For the second time this week, I forgot to post. In a way, it may be a good sign. I get engaged early in the day, with chores such as tidying and culling in the pantry. And we walk, and we eat, and time goes by and suddenly it’s tomorrow and I realize that I forgot to post.
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Thursday, I heard from several friends. It’s that time of year. I Zoomed with my UK stuttering group in the morning, Regina dropped by in the afternoon and I went to dinner with Kris and Steve. It was a very social day. It was also a very wet day. Our morning walk was trying because neither of us like walking in the rain, but we suited up, both of us, and it was painless. But what a treat it was to come home to a fire and warm house with kitties curled up in the chairs by the fire.
My Zoom call was long. Our UK group was well attended, and it was a great session. And then I Zoomed with Steve for a long time. We are tremendously close friends. I feel blessed that we are such great buddies. And I read under the cover of my electric blanket. It was a very dark and wet day, so being so cozy felt fabulous.
I’m really struggling to speak right now. My speech worsened five days ago. I think I’ll speak better again; I reckon this is just a blip that will pass. I hope so. I’m looking forward to three very chill days starting today. What with all my texting and Zooming with SPACE people, I’m glad to have a few days to myself. There may be baking; there may be cooking. I will see how it goes. I’m, hoping the rest will improve my voice.
Because Thursday was a designated ‘special’ day, two people called me on my land line. I could only grunt in reply. I couldn’t even get a single syllable out. Thankfully, while Todd was still on the land line trying to reach me, I opened up FaceTime and called him on FaceTime so at least I could get some words out.
I don’t give a shit about my speech being bad. That’s the good news. In the past I would get distressed by a decline in my speaking ability, but no more. I just don’t care. I can communicate so many other ways, and nothing is going to interfere with my joy of living her on this spectacular little island.
I was very happy to leave the house for a restaurant meal, especially with two dear friends. I knew that I’d be back in a matter of two hours, so I was not worried about Sheba being stressed. I left her with a rawhide bone to chew and drove very happily to meet my friends at Woodfire.
friday
Got up and followed my usual morning routine. When I opened the fridge the first time, I thought I smelled something bad. The second time I opened the fridge, I knew there was something bad in it. I spent 45 minutes, and it never occurred to me to check the chicken because it was only 2 days old, and I had it well wrapped. So, I didn’t check the chicken until I’d checked everything else, including taking out the drawers. Then, the chicken, and I knew right away.
The day passed like every other, a bit of YouTube, a lot of reading, walking, feeding the fire, chores, etcetera. You’ve read it here a thousand times, But I am content in the pattern.
I think I know why my speech is bad. I was sitting at my desk, and it occurred to me to wonder why my speech had become so much worse. I knew right away—rather, I think I knew right away. I wrote about it being a special day because I didn’t want to mention that it was my birthday, and I hate it when it’s my birthday.
I don’t like the attention. I cried when I thought about it. I hate attention, except when I am onstage, and then I like to earn the attention of the audience, and when I do, I love their attention—when I’m onstage. But I hate it after the show. Off-stage, I am out of control and vulnerable to others.
I told Dwight, and he said right away that it was characteristic of childhood abuse. Laura, his wife, is a therapist and she’d mentioned what he’d repeated. It’s deeply, deeply, cripplingly disturbing to me, my birthday. My 50th birthday was the worst day of my life. I’ve written about it on this blog twice before, but everybody at a surprise party, looking at me all at once, expecting me to be happy and make a funny speech. It made me physically ill. I fled the party. Shameful, but true. I have a problem. I don’t like attention.
In France, my wonderful friends, Guy and Marie-Claude, took me into the Alps for New Year’s Eve. There were a dozen of us, all friends of my friends, all French, all with tons of shared memories, and I could not understand anything that was going on. I felt very uncomfortable; I tried to fake comprehension by imitating the reactions of others. It was horrid.
And then, a kind and lovely woman, leaned forward, turned her head in my direction, and very slowly, and with exaggerated expression, she asked me: “D'où venez-vous ?” Every single person at the table stopped talking and everyone in the room, all twenty-two eyes were on me. They were being polite, and kind, but I froze, closed my eyes, bowed my head, and gently turned it side to side. It just happened. Then, Marie-Claude came over and rescued me. That was 1974. That’s why I made all my dresses but didn’t want to show them. I don’t like attention.
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This morning, rising in the infinite blackness of morning here on Gabe where there is usually no ambient light to a glorious surprise: clear skies and a full moon bringing a beautiful light into Pinecone Park. We’ll enjoy our morning walk without rain and some brightness, and then we’ll return to our nice warm house with a big fire.
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