Where have I been?

Diary entry

January’s mania caught up with me in February. I saw the world as it was and my mind asked to stay indoors. I didn’t write much. I wrote two bad poems just to get it out of the system. There were two days I thought I might executive produce a short indie film, only to quickly realize in a natural wine bar in Dog Patch that they didn’t need my opinions or feelings on how to frame a shot, only money to get their dream done. I loved the idea of the project. I saw how I was pushing grief away by loading up on coursework and finding newfangled ways to stay busy and not look at life directly in the eyes. I over work and over schedule and over everything when the world feels like chaos.

I went to LA one weekend to see my family. Home is always good, but I still feel an angst in the mundane. There were three weeks my full body buzzed with every feeling I couldn’t articulate. I decided that feeling the unbearable discomfort of the news meant I was still sane. I don’t think we should ever feel normal again if this is reality. But I want to find pockets of my life where it’s more being vs. a constant anticipation. On the night of the election and on Christmas, I told myself no matter what happened, I would not lose my mind.

When it came to my diary project, I tripped just a few yards from the finish line and crawled off course. I had the start of these entries, which I might share here, just to complete the project. I don’t necessarily think they are complete thoughts. But there were a lot of stories and essays I still wanted to write.

I fell off my obsessive workout and writing routine. I felt listless and unfocused and unenthused without those blocks of time dedicated. After about two weeks of listlessness I’m getting back into routine. I’ve been reading more — some really old good books and some books that are tedious and bad.

Why have the past three weeks felt like an eternity?

I’ve been disappointed by people. I’ve been disappointed by the nothingness of romance. I’ve been reminded of those who are there. I’ve been feeling great despair. I know I am no different than people turning to the teal TV screen and scrolling on their phones.

The past few weeks have been a blur — and I’m left feeling like I fell off the wagon of my own momentum.

But here is a list of some things I did do and interesting things that have happened—

— Worked, worked, worked

— Made new friends with gals at the gym; went out.

— Had the best Pho in San Francisco

— Performed three of my poems at Blackbird’s monthly reading

— Read and reviewed poems for Poets Reading the News

— Reconnected with a friend

— Hosted a Valentines’s Dinner Party; made cassoulet

— Navigated difficult conversations with some people I felt wronged by

— Went on a really nice date with a talented muralist; I was actually interested in what he had to say.

— Felt actual joy and relief when TikTok came back on the App Store

— Went for very long walks, which made me feel better

— Started my taxes

— Saw the Michael Jang documentary

— Saw the Substance and loved it so much — the catharsis I really wanted.

There were a lot of things that have happened but it’s now somewhat of a blur.

One thing I’m noticing more is how when I think of someone, they reach out or I literally run into them on the street. I know this is a coincidence, but I also think it’s an expression of our connectedness. And that gives me hope.

I’ll say it — I feel uninspired. I need to recommit to my habits. I need to go on 4-hour walks. I want to write poems again as it clears the channels. I miss my projects. I miss feeling like there is this creative horizon that is possible. To say all this in a note pad feels trite as I know to feel hopeful means to just keep focused on “again.”

I’m just tired of pushing up the same rocks. But I don’t think I want to give up these rocks.

I know this is all temporary and I just have to move through it to figure it out.

I want to be delighted.

I can’t be the only one feeling this strange way?