my first thought was, "fuckers! There you are again." And i laughed. To think that a year has passed since i struggled with missing doing coat shopping with mom. It was a stark reminder of another sucky fall and winter without her. I laughed, not sure why it struck me as humorous. But at least i laughed. At Macy's, i had a lot of "i hate you" reactions to the different departments or merchandise. Lots of stuff mom would have liked.
I had lots of moments of anger, like when walking through the newly opened Lincoln Center underpass. So much stuff my mom should have been able to see, should be able to see today but she's not here.
And then i remember how fucking mad i am that she died.
So yeah, a lot of cursing going on, under my breath and in my mind.

It's 80 degrees right now but there was such a nice, balmy breeze blowing as i walked home from the A train that it felt perfect. Nights like this remind of my mom, how she loved to walk or sit in the park on breezy, warm nights. How i turned her down so many times when she'd ask me to go with her.

I'm ready to leave this place. I don't want any more of these memories. I want to start fresh, somewhere new where everywhere i look breaks my heart.
Dr H says that if i was happy in a particular moment then that gives me reason to believe that i can be happy again.
It's very easy to get discouraged but just ackowledge that you're discouraged and move on to the next thing.

Yesterday i had a lot more energy despite having slept only about 3 hours, on and off.
I did have moments during the day when i felt sleepy and tired but then they would go away and i'd feel alert and even slightly hyper. I was more awake than i imagined i could be.
I did have a couple of cups of caffeinated tea but mostly green tea and other naturally caffeinated stuff from that new tea brand i bought. Maybe even the slight caffeine contributed to making me less sleepy.

I stayed at work with Erika until about 8:40 or so, or maybe closer to 9. Trying to finish refunds and transfers. I got home and ate a couple of waffles with Nutella. Drank tea. Took my Zycam. I've been battling this sore throat since about Tuesday, i felt super crappy when i saw Dr. H. It hurt so much on Wednesday and on Thursday my whole body ached and i felt awful. I spent the evening at tia's and the A/C in her room made me worse. I fell asleep for about an hour and woke up coughing, with painful congestion in my chest. I got up and made tea for tia and me, added lemon and honey and that helped a whole bunch. Since then i've been doing RC and Thieves on the soles of my feet and RC on my neck and chest, plus some vitamin C but i've actually been forgetting to take it.

So, anyway, i woke up this morning at around 7:35 and proceeded to get up. I was surprised. I think i went to bed at around 11:30 or 12. No idea actually. But i really thought that with all the sleep deprivation that i've had this week i would have slept really late. Last Saturday i woke up and went back to sleep and then woke up at 2:30pm. But i had also exhausted myself the night before from walking in not the best walking shoes.

It's 10:21 now. I'm about to eat the eggs and waffle i made for breakfast. I spent about a half hour organizing my months' worth of recyclables that i've never thrown out so that was good.

I'm actually astounded at the amount of energy and motivation i feel right now. Physically i'm a bit tired. But mentally it's different. I don't want to let myself waste the day. This hasn't happened in moooooooooonths.
Good sign.

Progress not perfection. Take things one step at a time. Celebrate the mini-triumphs, the small accomplishments.
My mom would want me to be happy but not just happy, to be successful and content and to improve.

New template design and color! Blogger offered it so i thought, why not?

Been having good dreams lately. Not exactly every night in a row, but some good dreams this week. I still dream consistently with my mother. I have to find her each morning, search my memories for the dream in which she appeared the night before.

Last night we were by a pool and i gave her some dollar bills to go buy some cookies or something. Oh, i think i gave her $6. We might have been on vacation. Maxi was there. And a girl who looked like a more grown up teenage version of Athena. But she was actually a snotty, manipulative, deceitful girl who i was hosting and i needed to be careful to not be manipulated by her. Weird and disturbing. But mom was fine in the dream. Funny part came later when i was in some kind of competition/test of will and Nigel Lythgoe from So You Think You Can Dance was shouting directions at me and i ended up telling someone that he had coached me through my task. He gave me hints about how to face my challenge. I was picking up what looked like straps of leather with two giant sticks. Kind of like a pair of giant chopsticks and giant noodles. But they were also like stilts. At Nigel's nudging, i stood on them like i would on stilts and hopped about, using my feet to push the pieces of leather or whatever pieces of dark brown stuff over to wherever i need to push them. It was like sweeping with stilts. And Nigel said to me at some point that everybody there had their own different challenge, designed for each individual. I recounted to a colleague or neighbor there that Nigel had told me mine was focus or attention or something like that but i couldn't remember because i wasn't paying attention at the time. And we laughed. But i think it was focus or determination.

I dreamt that my mom and i hung out in the city the way Georgia and i hang out sometimes. Just window shopping and eating. And i told her that i had been trying to improve my posture and i showed her and she looked and said, yeah it is improving. And that made me so happy. I even woke up happy that she had noticed.

Earlier in the week i dreamt that i was at a wake or gathering after Colombia's death, at Petri's apartment, and my mom was there and she read or said something poignant and Petri was moved and grateful. It was a moment where i didn't know if my mom would embarrass herself or be ridiculed by everyone there, but she ended up being profound and touching. It was a somber moment and situation in general, but my mom's peacefulness and wisdom were so strong and present. I remember sitting next to her on the couch as she spoke aloud and everyone listened. I can't remember what she said.

Sunday was horrible, crying until 4am. Monday i was exhausted but even-keeled (thankfully too tired to even think). Tuesday was better, even slightly chipper. Today was okay, tired again, but not horrible.

I need to get Sandy's beak trimmed. She's been biting me and making me bleed. I tried to trim it and...that was a disaster and failure. And bloody for me.

Can't sleep. When i lie down i think too much and see too many bad things. I need to turn off my mind.

I saw a reading of Jesse's play, "Clutter," today. It was really great. I enjoyed it and would love to see it performed fully on stage, with sets and costumes and lighting. I wish, would love, hope to be able to write something about my life experience with my mom. Maybe poetry, maybe a play.

Today is a good day. Well, so good so far.
Yesterday was a baaaaaaaaaaaaad day.

It remains unpredictable. But so far the bad days are closely followed by good days, so i think something is still working. I'm not completely out of order.

Today something sparked my memory and i decided to look up Father Luigi on Google. I was really surprised to find some youtube videos of him being interviewed on Brazilian tv about some Catholic stuff. He's the director of a university, a different position than when he last visited here in 1994. It was great to hear his voice again, so familiar and comforting. Meeting and knowing him was a highlight in my life. But it really hurt me that i'm not able to show my mom the videos. I wish so much that she could be here. Who else can i share this with? Who really knows what this means to me?

He's a part of my past like she's a part of my past. Good times in the past. Never to be regained.

Every day that i leave my apartment i start anticipating the moment i can go back home. While i'm at work, i can't wait until i get back home. Sometimes i go shopping at the end because it provides a comfort that i don't find anywhere else, but my favorite place, or maybe the place i need the most, is my bedroom.

I joined a great Facebook group called "please don't jump" in response to a postsecret.com message about someone who was planning to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge this summer. I found a link on ONTD of all places, and i'm so glad that i did. There are many inspirational and loving messages posted on the wall of the group.

One of them was a link to a Facundo Cabral youtube video. I'd forgotten how much i love his words. And of course i remember that my mom loved him. We both enjoyed his songs and the wise words we'd hear him say on television. I wish i'd gotten a chance to take her to see him.

I stayed home from work yesterday because i hurt my back. I slept for about 6 hours during the day. When i woke up i remembered various dreams i'd had with my mom. They were actually good, comfortable, happy dreams (not the nightmares i had last week) and it hurt me more than usual to wake up from them. Sometimes i wake up happy that i dreamt with her. Sometimes, like yesterday, it sucks to wake up and be in this world in which she's dead.

I bought a beautiful journal when i went to the ICFF with Jes in May. It's a book of blank pages, except all the pages have photographs of walls on them. They look like NYC walls. So it's like your own personal graffitti canvas. So far i've only written a couple of things in there. But i just sat here and looked through the whole book. It's amazing how blank, bare walls with only the pattern of the bricks or paint can tell entire stories. Almost all of those walls look familiar to me. And they each trigger a movie in my head, of my mother and me in the city. Lots of images come from photographs i've seen. Also from stories i've made up in my head based on stories i was told about photographs i've seen.

I'm having trouble not living in the past. Dr. H asked me if it's possible for the present and the past to co-exist, or to reach a kind of harmony. I said the answer was no.

I think i can live in the present and there are many things every day that draw my attention and engage my brain and heart. But my soul also keeps pulling back into the past. Like i don't deserve to live in the future. Like it's my duty to stay in the past.

I have to fight to stop not caring.

I wonder when i stopped caring. Maybe high school. 8th grade? I gotta think about that.

Keeping track

Friday: Baaaaaaaad morning (uncontrollable crying at work) turns out okay later in the day. Enough distraction and i put that fire out. Ate A LOT. Partly for binging purposes, partly because i was hungry.

Saturday: Fine. Slightly focused but not intense. Trying to update my budget and make sure to eat and keep hydrated.

Today is a better day

Today

It feels different than last year. Not as...a little less...a little more...
Better. I wince at that word yet it fits in some ways. A part of me knows that i felt worse last year, i know i cried a lot more and a lot more often. Day to day and hour to hour was worse. But different.
Today, this year, day to day and hour to hour i never stop thinking about my mom. It can happen anywhere and everywhere. I rotate between three thoughts: i miss my mom, i want my mom, i need my mom. These words come out of my mouth multiple times a day.

I think at times i have a teeny bit more of a desire to have my own life rather than to recreate my mother within myself as closely as humanly possible, which was my goal for about a year. I have some goals for myself. On some days, at least.

I've been dreaming with my mother every single night without fail and remembering the dreams for about 6 weeks now. Many times she's sick and i'm taking care of her or other times she's angry at me or i'm angry at her. Occasionally it's just a happy nice dream. I wake up every morning and let the dream slowly come back to me so i can pinpoint what she did and what she looked like. I stopped writing it down. I don't really forget the dreams and i don't feel like they'll ever leave my mind.

Moving forward is still very difficult. I'm riding loops and waves. Going forward and going back, being high and being low. Like Jenna said it, just keeping my head above water. And for me that's good enough. Getting up every day and going to work and eating and functioning in the world and maintaining social contact, these are the minimum requirements that i'm happy to be fulfilling.

I'm still a mess but that's a position that i know and am comfortable with. Progress not perfection. I make tiny moves forward and i'm satisfied. Maybe i'm too easy on myself.

Is it a full life? No.

It's still empty. I'm still alone. She's still gone.

Can i have wholeness or fullness or whatever the goal is supposed to be? Not in the way that i had planned and wanted. I don't have a plan i care about right now. I don't want to be sick. That's pretty much my main goal right now.
I need to make myself worthy of this life, i need to pay my dues and earn my keep.

I guess my biggest danger is being alone. Because when i'm alone i take myself faaaaaar away from the world. Isolation, Dr. H calls it.

So i need to eat, exercise, engage my mind and socialize and that way maybe, hopefully, i won't get sick.

I need to stop eating junky comfort food and stop buying shit to make myself feel better. It depletes my body and my wallet.

Malnourished and broke is not the way to go. But is my will strong enough?

Truth is there wasn't much i cared about before my mom died. And when she was gone i knew i'd never find anything to care about again. I have nowhere to go so i have to force myself to be here and do something.
And missing her at least does give me a purpose.

I really hope this is a chronicle of my recovery. I want to look back one day and say, those were my dark days and now i am better.

Today was a good day.
It was, and is, a surprise to me but i felt peace and happiness today. All day. Especially in the evening going shopping with Georgia.
I think it started last night when i had dinner with tia Beatriz and watched the movie, "Up," with her, which i gave to her as a Mother's Day gift.

I started repeating a new mantra of sorts, "i'm going to get better, i'm going to get better." I'm not talking to myself when i say it, i'm talking to my mother. I know she wants me to get better.
Tia Beatriz told me yesterday that she woke up feeling unwell on Mother's Day and she just couldn't focus or get her head straight. I asked why and her response was that she became sad thinking about her mother. She told me that every year on Mother's Day she gets sad thinking about her mother, and how she misses her and thinks about all the wonderful things that her mother did.
It was remarkable for me to hear this. My aunt is going to be 72 years old in July and she speaks so sincerely about how much it hurts her that her mother is no longer alive. It's been nearly 23 years since my grandmother died.

At first it was a little disheartening to hear that the pain of loss never ends, but right after the initial shock of her words, i found myself comforted that the loss of a mother could be that profound. I know i will always miss my mother tremendously, for the rest of my life. She'll never stop being the most important person in my life.

Sunday was a 0.
Monday was a negative 10.
Tuesday was a 2.
Wednesday was a 4.
Today was a 7.

I wish i could dance with my mom. It would make her so happy.
Sometimes she'd grab my wrists and just start dancing wildly with me, her own kind of cumbia, i guess. And she'd make the "chka chka chka" rhythm through her teeth and i would laugh or protest, depending on the mood i was in.
I wish i could grab her arms in the kitchen right now and dance with her and laugh with her.
I danced with my bird and that had to suffice.
Sometimes i pretend that Sandy is my mother, reincarnated. Or that my mom left her here for me. They met but never got to know each other. I think my mom died about a week after Sandy arrived. Or maybe less.

I realized today that riding down West End doesn't make me cry the way it used to last year. The memories of taking my mom to NYP Cornell aren't at the front of my mind anymore. Yet driving down the West Side Highway still hurts because it looks so beautiful, with the foliage and the new bike and running paths. It hurts that i can't show them to my mom.
And the new station entrance at 96th street hurts because it would have been so convenient for my mom, also an easy place for us to meet.
But the 59th street 8th avenue line doesn't hurt the way it used to last year, the memories of rushing to see mom at Mt. Sinai.
The most recent memories, the horrors from the hospital are fading now. Not that i want to hold onto those nightmares anyway. The 1,2,3 platform at 96th street no longer terrifies me as i remember going to and fro Harlem Hospital in those horrible first days. Now i'm just sad that she's not there with me.

I'm not as haunted by the traumatic and ugly moments as i am by the fact that my mom is, 13 months later, still dead. Never to come back or see me again.

Will i be healed when every single block in New York finally stops breaking my heart and no longer flashes the words "she was here but she died."

I don't know what to do with the sadness anymore. Dr. H would always say, "just feel it." I think i forgot how to cry. It doesn't happen often, hasn't happened in about a month, at least not a good cry. I'm afraid i'm bottling it up. Or worse, i'm afraid i'll get to a point where i feel nothing.
I can barely be bothered to write in here anymore.

"I wanna go home," i said out loud as i was pouring the hot water for my tea. Standing in the kitchen, i just wanted to go home. What does that mean, i asked myself. I was already home, technically. It means being quiet and not thinking and not feeling and not doing anything. I just want to close my eyes and not be anywhere.

Another day, another dollar.
I have to force myself to go out in the sun daily. I have to sit out in the sun and try to force the life into me.

This is a low low but i know i'll bounce back up at some point. I just don't want people, like my family, to tell me to get over it or snap out of it.

still sad

I was nervous about the one year anniversary. I was nervous that i wouldn't honor my mom in the right way, that the day wouldn't bear the significance that i wanted it to. I guess i was also afraid of what an anniversary might mean. Maybe it would signify a close, an end to this experience, shutting the door on a whole new way of seeing my life. I knew that my obsession with April 1st was irrational but i couldn't convince myself that it was just a date like any other date. I mean, it wasn't irrational, it was emotional. I'm afraid of what 2 years later and 3 years later will mean. Will it get better? And if it gets better, what does that mean? Or is it like a spiral, going around and around every time. AprilMayJuneJulyAugustSeptemberOctoberNovemberDecemberJanuaryFebruaryMarchApril...
I'm afraid of forgetting. I've observed from my family members who have already been through this that they don't forget but i can't get that into my head. I'm afraid of what distance will feel like.

Today i went to the D'Agostino on Broadway and 110th, after work. I still hate that corner. I thought that as i waited for the bus. That corner has so much of my mom's presence, so many times, so much time spent within just a few blocks. Vitamin Shoppe, Rite Aid, West Side Market, D'Agostino, those four corners that mom went to so often.
I hate Broadway and 110th street. I almost always cry when i stand on the northeast corner, waiting for the bus.

Today at work was good. I was happy, talking about my trip and answering questions. I was fine. But going to lunch sucked because i missed my mom as i walked by myself to the market for food, and after work sucked as well. I realized that just as i guessed (and probably hoped) a year has not diminished my loss or the depth of my pain. I can go longer periods of time without crying or feeling utter pain, but the hole is always there. And when i take a moment to feel it, it's still gut wrenching. That punch in the stomach, it has not gone away.

Sometimes it feels worse and not better. But i don't want that anyway. People say it gets better with time. Some people have told me it feels different after a while, still sad but different. I believe that. I don't like to think of it as better. I will never feel better.

And on top of still having a moment of shock at the thought of my mother dying of cancer, i miss her in new ways all the time. So that feels worse. It's like there are more moments of missing her because it's been so long since i heard her voice.

I felt a lot of warmth and support in Bogota, but i felt so horrible coming back, knowing nobody would be waiting for me. Well, not nobody. That my mom wouldn't be home for me to call her and let her know i arrived or to welcome me home and help me with my bags.
I remember the time she met me at the airport when i came back from L.A. I was mad at her because she was late, and she told me she'd taken a long time to leave the apartment after i'd called her to let her know when i'd be there.

Being sad sucks because it hurts. I know it's normal but it feels not good. I don't want to stop thinking about or missing my mom, but i don't enjoy hurting. I've never felt such heartbreak.

Maybe you get used to it, maybe that's what people mean. I suppose i could get used to it but still miss my mom and feel sad about her.

I wish i could still call her from a store like the supermarket and ask her if she wants anything and tell her what i'm buying and tell her about my day.

new york to bogota

hey, i'm still 33 and this time i'm the one who went from new york to bogota.
I just realized that right now.
The trip was great and it felt like much more than 8 days. I was constantly surrounded by warmth and love and family and home. Bonding with people i don't know but with whom i just fit in perfectly. That was pretty remarkable.
Also remarkable was that it's possible to experience joy and mirth and really fucking intense pain at the same time. I was thrilled to visit churches on Holy Thursday/mom's anniversary and join in the tradition of faith of hundreds of people in the street. But it hurt so much that my mom was not there.
That was one of the themes for my trip: my mom was missing. Everything i did was a little less "blank" because my mom wasn't there.
And i cried at the beginning and the end of the trip, but in between i'd have these moments of realization where i felt like i got punched REALLY hard in the stomach and i'd always curse in my mind like, FUCK this really hurts. I'm constantly, continuously astounded by the amount of pain i feel and can tolerate.

My heart wrenched to see all of the new and exciting stuff in Bogota that my mom didn't get to see, but it was also somewhat comforting that i didn't have to relive too many memories painfully because there wasn't that much that i could remember from our trip there 19 years ago. In a way it's good when a place is new because it doesn't completely signify my mom. Although, like Dr. H. says, she will always be there, because she's always on my mind and in my heart.

I can't wait for fight club on Tuesday.
I cried myself to sleep last night. I feel a whole new wave of crying coming on for this month.

P.S. what the fuck is up with tearjerker movies on the airplane? 2 on the same flight? First "Everybody's Fine" which slayed me, again, followed by fucking "Hachi?" Are they kidding? I was so mad, but obviously really into the movies. yeah, crying on a plane has always been my dream.
Actually...i have had that dream.

It was a bad week. A tough week. March into April is rough!
I'm grateful that i was able to get through my passport appointment and got it together enough to make the passport happen.
I'm grateful that i made it to Friday, after such a hard week. I'm grateful that i felt better at work after crying the whole night and day before getting to work at 2:30pm.
I'm grateful for my ability and opportunity to look for answers.
I'm grateful for encouragement and knowing that even though it's gonna hurt like hell, my family and friends will hold me up and be there for me when i come out the other side.

Just heard on NPR that Garmin makes a GPS where you can record your own voice and then it mixes it up so that your voice gives the directions.
Is it creepy that i tried to remember how much of my mom's voice i have recorded so that i could put it into a similar program or device and have my mom talk to me?

Unfortunately the truth is i don't have very much of a recording. Oh, i do have those voicemails at work that i haven't figured out how to get off of my phone. Gotta figure that out. There are some really funny voicemails from mom and there are the really sad ones of my mom getting sicker and sicker, from each of the hospital rooms she stayed at.
As much as i'm trying not to make a big deal out of the 1 year anniversary, i realize that i'm constantly checking the countdown in my mind. T minus... and counting.
Why do i feel she's not dead yet? That after April 1st she will be dead, but not yet. Will the second year feel that way, too? Am i going to be stuck in pre-April 1st, 2009, 2:26pm forever? No, not forever, obviously. Nothing lasts forever for me. But for a while? Years?

ETA: Speech synthesis. Like what the Scottish company did to help Roger Ebert speak. Hmmm.

Success!

The head has been shaved. I raised more money than i ever imagined i would.
It was a great night. I'm still overwhelmed by the support of my family and friends. Plus major adrenaline rush.
I need to start sleeping like a normal person soon. I'm so wired.
So far, it's nice to not have to pull my hair back to wash my face.
I wish my mom could touch my head.

grateful

I have known good people my whole life.
There are so many individuals who have been kind to me, who have encouraged me, who have shown me warmth and given me love.
I am so lucky.
I tend to become too afraid of doing the wrong thing or saying the wrong thing, so i don't feel like i express my appreciation the way i ought to.

Kristeen sings lyrics i just adore:

He implies. He refrains.
He plays kiss-SLAP with a phrase.
His small talk’s a Work of Art.
Those Brit boys love their discourse.
Me? I just want to scream, “OH, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!!”

~He's Sickened By My Crude Emotion

I want to scream i love you and i want to scream thank you. I've screwed up in my life but those doors keep opening for me. I want to thank everybody i can remember, for as far back as i can remember.
I bawled my eyes out over the weekend and i feel a lot of sadness and hurt but at the SAME TIME i feel fortunate. Everywhere i look there is a blessing. I know i've had way more than my share of good people in my life.
It's actually overwhelming. I start wanting to pray again. Please help me do the right thing with all of the love that i keep getting. Please help me to not be afraid.
I want to be awake.

Near the end, i was sitting at my mom's bedside, the hospital bed that was brought by Calvary, and as was my custom, i asked her if she loved me. She said, "mucho." And i asked her if i loved her, and she said "mucho." And i smiled and said, "yes." And in her weakened voice she said, "es una historia de amor. De una madre y una hija que juraron amarse para siempre." And i was floored, but i laughed and tried harder than ever not to cry, and i kissed her. That might be the most beautiful thing she ever said to me.

One month more of hair

Today was a good day.
Fran (and we) got good news about her dad's status. Stunning. Weird how good news can stun you and also make you cry. Maybe that's just me. I probably border more on the incredulity line than other people.
Anyway wonderful, happy news.
Had a wonderful night with Brianne, Kerri, Sara and Alison last night. Just so beautiful. I wanted to watch more home videos! Hear more of Betsy's beautiful voice. We all laughed really hard during one of Alison's stories. What a glorious sight to look around the table at all our laughing faces. It was pure light. One of the great masters should have been there to paint us! It was art! And Bri mentioned how she didn't picture herself laughing yesterday but it happened.

Had a really good session with Dr. Hirsh. As usual (and i hate predictability when i'm dead set against something), my hesitation proved to be wrong because i got a lot out of going.

I talked about how good i felt at the cemetery on Saturday and how i realized it was because it was the first time i was there by myself. I think maybe Georgia pointed it out to me. I could be myself, i didn't have to worry about not crying in front of my family, about not worrying them. That reaction we all seem to have, where we don't want to worry our loved ones and yet they are the most indicated people to take care of us in our time of sorrow.
So the cemetery was beautiful and i kept thinking that if my mom was there, sitting next to me on the bench, she would really like it.

Mike DePope pointed out today that i have four more weeks of hair. The big shave is in one month exactly!

I have a lot more to write about, like my dinner on Saturday and the FAO Schwartz party.

I was thinking today about the amazing ability of our heart to grow. The way we can love things because someone we love loves them. Like the way Elizabeth felt joy from Lady Gaga so then immediately now i like her, when i didn't to begin with. Lady Gaga brings Elizabeth joy and makes her dance in the street, my heart makes room for Lady Gaga.
I don't care much for the Winter Olympics and say that i'm not even interested in overhyped events like figure skating and Kerri says she loves the figure skating event, and she smiles, and i think, you IDIOT! So because of Kerri and Leslie i want to watch figure skating because i make room in my heart for them and what makes them happy.

Granted, i also go in the opposite direction and dislike something when the person i dislike likes it. Apart from clumsy grammar in that sentence, this implies that i close a room in my heart, which would lead to shrinking, which i surmise would be the wrong direction in which to direct my heart.

So more compassion and more love and more patience.

And i had a dream that my dog was named Quentin and Diana didn't like the name so i changed it to Popeye and she liked it better.

Saturday was great. Just what i wanted and what i needed.
On Sunday i saw Andre DeShields in his wonderful show, "Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory." It was inspiring, he is inspiring, and for 70 minutes i was alive with empathy, curiosity, longing, laughter and nostalgia.

I let Lucy and Ricky out of the cage tonight because i read that birds need to exercise their breast bones. Poor things. I always criticized my mom for wanting to keep pet birds, for imprisoning them and violating the laws of nature. But now they are my only company and they connect me to her.

I'm watching the first part of "Angels in America." It's completely mind-blowing.

Just in the kitchen, i was thinking about how so many times i really, really want to learn. I love to learn. I want to know more. But i think that more often i don't want to know more. And that will keep me from Buddha nature, from being enlightened.
I don't want to know because i'm afraid. Of everything.
I am the same person i was before my mother died. I saw something horrible happen, but i don't really see how it changed me. At least not for the better. I think wonderful things have happened to me since then, but i don't feel like i've moved more than maybe a centimeter in growth.
If i stay alive i hope i grow and learn. I don't want to be the same person i am today in ten years.