#1. Sometimes I wonder if I wrote every day, would I be so tightly wound up? Would I be a control freak?
#2. I’m sitting in my room, on the floor, eating a brownie with my fingers out of a bowl, with the lights off.
It’s twilight. I open my curtains, pull back the blinds, and open the window. I placemy box fan on the window sill, plug it in, and turn it on. First Medium. Then High. I dont want all the neighbors to see inside so I turn off the light from my vanity, which is brighter than my floor lamp. I guess 4 bulbs =beat 1 bulb in brightness any day.
That moment, in the twilight, transports me to another place in time. I am a child, living in Newburgh, New York (where I grew up). We dont have air conditioning, so in the summer, we haveva fan, with a small head that eases air back and forth. The base of it is cream-colored, and the fan part, when spinning at its top speed, is an orange-brown. It is always really dusty.
Nonetheless, we place that fan in the window, and it blows moderate amounts of air into our bedroom at night. It never really cools the room with the humid evening air it brought inside. Still, that moment, where remnants of day fade into night, is bedtime for me. It is too light to really go to sleep. But since my moment here in 2011 only lasts five minutes until night arrives, it must last five minutes in Newburgh, too. And instead of savoring the twilight, as a child, I fall asleep.
Now back to # 1. I’ve been so wound up and having trouble relaxing. But I haven’t been writing. That “poem” about my “moment” is the first I’ve written when truly 100% inspired in a long time. When inspired writing comes easily. That “moment” made me want to work on my book. That moment made me want to make a commitment to something, to a career choice. I may be moving forward with the teaching thing. Really soon.
I’m having a hard time letting things just be. I still have to finish laundry, and organize my room and do homework and all the other crap I’m obligated to do. And there will always be crap. Always, and it stresses me out. It always stresses me out. I can’t let my room be a mess. I thought getting rid of crap would help it be less messy. Apparently not. Why can’t I let life be messy and out of control sometimes?
I’m having trouble learning LA style salsa because I won’t relinquish control. I get so absorbed by myself and what is supposed to be happening, I get so short-sighted, and I screw up. Salsa class has become a metaphor for my life. I have to give up control to someone else and follow along. That is, go with the flow. It’s so hard.