I woke up this morning, peered out at the greyness that is part of bipolar SF weather and decided to add another blanket to the heap and hide underneath until summer decides to start for real. A mere two days ago I was baking in the sun on the back patio of Ital Calabash sipping homemade ginger beer, trying to tan my front to match my back which has taken the onslaught of several brutal park days. And now this. Hello darkness my old friend…

Garfunkel aside, it’s not a melancholy morning. It’s actually quite the opposite. The world outside is as quiet as it is in here and I am grateful. No one is walking by my window. The construction on the City College building seems to have taken today off. Blinky is fast asleep and not climbing all over me searching for a perfect spot to nest.

I shuffled to the kitchen, made an appropriate pot of coffee in the press, ate a handful of granola and checked on my 2 day ferment for the loaf of sourdough I planned on making today. It was bubbly and sour so I took to the task of measuring, pouring, adding and kneading. A couple of weeks ago I would have said that nothing is more satisfying then throwing sushi, piece by piece, out the window, but I seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be kneading, pressing the heel of my hand into a sticky lump of dough.

Michael asked to tag along with me to the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market after yoga yesterday so we perused the small contingent of vendors who make it out during the week (not as many as the weekend market)and ate enough samples to consider it a meal. When we parted ways I realized how much I appreciate and need my Tuesday yoga class and my weekly connection with Michael as a friend as well as a teacher. We bought irises and when I arrived home I separated and dispersed the flowers between the bud vases on the walls and the main vase in the entry.

Life has been nice and quiet this week and it’s been a much needed quiet after my brain meltdown this weekend. I am constantly amazed how all it takes is one simple thing to throw open the door to all the horrible thoughts I could have about myself, how these things take shape and become real and awful. Sometime around dawn Sunday morning, I shut the door. Two hours of my own vinyasa home practice helped. The only good things to have come out of this episode are my spotless kitchen floor and the ability to see my clavicle.

The fear of making mistakes sits still and quiet inside of me, dormant for the most part, until something triggers it. It’s something I’m not too happy about. I really just want to be normal, fuck shit up and live with whatever happens, but something about my perception of what kind of person I’ll end up being if I make too many mistakes is paralyzing. I know. It doesn’t make much sense to me either.

I guess its time to call for help though as I’ve been holding the phone numbers to several sliding scale therapists for some time now.

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2 Responses to “”


  1. 1 Roxy August 20, 2009 at 2:49 am

    Just wanted to say that I know how you are feeling. Reading your blog post reminds me of myself, except I have I have two children with autism. I, too, have 'episodes' where all it seems to take is for something minor to go astray. You're not alone with how you feel. Wishing you all the best, Roxy

  2. 2 Rory August 20, 2009 at 11:31 am

    iT is hard because sometimes it is so easy to get stuck with the idea that if one thing goes wrong it will all fall down. But there is nothing in life that can take everything all at once.


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