8:58 a.m. - 11/03/03
with your southern style : and your hidden dance...
I'm vaguely fearful right now; I don't think I'm quite convinced I want to return to the world I (on occasion) call mine. I moseyed down to Nashville for the weekend (hence, the lack of entries), and even though - as with every trip I take - I felt an immense relief at returning to my room, my bed, my things (it would be nice if they were less scattered all over the floor...but...), I felt oddly awkward waking up again into it all. The joy of returning to a city, for the first time in my life, - of having "my room" be in an actual city - was overshadowed this morning by the, well, shadows of the life I'm leading here. The excited plans I made for educating myself, mainly as a writer and a woman, upon returning, feel less sturdy now that I'm back and meant to lean on them. Act on them. Now that I'm back and need, in a few hours, to call Sara and find out what news we do have. I tried not to worry when I didn't hear from her over the weekend; I left her a message with the number at my brother's, but she didn't call. That's not uncharacteristic, even if we had been talking everyday; it's not uncharacteristic of her to hold off on calling me when I'm somewhere else. I just hate uncertainty. My imagination has no conscience, and it will go to every extreme to torture me, if I give it such uncertainty.
One of the things I remember thinking at a point in the weekend was how shaky my spirituality is right now, and how it feels even more shaky than it actually is - because I'm so focused on what I don't believe. I have a need to lay out what I don't consider true, to allow myself the right to refuse beliefs that have been forced on me before. I started thinking about my belief in - connection - for lack of a better word, the fact that I truly do believe I'm still very firmly connected in places where it might not seem I am. I wrote a play with Tracy all through a character, with a name even linked to hers (in my weird system of name cross-referencing), and the character committed suicide the night Tracy took the pills that would be fatal. I painted my toe-nails with wite-out for the first time ever, a Jenna reference, the night she went inpatient, before being rushed to the ICU. I believe in those little coincidences, and I believe that golden threads don't break easily.^ I believe that I'm still connected to people I no longer know.
What I wished I could stop believing in were signs. I don't think I really believe in signs, at least not in such a cut-and-dry manner as I contend to (behaviorally). I think I find the possibility of signs amusing, like I find the possibility that there will be some truth in the newspaper horoscope intriguing. I use them to comfort myself. Whenever I went to see new doctors, I would find signs that they were right. The prints on their walls, the music playing, their names. Anything. And there's no harm in this, since I do form an actual impression of someone after meeting them, with which my early sign-seeing does not conflict. The problem is that I see signs when I don't want to. I interpret signs when there's no certainty that's what they mean. I think that's the problem: I interpret what I see, as if that interpretation is infallible. I recognize signs of connection in hindsight and assume I can foresee them. So when, on the way 'home' from Nashville, we pass - at some distance - one dead doe and then another, in the same position, at basically the same point in the grass median, I grow upset...and then two hours later remember the deer, and start thinking about what Dwight said about deer, and start wondering if the first deer is Tracy and the second deer, Jenna...and...and...and... The fact that I drive myself crazy with signs is the problem. I need to let the metaphor of the world exist, allow myself to believe in profound imagery present in this world, and stop believing I have the power to decode it. Stop acting like my worst English teachers, who taught like poetry was a code to be translated word by word. Turkey = faith, et cetera. Then I need to call those people that I need to call and find out what is literally happening in the world, outside my more cruel fantasies. (Can I do that, and call Sara, and still manage a nap before my appointment with the doc?)
...I think I'll take the nap now. It's terribly early of course, but it's terribly early because I went to bed terribly early after having so little sleep over the weekend. And I often wake up, get up, fall back asleep in the morning. Come to think of it my uncle does this, too - though purposefully - as a way of avoiding migraines. I wonder if it's instinctive - no migraines lately. (Knock on wood. repeatedly. with great force. just don't bruise your knuckles.) Yes, I'll nap now and continue this later, since continuing it earlier would be rather difficult.
*
I feel like I missed Halloween almost entirely, and this pisses me off, as it is one of my favorite holidays. In fact, it may end up being my favorite in the coming years, as my life-long favorite (Christmas Eve) is bound to be screwed up in the divorce mess. Did I mention that my parents have decided not to stick to their plan and keep holidays similar? Instead, we are having the one-day-here, another-there mess that everyone said we would avoid. I love trustworthy parental units. Anyway. I'm not sure what's happening for Christmas yet, but I know that on Thanksgiving, I'll be in Brigadoon with my three brothers, dad, and paternal grandma. My dad and grandma have been put in charge of a holiday that has *no point* whatsoever, other than food. Truly thrilling. Oy. I just missed my last decent holiday for, say, a year. I spent it on the road between here and Nashville, which is a semi-significant stretch of pavement. The beginning of the trip was very uncool, as I had woken up positive I didn't want to go (and aware that this time, I could go, and therefore would.) Worse because it was Halloween and Autumn, and all sorts of other things that tie me instantly to Rogers. We decorated for Halloween (well, not really we; some of the other girls) at, like, the beginning of September? - and it was one of my last wonderful days there. I did some calculating and my one and only (horrific) pass 'home' took place on the third and fourth of November, which means Halloween was likely one of the last days I didn't spend sobbing, banging myself into walls, and begging the staff not to make me leave. Not to make me go *there.* Two different things, by the way... To state the blatantly obvious, I would have wanted to stay even if I didn't want, so badly, to avoid going to D!@#$%^. But anyway. The beginning of the trip felt so right, and that made it feel so wrong. Translation: we were going a long way, almost long enough to get to Rogers, but in the wrong direction, except, in the beginning, a similar direction, and the trees are not quite Wisconsin trees, but we're headed south and fall is later here. We're seeing trees in almost brilliant color, almost Wisconsin-like. And Sarah Dosen's singing, "Northern Sky" and Simon and Garfunkel are singing "Homeward Bound", and I am very, very sure I don't want to be going to Nashville.
As I told the doctor, maybe it'll...distract me...for a few days. I focus there.
*
It's now 6:30 in the evening. I've written another entry (dialoguing) while in the middle of this entry, which I suppose I'll post after it. Talk about confusing. Or rather, talk about confusion. And miscommunication. And sucky therapy appointments that lead to less sucky revelations. Anyway, you'll know all about that after this; there's no need to summarize. Although I do need to remember to note the scapegoat I so desperately wanted to use. Don't you love vague, suspicious references to topics I'll probably still forget to detail? I thought you did...
*
So anyway, I was heading south when I desperately wanted to head north, to be with Jenna, to support her, to have people around to support me, and so on. I do still have enough sense to know that this girl who will not speak to me (as of yet) on the phone, will not see me in person either. And until I have need to push that, I'll stick to the plan as mapped...down south to Nashville, Tennessee. It only occurred to me on the drive down that I could have looked into extending the route a bit here and there to visit Dixie, and (with a bit more difficulty) perhaps Brittany or Beth Ann. Somehow, I managed not to think of this while the trip was being planned. But the trip was a good length and activity level for me, so on the one hand, it's probably good that I kept it as it was. Must keep this in mind for future excursions, however.
I loved a lot of Nashville. It had a surprisingly nautical aspect that I didn't know to expect. Not only were there nautical elements in some of the architecture - buildings that seemed bordered with lighthouses and the suchlike - but there was also a definite center to the cultural craze that was water-related. That statement made no sense. I meant to say that everything seemed built to center around water: lakes, rivers, fountains. There was this fabulous walking bridge that went out over a river (leading me to remember a massive walking-bridge phobia from my childhood, but nevertheless grand and luster-filled), and a few really wonderful parks. Joe and I got into a water fight in one of the fountains which was one of my favorite moments. At least, it was a favorite moment until he came up with the strategy of cupping his hands and throwing much more significant amounts of water at me. One of the nights we spent walking around was Halloween, and so there was some fantastic costuming about. The favorite of everyone (we walked with this person for some distance, and everyone responded with basically the same enthusiasm) was a lone man dressed as Colonel Sanders riding a gigantic chicken. Oh, yes. He played Colonel Sanders with the upper half of his body, while shuffling his chicken-feet and shaking feathery-chicken-butt with the lower. Fantastically executed false legs fell over the sides of the chicken, to give the impression that the chicken was indeed independent of the man, and he did a wonderful job of maintaining its shuffle, appearing pulled in by the reigns (while simultaneously feeling the sudden stop of his steed, as the Colonel would) when someone begged him to stop for a picture. It was great fun. The only other really snappy costume I saw was Edward Scissorhands, and I have a strong desire to do my own version next year. What a fantastic idea. Almost as fantastic as Luna Lovegood, who spent the weekend slowly building in the back of our car. Indeed, I have actually gone through with working on a costume, even if I didn't manage to finish it by the appropriate holiday. Thanksgiving costume, it is! Anyway, we know it's all downhill from the lion's head hat, and wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, I have that secured. Whee. Moving on to waist-length dirty blonde hair and mastering the ability to blink significantly less often.
What else did we do? We ate good food and drank bad cream sodas; we woke up far too early Sunday morning to play Spongebob Uno (or was that Saturday?)...We played glow-in-the-dark miniature-golf. I've never been mini-golfing, so this was a lovely first experience. Glow Golf, I believe it was called. I lost, but only by a few strokes, (insisting, of course, that I hadn't realized we were aiming to have the *lowest* score)...and I got a hole in one! It was lovely. Some dorky mathematical part of me loved attempting to figure out the right strategy in terms of angle, force, direction and so forth. Other, simpler parts of me enjoyed the fact that it was not actual golf, and therefore something I could actually do, at least well enough to enjoy it. Some sport-like things I do well enough that I really wish I could do significantly well at them, but I won't spend the time practicing. Badminton - forever my favorite p.e. unit - comes to mind.
Looking through my notes now (I took so many little writer-girl notes! squee!) to see what else I've forgotten. Oh! We saw the Parthenon! The full-scale replica of the Parthenon, which includes a massive recreation of the original Athena statue, which captures everyone at first sight, leaving them with only enough breath to say, "Wow." Athena's a good forty-one feet, ten inches tall, she holds an equally impressive - but significantly smaller - Nike in her hand. (Remember when Nike was a goddess, not a shoe brand?) And a beautiful shield and an unnerving expression. Her pallor is deathly pale, an unnerving contrast to the bright color of her features. I got the feeling that if I went to the Parthenon every afternoon to write, Athena would see to it that I developed the craft. She was absolutely mesmerizing.
The exhibit on the history of Tennessee was a bit less entertaining, although the art collection and sketches for Disney movies that followed it were (while random) that much more worth viewing. I felt ethically torn by how intriguing the Disney sketches were, but what Walt Disney actually *did* (as opposed to what the corporation has done and is doing) *is* very impressive, and those movies color my childhood. I loved so many of them. And I used to draw Disney characters while watching Muppets Tonight (was that the name of it? It was frightfully short-lived?) every Friday night...
Joe animated a movie with figures from a box at another cinema display. It was rather amusing. I found a blue cordoroy rabbit with snap-on limbs, the one casting choice of mine with which he agreed. If I remember correctly, GI Joe fought a raging t-rex, and ended up dying in a pool of blood Joe had the sense to draw in red, despite the camera being black and white. The rabbit's leg was torn off by the beast, and...damn...I don't remember how he was overcome. I'll ask my mom when she gets home. Anyway, after the t-rex met his grisly fate, the brontasaurus (who'd been hanging out peacefully amid the palm trees) came in and took out everything - the scenery, the other characters. The peaceful, vegetarian brontosaurus sent it all flying, leaving zirself the lonely victor. (That part was my idea also.)
And, oh my Godd - country music! Talk about entirely forgetting the essence of a place. Whoops. Country music and the culture surrounding it was positively everywhere, but I found it far more enjoyable to be around than one aware of my education in hating country music might suspect. Mainly it was live, and though my favorite street performer was definitely the man with the open guitar case who wasn't playing anything...we passed some really great, energizing musicians. Washtub rhythm artists and oh, dear- the cowboy boots and hats that flooded the area...though we speculated that was more the tourists than the natives. One girl had an absolutely fabulous hat that I would have worn myself. Basically a plain canvas cowboy hat - all in white - bordered with this fantastic white fluff that significantly added to its diameter. It was like a cross between a cowgirl hat and a feather boa, and it was cool.
I must also confess that I know the song "Beer for my Horses" - though that's entirely my brother's fault...and mention that one brick wall in Nashville, from a distance, or when being viewed indirectly (as when one focuses on the trees in front of it) looks spectacularly like water.
And one amusing snip of dialogue (for which you hopefully did not have to be there):
Joe: There! You're trapped like a rat!
Me: I don't think I've ever seen a rat trapped with Chinese fingercuffs before. (And when I escaped the fingercuffs, with tragically little difficulty)
Joe: (completely devoid of enthusiasm) You're like Houdini.
And that, my dear friends, was Nashville.
chord
^Tori reference
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