Mostly, my days are dominoes right now, not so different from each other, hours knocking hours like random dots and blank spaces. What I have from this week is a pile of toppled obligations, books, showers, sleeps, and walks. I finished a cylinder of cookies and cream ice cream, I finished two books about paralyzation, I went for a jog in dedication to the legless, I iced my puffed joints with frozen edamame because the ice trays were empty. I did not cook the edamame, but I thought about it. I didn't cook it on account of eating too much Kow Pad and plum wine at Tommy's Thai and that was because being idle makes me devour time and treats with self-aware thoughtlessness.
What must happen between all the things we do is digestion and inner dialogue and the creation of rhythms inside the confused body, which is just trying to tick routinely day to day. This is a week during which my inner rhythms don't seem to be going. I think it started with too much sun on Sunday and continued on through the excess of other unnecessary things.
I watched this show on Bravo about some woman whose job is to dress other rich people up for their events and say "Oh my God" about dresses, and I found myself becoming angry. I turned it off, but I thought about it. And now, I even wrote about it.
I'm also a little upset that my herbs, which had been growing so well, are struggling in their new pots. I thought I would give them more root-room, but instead, I think I've disturbed the windowsill peace. My tarragon is tilted, my basil blotchy, I love alliteration. I've even drowned my plants in too much extra-ness. Too much! the hollow ice cream container told me at the bottom of the trash, Too much! my empty asian plate echoed, Too much! my brain told me when I filled the white space with TV and fake furs.
I was reading a short essay in which Ted Kooser calls a newpspaper article "a distant explosion whose concussion had taken years to reach across a galaxy of intervening happenstance," and I thought yes! This is exactly what I've been experiencing: intervening happenstance, only I don't really know what all these constructs within my day are intervening into. Is the concussive gap in my sequence of mundane dominoes the meditation I don't do? The job I have not yet begun? I might be waiting to figure something out. I might be waiting a long time.
I like this word: Happenstance, which means coincidence. But happenstance = happen + circumstance. Does that make every circumstance that happens an occurence no less circumstantial than a glittering, unexpected coincidence? Maybe. One of my teachers was saying that maybe the most exciting brilliant shining things that happen are the thoughts that happen in the individual brain.
I'm still wondering: where's my concussion?