I spent yesterday in bed writing drafts and abandoning them, watching feeds, absorbing too much information. After the long intense weekend, complete rest might have been a better idea. Last night in sleep and waking I scrabbled an endless round of anxiety dreams about airports, schedules, missed trains, my wheelchair being taken away from me, being lost in cars, and stressful arguments. I don't want to get out of my pajamas. My mom and dad are here, planning to take Moomin to the giant complicated indoor playground-inside-a-swimming pool in the East Bay, meeting Minnie and her baby, going back to her house, so I also feel torn and sad and want to be with them and that I am letting my family down, my child barely missed me, I am not needed, I did not organize, I didn't invite, I didn't cook or shop or prepare, I'm not participating, I'm not paying attention, I'm letting the moments slip away.
I made hundreds of shallow connections, but not enough deep ones. Nothing felt like it bore fruit in the moment. But, it will, and I trust that. Instead I was a conduit and a connection point. I didn't do anything, make anything, fix anything, build, create, even in my imagination it all remained inchoate -- but I took the quick evaluations & shallow connections and said here, you talk with her, you need to know this, read this, are you aware of exactlywhatyouneed.net, and people lit up as they connected, as if I were a telephone switchboard. If I am invisible in that, I have to still be satisfied with my role and abandon my ego. It is hard to be visible, but invisible. A sort of conspicuous mascot, seen but not known. I could cry on the shoulder of everyone I met but did not get to know. Is it possible to love everyone? Maybe, but not to love them right. There is too much, there are so many of us, I am starving to know everything and everyone.
Oh poor me, a weekend of hundreds of people telling me I'm super awesome!
Ugh! But am I... I'm so not... they don't know... Is it enough? Am I enough? Can I ever do enough to be satisfied with myself? Can I at least finish a few projects, follow through on anything? How do I know that people like me for the right reasons? What if it's all flash and show and surface, and false?
Where is my discipline?
What if I am making all the wrong choices?
But back in real life and out of my theoretical identity tailspin:
Aside from catching up with some regular work, I want to continue trying to synthesize this weekend and some general thoughts about blogging, gender, class, and digital divides. And I'd like to look forward as well into planning some things to do or suggesting directions.
I have an awful lot of blogging cards to look at. Blogs to consider and link to. Notes from conversations to write up. Thoughts to gather and express.
Meanwhile the book project is on the back burner, a constant torment and source of guilt.
I am comforted yet perturbed as the hypothetical of "at some point in next few years Rook might switch career tracks and have a break" becomes "Now I support the family for a while and switch roles myself." Can I do it? I'm a little scared. It might be a very good thing in many dimensions.
I might need in a big way to migrate all my blogs back into a single one, clean up this one big time with proper tags and categories even if most of the categories are nebulous like "Long Philosophical Rant Mixed with Daily Life and the Juicy Bits Buried Baroquely". Badgermama and Composite feel so cramped and sterile and thank god I still ramble on at length without trying to narrow the focus here, where I say whatever the hell I want (barring a couple of limitations which i will keep trying hard to think of as Tact).
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