Last night, I evaporated from sleep at what I thought to be half six. I’m a good sleeper, generally, and an even better meaning-maker so, naturally, I had been tapped by one of the Green Point Ghosts I picked up on my Sunday kayaking outing.

I pondered the friendly spirit. We had a conversation and She sprung to memory, for the first time since its happening, that palm-reader who last year told me my lover may be still studying.

I rolled around and waited for my alarm to intrude and when it never did, I tapped my phone.

Appalled to see the time told to be 1:55AM in the morning

That’s something I cannot figure out whether I hate or love — when people follow up “AM” with “in the morning” because it’s not correct but it’s for some reason endearing.

And maybe I don’t need to hate or love it! What about that radical idea, Alex? My dear friend just brought to my attention that I’ve been quite clear about what I don’t want and she alluded to that idea that maybe it’s time to think about what you do want. Maybe it’s time for less rejection and more alignment.

Maybe?

But my whole philosophy, I’m realizing with the help of this prompt, is about tying knots — as in — I Believe CAPITAL B that knowing what is not working is the way to knowing what is working.

And perhaps this is exactly the drizzle of sweet sticky honey in which I find myself drowning.

At 1:56 AM in the morning, I gasped, fumbled in the dark to the bathroom, crawled back into bed and shut my eyes.

The noises that kept me awake could not have possibly been what I thought they were. I mean… no… the delightful moaning from the room downstairs could not have possibly been what woke me up. It’s much more likely to have been the Green Point Ghost, lonely and starved for conversation than it is to have been my landlady, who prefers to be referred to as my housemate, masturbating loudly enough to startle me from REM stage maybe even deep stage sleep.

Whether you, reader, think it fair or unfair, it’s the cold hard truth that at the top of the things I’m rejecting now is

my housemate

and ironically, top of my list of reasons for rejecting her is her own rejection of her own circumstance.

Her age. The shit situation in which her dad left her (and this earth). Her house. Her dogs. Her best friend’s terrible and childish boyfriend, who she calls “puss-face.” The weed and the whiskey. She rejects over and over and over again and nothing is ever right and it drives me mad to hear about and it worries me to observe and think that maybe no one ever anywhere has it right, somehow.

How do I embody resilience without hardening myself? How do I build my boundaries without closing myself off? How do I get repair my strong heart without closing my fists?

In writing, I think maybe the best thing I can possibly be is

specific

and in this struggle between affirmation and rejection, I find that specificity may be the antidote to rejection. I find it very difficult to be specific about what I want; I picked up somewhere along that way that if I cannot be specific I can at least

pay attention

But my paying attention has transformed into

be critical

or maybe they are of the same nerve — my judgement and my attentiveness.

What layer must I remove in order to pause at “pay attention,” and not venture past attentiveness into judgement and criticism?

Can I let awareness float?

Until You Know Better

If you cannot be specific, pay attention.

Fill the kettle and wash your dishes

Rub one out before bed

Great Artists Steal

For memory storage, visualize a house and all of its rooms, cabinets, and files