February Round Up

“As the image of myself becomes sharper in my brain and more precious, I feel less afraid that someone else will erase me by denying me love.” (From Little Weirds by Jenny Slate)

1. I felt validated in my need to be surrounded by flowers this month. Their constancy is the only thing I’ve sustained attention to as of late. I was reminded of working in the Kindergarten classroom and singing songs to the children as the dew rose from the crocuses. I still think about that class of 17 little sprouts. I think a lot about every child I encountered as a teacher. I think about the children in my family. I think about the children in Gaza. My heart breaks over and over.

   

   

   the variety of bouquets this month, including a found street bouquet in a cut milk carton

2. Deep inspiration from this platform: 20 years of februaries, in alphabetical order. (Ocean Capewell) & What to Eat When You’re Grieving (Sam Hopwood) are two posts that are worthy of reading.

3. I have brought myself to tears this month doing things that usually settle me. Listening to favorite albums. Writing morning pages. Going to see live music. Ironically, crying settles me too.

   

   development on my first full sized quilt top, imperfect & serving its purpose

4. Early in the month, I made the fatal mistake of logging into my first email account (2005-2008). It felt like unearthing a horcrux. It sent me down a deep rabbit hole of understanding a past self that sought a different type of survival than I do now. It made me realize how little I remember about any given portion of my childhood, except for the music that persisted. Since 2020, I haven’t listened to music in the same obsessive capacity of my teenage-hood. Maybe because I’m not bike commuting, no longer have a communal kitchen to do late night chores in, no bi weekly karaoke to practice for, no one to deeply obsess with. From my email, I dove into the Livejournal I kept consistently from 2004-2011. Post after post of mixes I created, themed, for gifts, to attempt a representation of some part of my internal world in the external. I’ve managed some level of yearly playlist/compilation of loved & listened music but I miss making mixed CDs and putting them into a rattly car stereo system. Writing this small blurb got me to do some musical deep dives to honor the past self and I came across this, just a piece of an album I can take walks to. I put the old email to rest, never to be resurrected again.

5. I am crawling, slowly, out of my depression hide-y hole. It is scary and I am trying again, in earnest, to be a person in the world. I showed up to some events alone and stayed for as long as it felt good. Sometimes I am not sure how much I can handle, with everything else going on. And then I get all weep-y again.

(I love you all very much. Thank you for being here. More soon.)