More Notes from 63ville

I listen closely when a friend or acquaintance tells me a story of how they’ve been wronged. I try to gently ask for more of the story so I can gain a wide-angle lens picture. Are they looking for help in figuring out how to think, feel and deal with a bad sitch or are they just venting? Ranting is good and helpful but so is a gentle, guided exploration. The trick is recognizing which is needed at a given moment.

I've made peace with the fact that some of the people (friends, relatives, acquaintances) that I was wild about and wanted to see more of, didn’t feel the same in return. It hurts but them’s the breaks. Not everyone is gonna see me as the most spectacular and magic sparkle unicorn that I so obviously am. Damn.

I try to keep in touch with the people who bring me happiness and/or peace. My social circle is a LOT smaller now but that doesn’t matter as much as enjoying the ride. Sure there are folks I’d LOVE to see more of but…hello? Pandemic, endless surgeries, radiation and general exhaustion.

The best thing about Easter is the dark chocolate bunny.

The more I know and understand about myself, the better I am at understanding the people with whom I want and/or need to spend time.

There’s a shit-ton of nasty-assness in the world right now. There always has been. Somedays the obscene horrors, on top of my own personal struggles, are overwhelming. Of course! To avert total despair, I look for the good things, no matter how small—a beautiful sunrise, the wonder of the rolling waves, Coco, the magnificent support (that I in no way deserve) which Ten, Jen and Oni give me every single day, my memories of TAB. The ugly and terrifying bits are just one part of the story.

I’ve let go, mostly, of needing to know what’s definitively what. There’s very little about my life that’s predicable or knowable—there’s no Google map. I’m now, shockingly, really OK with that.

Disco, contrary to popular opinion, did NOT entirely suck. Paging Donna Summer!

I’ll get through this upcoming proton radiation marathon. Hopefully it’ll halt the growth of the leviathan wrapped around my thoracic spine. MAYBE the motherfucker will even shrink a bit. Wouldn’t it be nice.

I have more than enough stuff. I don’t need more socks, blankets, end tables, bookshelves, jewelry, chachkies or mugs. I’m no longer interested in paging through the Sundance catalogue. OK, that’s a lie—I love to look but that’s all I can do. I have more than enough stuff.

I’ve accepted that, no matter how much I love someone, I can’t repair their broken parts. Sometimes all I can do is step away so I’m not swept into their maelstrom of pain and poor choices.

It is a rock solid reality that, if Coco is occupying my lap, I’m locked in place. I’m OK with this.