Well, I woke up Sunday morning
Johnny Cash “Sunday Morning Coming Down”
With no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn’t bad
So I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled in my closet for my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
And I shaved my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I’d smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I’d been pickin’
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussin’ at a can that he was kicking
Then I crossed the empty street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin’ chicken
And it took me back to something that I’d lost
Somehow, somewhere along the way
On the Sunday morning sidewalk
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
‘Cause there’s something in a Sunday
Makes a body feel alone
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalks
Sunday morning coming down
There’s no real significance to the song or the title of the post other than it’s what’s playing as I sit down to write and as I realize I don’t have much to say other than a recap of my day. The basic factual story-telling style of the Cash song seemed appropriate.
I didn’t have a long contemplative walk this morning. Instead, I decided to test the achilles and go for a run. I managed to run a little over half of my 6-7 mile route. I’ll know tomorrow what type of pain I’m in – fingers crossed it’s not too bad. It’s hard for me to get too deep in thought when I run – the running or thinking about my pace or gait or paying attention to the physicality of the act usually pulls me out of whatever it is I’m thinking.
I came back and finished my post for the morning – which I then edited a bit after lunch. I managed a load of laundry. Looked for jobs, applied to one. I had applied to two before going to bed last night. I’m feeling a little determined to get this settled before I have to move. I’ve really been stuck trying to figure out if I should be willing to take a step back (position and salary) just to get something, anything. I’ve applied to a couple of fundraising jobs that are just below the director level – which would be a step back. I haven’t heard from many places. This time last year, I felt like I was getting lots of calls. Last July I think I had 5 interviews in 4 days.
After dinner, I wanted but didn’t want to go on a walk. I also wanted to just sit on the balcony and have a beer. Healthy and exercise and sunset vs. sloth and beer and not leaving the apartment. I opted for beer and a book. Nick my meatball of a cat joined me.
I’m slowly making my way through Eat, Pray, Love. As much as I don’t want to identify with the author, I continue to identify with the author. In one of the chapters she recounts some wisdom a psychologist friend had shared. The friend was counseling a group of refugees and was worried about whether or not she would relate to them and the horrible experiences they had suffered (war, rape, poverty torture). Once she started talking to them they would talk about how they fell in love and the other person didn’t return it, or the other person said they loved them. The friend then said she met an old lady once who said, “There are only two questions that human beings have ever fought over, all through history. How much do you love me? And Who’s in charge?” And yes, love and control are often our undoing. Lucky are the people who aren’t concerned with those two. These are the things the author is dealing with as she practices meditation at the Ashram… and they are things that I’ve thought about (almost incessantly) for the past year.
I don’t have much of a view from my balcony. Pausing and looking up from the book, I could see hints of gold beginning to line the clouds. Dammit, I was missing the sunset. I don’t go every night, but it does feel like an old friend – especially if I know it’s going to be there at the river and I’m not. I wasn’t entirely unhappy with my choice to read… but that’s when I started to be annoyed at my thinking – why should I feel any sense of dissatisfaction? Why let the thought that the sunset would have been a better option creep in. The truly content person might not have longed for the option left behind.
I finished the chapter I was reading and came inside to pour a glass of wine (might as well lean in to it) and paint. I’m continuing with the Stickman series (because, well I can’t do much more than a stick figure and I kinda like the abstract simplicity of it)
Elizabeth Gilbert provided some validation when she wrote of her brooding about her lost lover, David: “Which is getting a little embarrassing, to be quite honest. I mean – here I am in this sacred place of study in the middle of India, and all I can think about is my ex-boyfriend? What am I, in eighth grade?” I had plenty of times when I’ve written a blog post about my engagement and then felt embarrassed in a “man you’re still talking about that kind of way.” It didn’t help that my ex-fiancee, her boyfriend, and even my one of my ex-friend’s were all telling me I just need to get over it and move on. And perhaps the Johnny Cash song was more connected that I suspected. As I scrolled through my photos from today and yesterday, I had taken a screenshot of a note from Cash written after his wife June had died. There’s no right way or amount of time…
