horse-lion-beaver-pig-cat-hamster talk

Ah. Nice leaden feeling in my legs - some cold alcoholic thing in a fancy bottle in the fridge that's going down nicely. These days are dense. Dense and wide. But it feels good. I like the feeling of a day that's gone somewhere.

The only thing that could make this evening a little nicer would be some company. I would like to have a nice capybara for company tonight. Capybaras are the biggest rodents on earth. They look to me like a cross between a horse, a lion, a beaver, a pig, a cat, and a hamster. I suppose it's possible.

They also remind me of Wumps. (Remember that book?) I think that a St. Bernard could probably stand as tall as a capybara, but it definitely would not be as calm and industrious and all-knowing. If I had a Capybara, I would name him Wumpy. Or maybe Stuart Little, because of that clever little gleam behind the eyes.

It's good I don't have company tonight, rodent or otherwise, because I've been missing writing. Dense days! And I've been fantasizing about balance. Like teeter-totters. I used to teeter-totter opposite my brother, who was bigger and always pretended that he would be fair. And then he'd sit at the bottom and let me wriggle and scream and plead for a while, legs dangling in the air. "Don't drop me!! I hate you!" Then I'd go on with my sister and play the same trick on her. Fun.

I also would like to try an even teeter-totter though. A balanced routine like this: Early morning walk, tea and letter writing, several hours of intense work, then an afternoon siesta and playtime (swim, kayak, hike, garden, bike ride, ice cream) then a little more work, and finally, downtime. Every day a balance. Every day, meditation and thoughtlessness, lightness and hardness.

And then I think: have I ever actually done that?

I am not really a slow and steady gal. I often would like to be. But I always end up in periods of blistering intensity, when I am driven by purpose. Then I hit a lull. Sometimes it's just a perfect-vacation-length lull. But sometimes it lingers... and then the lull starts to scare me. It makes me suffer. If I have a sense of purpose, I am well. If I have no sense of purpose, I am ill. (So are we all?)

I've always known (without having to think) that my tool for etching something into this life is music. That's what I've got. It's hard and light like bone, this tool. And keeps growing like rodent teeth. If I stop using it, it pushes right through my gums, my chin, through my chest, through my heart and lungs. Gross, but true. These rodent teeth grow by inches, incessantly; they need to be used. I get real sick from not using them. But even though I know this, I get caught in a kind of paralysis, an anesthetizing fog of - hopelessness. Maybe cause I'd like to chew down the whole bloody forest to make my dam, and don't know where to start. And maybe cause I am afraid that I don't have the right to take down any tree, and that people will think I'm a nasty foolish rodent and throw stones at me.

I don't know. I get too caught up in metaphors and then I stop making sense to myself. Dammit.

One day I will reign in the metaphors!

This is a conversation I overheard between 2 capybaras that I really related to:

You can't do it.

-But I have to.

You can't tho. You don't know how.

-I still have to.

No! You always start and then you stop.

-I know. But...

No. Look at yourself. Just look at yourself.

-But, I think I have to. Or I'll die.

Yeah. It's pretty sad.

-C'mon. Pleeease.

Too bad you didn't learn to work harder. Too bad you're so lazy.

-I want to kill you.

Just go back to the swamp, Wumpy. Go back to the swamp.

.....

Anyhow, I feel his plight. I really do. That other capybara is such a jerk.

I guess purposelessness has to be there to balance my purposefulness. But it's just not a very good balance yet. I'm coming out of a long, focused stretch of incredibly satisfying creative work. And now comes the lull, the lull that scares off my pants. This brings me to 8000 more things to say. Later.

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