USUALLY, I start with a blog post with words and then find the images. This weekend has been a time of contemplation and frustration and all sorts of things. I don't know if it has something to do with the holidays - Thanksgiving and now Christmas and New Years coming up - but the gradual sense of drifting along and not being content with that is welling up around my ears making it difficult to hear my own thoughts.
Last night we attended a Christmas party and birthday combined. It was a very nice time and I enjoyed myself, even though I ended up with a magazine on the couch at 10:30 p.m. waiting until the Mister wanted to go home, which turned out to be after midnight. Then someone sat down next to me ... someone quite drunk. He proceeded to ask me questions about the "running" shoes I wore and I had to laugh. I had danced in them earlier, but running? With my knees? Not something I want to contemplate. Then he asked if I exercised. Well, yes, I do yoga.
"There you go," he said. "That's exercise."
He wouldn't let me go back to my magazine however. He then told me how he had observed me over the evening and I seemed so calm and content. "I've been admiring that," he said. "The way you just seemed so content on enjoying yourself."
There was more, but the thing about it was that listening to an inebriated person tell you about yourself is sort of like of eavesdropping on a brain thinking. You wonder what people think about you but you don't really want to know. With alcohol, the usual filters no longer apply and you find out things you could maybe live without.
Things got a little uncomfortable for me finally and I got up, saying I wanted to see if there was some coffee in the kitchen. Shortly after that he left with a woman I assumed was the one he had told me about; the one who had opened up his life "to a whole new way of thinking." (Something like that anyway.)
So why am I writing about this? Last night I was trying to snap out of my artless, uninspired funk, and slow down my brain which has been divided into several different sections to handle my life lately. The silliest things have happened: I almost started a fire in the microwave at work, I made a cake in a springform pan and put the pan together upside down and the batter oozed out in all directions when I picked it up, the computer got a virus and will only go to a Spanish Web site advertising Viagra, I had to dump an entire knitting project because the yarn I used made the scarf feel like a Brillo pad against the neck. All this garbage, so I decided to have fun last night and "be cool" with "things" and this guy tells me I'm looking so content.
Needless to say I don't feel that way. I feel like the most un-content person on the face of the earth. I can feel the paintbrush, writing instrument, drawing pencil in my hand. Why can't I pick one up?!@ I need an assignment - femminismo
p.s. I watched "Ossessione" (Obsession), an Italian film made in 1943. It had some lovely, tender shots; tense moments; gorgeous people; great Italian street scenes (Ancona, Marche, Italy) worth the rental by themselves; and a dramatic soundtrack. I gather the film is being magically remastered. It would be well worth it. This film was remade in the U.S. as "The Postman Always Rings Twice." John Garfield & Lana Turner and Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange.