Through the Looking Glass

In Lawrence, things are vaguely familiar but undeniably altered.

For awhile, Unity Church hired me every other month for a gig. Eventually I chafed under the "no instrumentals" rule. Prayers and sermon and announcements from the pulpit...song lyrics projected onto the big screen...guest musician singing to you.  At Unity your thoughts are always guided by someone saying or singing something. 

The fitted sheet in my new queen-size bed linens set is larger than queen but smaller than king. I fold the top sheet in half to prevent it dragging on the floor. The set contains six pillow cases.

As part of a summer youth program at the mental health center, I led an 8-week theater arts curriculum. I asked several times to meet with the staff beforehand to coordinate my offering with their program objectives but received no response.  At the end of the program, no one but the kids said thanks or goodbye. I requested a debriefing meeting to get some feedback on my debut professional effort in Lawrence.  It's been a month; my request was neither granted nor acknowledged.

Public transportation stops around sundown and doesn't run at all on Sunday in a town that brags about being more "woke" than the rest of the state.

 Things sorta look familiar here but they feel different. They don't quite fit.

I still say it was a mistake to move here but some of the most important lessons of my life have been learned through mistakes.

I'm waking up now it seems.  Two weeks ago I sold the car. After two years of paying enough in gas, repairs, registration and insurance to "buy" the car three times over every year, I decided to stop shooting myself in the foot. 

Two or three months ago it dawned on me:  if I'd applied for subsidized housing when I first arrived, I would be at the top of the two-year waiting list now.  With better-late-than-never optimism, I completed an application Amazingly, it took less than three months to rise to the top of the waiting list.  This week I move into a top floor apartment at Babcock Place where rent and utilities will cost one-third of what I've been paying.

I never read Alice Through the Looking Glass. Does she make it through and out?  Does she learn something along the way?

Film Recommendation: Mountain (2017)

Quite possibly the most beautiful film about people I'll never meet, doing things I will never do, in places I will never see, for reasons I will never understand, that I will ever see.

Thought-provoking to the max.  A meditation and a sermon all in one. Worth seeing.

Call Me Miss Manners...or Something

Tip:  When you want to invite someone out to dinner or you'd like to spend time with your friend in some other way,

do not begin the conversation with "What are you doing tomorrow?"

or

"Are you busy Thursday?"

This intro, in effect, puts your friend on the spot -- essentially saying, "show me yours first" -- and that is neither your intention nor the objective of the interaction.

What your friend is doing tomorrow or Thursday really isn't any of your business, in the first place; nor is it the heart of the matter.  The heart of the matter is that you'd like to spend time with her.

So just say that.

"Hey, I'd love to have dinner with you tomorrow night.  Are you open?"

If your friend has a conflict, she'll let you know. 

If you start with "What are you doing tomorrow?" and I list for you everything I'm doing tomorrow, you now possess my agenda and we're no closer to talking about what you really wanted to talk about.  As well, I have disclosed, revealed, but what have you revealed?

You might consider my agenda and decide "Oh, she's busy. She can't have dinner with me" when, in fact, I'm eager to spend time with you and nothing on my schedule is fixed and inflexible.  We've just wasted time on agendas and internal deliberations and missed the essential question altogether.

Approach your friend with love, tell them what's on your heart, and let them respond.  Three simple steps. 

Curtain Down

 . 

I am done.

Just got word that I was NOT chosen for the part-time, temporary Materials Handler position (i.e., book shelver) I applied for at the library.

I'm taking this as official proof that I am unemployable.

Monday, I'll go get my name on the subsidized housing waiting list.  If I'd done this when I first arrived in Lawrence, I'd be at the head of the list now.

I'm poor.

I'm not deflated or angry or frustrated. I'm just done. Ready to get off the job-hunt ferris wheel and redirect my focus toward learning how to live with what I have. There's actually some relief attached. The hunt was stressful and humiliating. I have become Mother Woods.

Any Port In A Storm? Not yet...

I want money because there are things I need and places I want to go that I cannot afford. So far, my focus has been on finding "a job" as a means of securing funds.

The report widely promulgated currently is that the job market is booming. There's lots of "work" and lots of employers are hiring and lots of people are finding jobs.

So my claim of "I can't find work" is viewed suspiciously by some.

I want money but I am not willing to do "anything" to get it.

I have rejected some offers and ideas because I've decided I am either unwilling or unable to --

work for $7 an hour or work 40 hours a week at a job I don't like or work for a company whose ethics are questionable or volunteer indefinitely in hopes of some day being hired or commute 45 minutes to and from a job that pays $10 an hour or break the law.

I hated the desperation and stress of job-hunting when I was younger. Now I hate it because the process favors employers rather than job seekers. It is a patently dehumanizing and unfair system and there seems to be no way and nowhere to file a grievance.

Maybe this bothers everybody as much as it bothers me but apparently it's the only game running.

Is there another way to get money?

The Great Mystery

Last night I dreamed I had meticulously packed for a destination. The journey would involve several stops but I didn't know when or where or for how long I would stop.

I put my bags in my brother's car. When we stopped I wasn't sure if this was a stop on my journey or a quick stop he needed to make on our way to perhaps the airport, perhaps the train depot. He left when I got out of the car but said he'd be back for me.

It was a season of celebration, parades in the street that reminded me of Mardi Gras but people were only mildly enjoying themselves. No cheering or laughter or applause. Sitting on the floor in the main room of a house where women and children lived, I examined colorful art by children. All around me people were speaking in a language I could not identify. I saw so much that I wanted to photograph but my camera and suitcase and cell phone were in my brother's car.

Day turned into night and then stretched toward light again. I wondered if my brother would ever return. I wondered if I'd missed my connection. Only my joy in the children's art felt true and familiar.

Be Like a Mirror

Every move since I left New Orleans has been at best ill-considered and most of the time a mistake.

Am I about to do it again?

With my most sincere Quit underway, I lay awake in my bedroom last night drenched in the smell of cigarette smoke wafting up from the apartment downstairs. One more evidence that I should never have moved to Lawrence, KS, I thought. I spent some minutes arranging a list of unfortunate coincidences and painful synchronicities since May 2017.

Meditation and piano students are my life-savers for now.