Jan. 20th, 2009

raybear: (Default)
I'm not totally feeling the first half as much, because I don't totally agree about the 'founding principles' aspect of patriotism, or whether patriotism is even ultimately a positive thing, BUT, I dig the second part about us being humans and always trying to do better.



I rescheduled therapy for later so I could be home watching pre-Inauguration coverage and the Inauguration itself. I like participating in cultural moments along with hundred of millions of other people worldwide.

Charles Gibson has gotten so weird in his colloquialisms and 'observations'. And Diane Sawyer isn't drunk....yet. Maybe just tipsy. Of course, these are the reasons I'm watching.
raybear: (collapsed)
I enjoy watching major cultural events, preferably on television, in my house, alone. Like the Oscars! So this morning I got that wish, and I wasn't really expecting much, just something in the background while I puttered around online. But remember back in November after the election when I talked about how I was still expecting to have a good cry? Not because I am the number one Obama fan or anything, but just because, ohmyjeezus, the past 8 years have just exactly as bad as I thought they'd be when the 2000 election went down the way it did (rememeber when middle-of-the-road people called us alarmists?), and I knew I needed to release some of that. It never really happened. Until this morning. I was watching them announce all the former presidents with their various congressperson entourages, seeing Clinton try so badly to catch Laura Bush's eye to shake hands while she snubbed him, marvelling at how zombie like the group around Bush was, and then they cut to Obama just walking down the hallway, towards the doorway to be announced, and I lost it. Lost it, lost it. Didn't stop. Laughed at myself for still sobbing, but didn't curb it. The dog came over and sat next to be on the couch and tried to lick my face, which is often what she does when I'm sad (it is astoundingly cute and sweet, when not annoying and intrusive). Then the wave passed and I went back to being the cynical romantic, or the romantic cynic.

I went to therapy today, and my last session a few weeks ago felt kinda weird, like he was graduating me, so I wasn't sure at first what that meant, but as soon as I got there, I knew that I wanted to work on all my writerly neurosis now. It felt like a needed shift, a good step forward. And gods know, I could use some help in that arena. So now I have to help communicate to him how my creative process works and he can offer feedback on the personal psychological aspects that cause blocks. He gave me writing homework that I don't want to do, but I know will be helpful. But I also feel a little cautious about sharing some of that with him, a non-writer, since usually I only talk about the indepth process (and struggles) with other trusted artist types I know. On the other hand, I've always wanted my writing mentors to be my life coach/parental figure/therapist, so this might work out just fine.

At work recently, a couple people have asked if I've lost weight, and I say excitedly, "no! I've GAINED weight!" which is true because I am chest pressing 125 pounds, mtherfckers!! I love strength training so much, its way more physically and psychologically appealing to add things to my body, then obsess about shrinking it.

I really wish they'd stop playing the section of Obama's speech saying "pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off" because then I start singing "....and start all over again" and get the song stuck in my head.

May 2010

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