Threads

It‘s hot. I’m fried. Feel pretty terrible. Today and yesterday I’ve tried bringing Zoe to a friend’s to hang out in their air conditioning. It’s been trying, she’s whined in the crate and been desperate to chase the strange cats. Hopefully she’ll get used to it quickly. Or the vet will give me a clear idea of what temperature is ok to leave her at home so I can head off to cooler climes without her.

College starts tomorrow. I’m excited and exhausted. I had plans to paint my new studio this weekend that I had to put off due to the weather. I have massive admin to deal with although nothing urgent except my overdue backlog, which is nice. I keep getting sick. Endometriosis is making my life miserable. I may have to get back into the pill again, which is frustrating. This last year I’ve been off it is the first I haven’t gained weight. On the other hand in sick every month and very anaemic. Stupid health.

I’m not getting much sleep. I’ve just finished reading A million little pieces by James Frey, which is dark and interesting. A study in self loathing and rage and attachment damage and addiction. I have almost nothing in common with him, and yet there’s themes I can so relate to. I’m struck by his rejection of the 12 Step program, despite all evidence and pressure that it was his only hope. I understand being in a place where the only path open to you simply and profoundly rings false. I understand his terror of the converted, the way their stories fill him with emptiness instead of inspiration. The way both the depraved and the cured can seem to be trapped by scripts from which they cannot help but read, no freedom, no creativity, none of the bizarre tenderness of lives that are created by following that inner call to those things that deeply move you.

I have no idea what feels like to be him. Or to be a mother. Or a nun. Or a refugee. We are so limited to our own experiences. We live in different worlds. When we forget that, we pass harsh judgements on things we don’t understand. And yet, threads unite us. Like the tension between learning from the experiences of others and needing to find our own truths to live by.

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