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Goodbye MX

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All of my other stories with poor metaphors and jumbled stream of consciousness will come after this one. Only because the solitude really sets the gears in my brain to churning. I set out not all that early, but early enough to be the first person up in the hostel. I surreptitiously gathered all my belongings in the way I learned as a child. Best not to make noise, even on holiday. I set off into the morning warm in the general direction of the beach. It may be ridiculous but anytime I am away somewhere that has a beach it is a tradition of mine to say goodbye to the beach before I go. Perhaps yesterday was too early to do that. You don’t want to rush things.

I pass the usual assortment of tourist/residents out getting themselves exercised: walking along the cobble roads, running along the sand, fighting with the surf on paddle boards. I don’t intend to go to far just to someplace I can sit and gaze out at the water as it plays tug of war with the shore. The water always wins of course but you can’t argue with the hypnotic effect of it. It soothes in a way almost nothing almost can. I’m not dressed for swimming because, well, I don’t want to go swimming. 

The surf has coughed up all sorts of detritus: an assortment of wood, shells and rocks that have been rolling around it the surf for who knows how long, made smaller and smoother with each journey in and out of the water. The water is unpredictable at this time of day and if you’re not careful you will be rudely awoken out of any reverie you may be in by a sudden surge of water. The odd Pelican bobs idly but strategically near the waters edge waiting for fish that the waves pull in with its force.

The sun breaks through the clouds and a sudden blast of its warmth heats my face. I can see myself in the screen squinting against the sun and notice I have a mild case of bed hair. More and more people dot the shoreline. Pads are put on beach chairs, the sand is being raked, strains of Mexican music begin to strain through the odd restaurant, but the surf still forcefully pushes up under my feet. It’s much more placid during the day, restraining itself to a much more sedate distance. It’s hours before opening time and hours before people will be laying in all these beach loungers slathered in sunscreen and ordering cervezas.

The sun is teasing, hiding behind a small bit of cloud cover that cover thins to less and less. It will be a good beach day and a good day to say goodbye.


02.14.17 second step

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IMG_0385I recently rearranged my tiny apartment to satisfy my need for change and to make it possible to place my table by the window. Some would say that it makes the narrow lane of my designated living room seem narrower, but I ignore them. I like it. In the morning I drink my coffee and gaze out at the view my 2nd floor bach affords. I do a lot of daydreaming looking out this window. There’s not much happening on my street, but it’s busier than most. Cars scrape over the speed calming lump, ignoring the heed to slow down, and the dastardly part of me gets a smile out of that. Who knows why, perhaps because I am a person who believes in following the rules, so it doesn’t make for a lot of trailblazing. The lessons of my childhood were beaten into me so well that they are ingrained into my cafe au lait skin. My horizons have become not so wide.

Life is slow here. I buck against it, hoping one day I’ll wake up and this city will be like others I’ve lived. I like a healthy amount of hustle and bustle. It’s the energy that energy I crave. It feeds me. I need it. I live a mostly solitary life. Yes, it is mostly of my own doing and I’ve mostly receded into it.  It’s just me and my wee cat, my mostly toothless wonder. Her only loud demands are that I feed her twice a day and that she occupy my lap all day.

I suppose some of my reluctance stems from the limitations of my health. It’s anomalies and vagaries, there’s a why that sometimes my life doesn’t extend much further than the boundaries of my comfortable blue sofa or my memory foam bed.

I know the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, but I’ve become almost paralytic most of the time, with friends, families and my own life alike, so I often don’t even hazard that one step. I’ve become so accustomed to living an interior life, the life “out there” has moved further away and has become unfamiliar. I’ve moved further away. But when I am in my bathroom the messages coming at me are positive and affirming. And I sigh.

I write this while still in my pyjamas, hair standing up on my head (yes, Bijou is on my lap); waiting for the other shoe to drop. Safe. Inside. Waiting out the 2nd beast that inhabits my body. It’s how I begin most every day, save for the writing bit. Wait and see. Always wait and see….


About that inside my head thing…

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About that inside my head thing…

I read a lot of what others write and I voice small comments here and there; dispensing little crumbs and bits of opinion and rumination here and there, but I don’t give voice or life to the words of my own. I see lives being lived and expanding into new horizons and I feel mine becoming smaller, the borders of it closing in on me. I’m beginning to feel suffocated.

This is not what I imagined my life to be but I somehow feel helpless to do anything about it; I’ve been rendered immobile. Still I find myself unable to move from the sidelines and onto the playing field. Every new week I make small new resolutions to myself…Eat better, exercise more, get up earlier, leave the house but I am so busy getting in my own way stubbornly, like a reflex, I turn away or push back against the very thing I want to run toward. I’ve been working on how not to behave this way but instead of pushing through I feel as if I am receding further into a small prison of my own making. 

I’m not going to wax much anymore about this, for now. I’m putting it out there, for myself, to remind myself not to double back and backpedal but to slowly inch forward. Keep pushing. Put the words down, put it down there and dare to dream out loud.


Of this i know

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Of this i know

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What is 500 words

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I remember having to write essays of this length. Those tedious report-like stream of words we churned out for the interpretation and acceptance of someone else. Someone whose world view might not match your own, probably skews far away from you. I want to try to write something every day, perhaps even babbling drivel like this just to get something down. As much as essays are subjective discourses, they are also injected with some opinion on the part of the writer. I does, afterall, have something to do with perspective.

 Is that proper form however? I’d have to look that up but I’d probably forget it. I have spent some painstaking hours trying to remember people and situations; fleeting flashes of an idea that I lose within a few footsteps. I used to dismiss these lapses and carry on, but now I wrestle with my grey matter in an effort to recall. This only affects what is happening here and now or within the very near future. I guess that’s the long way of saying short term memory. Stored in my memory banks I discover memories so vivid it is almost like experiencing it all over; the good and the bad. I went to an event and an infuriating man I knew arrived on the scene. He is still the same person, not bad, but definitely on his own planet orbiting his own sun. Later, when I got home I tried to remember the short relationship 


Writing while swooning

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Monaco Sidestreet

(I wish I was here)

My head is swimming but there’s something I wanted to write. Yes, insignificant but words in the box. This is important right now. “Room to Write”‘s first lesson is to take a word that has two meanings. What’s the term for that again? Anyway, you are to write and keep writing for 20 minutes I think, and don’t stop even if what you’ve set down is nonsense. No stopping and going back to edit and no pondering over what the words are or if they are the right words. I suppose I could do this most any day without much difficulty but I don’t because it’s important to me that they are the right words. My mind keeps jumping back to the question of what the grammatical term for those words is. “Homonym”….? I think I might be right. Look, I’ve got one here: right and write. Brilliant. I’ve actually forgotten what the thrust of the exercise is. Once you have those two words what do you do? Babble on with the words in context? Yup, this is fascinating stuff, but this is my mind at work. If I wrote down everything that ran on my cerebral highway there’d be volumes of nonsense. Sometimes when I sit down to write, I find myself lapsing into inertia. I’ve already done a lot of writing. Texts, messenger messages, responses to emails, some tweeting and Facebook posting. I’ve even responded to messages on OK Cupid. Yes, I know, we’ll get to that another time. The Stories…!

I’ve got to go lie down. My fingers are shaking and I can hardly sit upright. My vision is mushy in front of me, but the thing is I wanted to stick to the discipline. Good thing I can type quite quickly. I’ve incorporated some pauses and short spurts of meditating into my life. It might be doing some good.

But then there’s this, this is what happens when your brains on drugs. Not those drugs, but the pharmaceutical. In the morning I swallow 3 tablets, 4 caplets and 3 capsules. In aid of what I don’t know because the problem, she definitely aint solved. OK, that’s it. My meanderings of today.




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IMG_1630.jpgI got the urge to sit down and write and it’s just because. Nothing is going on. I feel good, for the moment. I just want to set some words down, however meaningless. Perhaps it is because of this Mindful app I downloaded. It asked me to choose 3 items from a list of goals or life changes that I wanted to accomplish and one that immediately leapt at me was commitment, which I have not been keeping. It’s not easy, I’m a chronically ill procrastinating dreamer who hasn’t been able to stay committed to a lot of resolutions and positive life changes I’ve tried to instill into my life. Maybe I am tired of the constant struggle. It’s all work. Sometimes I would just like things to happen if I do what I am meant to do, run smoothly, but they don’t.

I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking about my future and what it holds.  I’ve done it often and it held different forms. I alternate between hopeful and catastrophic. I know what it won’t be the OK I used to envision. It has always been in the form of simplicity and humble which is fine by me because I am realistic about the provisions I have made for it and what I want out of life. Satisfaction imbued with a feeling of worthiness. A small home that is mine. I hope that it will be on wheels so I can go wherever I want. That is reaching I know, but it is certainly more likely than brick and mortar. Then, of course there are the medical considerations. I beginning to think my GP regards me as a hypochondriac. They seem to present as mysteries to neurologists, internists and some other “ists”.I’m beginning to think that these professionals may think I enjoy the rarity and mystery as if they make me special. I never wanted to be special like this!

I think about what I can do in this forum. I want to create a niche for myself, but my thoughts are scattered, everywhere and nowhere at once. I continue to ponder but first, the words. They are in the box. That’s a beginning.

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