Journal entry for February 15, 2018 (A mindfulness exercise)

Oh, wow. There have been gaps in my journaling. Whatever shall I do?

Most of the time spent has gone by in the most routine way, with daily/weekly regimens, punctuated by occasional drama and crisis that kind of weave their way through the routine. Suffice it to say that there's a bit of chronicling on Facebook, but it is only a a veneer, the side I want to show. Mostly, for attention.

What can I say? I'm just another narcissistic drama queen. This tone I'm taking right now--who or what am I channeling? And who or what is doing the channeling? I'm still trying to figure that out.

Right now I'm sitting outside because it is too nice of a day to spend indoors. Of course, it is also after 2 pm and, other than the 1/2 hour walk with the dogs and a ten minute exercise routine, this is my only activity.  And it is sitting in a chair on the front porch, writing in a notebook, so who are we kidding with the "active" part of activity.

I am writing to clear my mind. I figure if I can get these thoughts out of the way now, perhaps I will have a successful time meditating, when I commit to the whole 5 minutes. I had a whole series of questions to ask "myself" as I went into the task, so as to clear the way for the blinding moment of insight.

Let's see if I can remember the train of thought--

Something about who am I "really?" There's this finite physical being that I pretty much exclusively identify with. Then there's the whole array of encapsulated memories, thoughts, opinions, judgements--you know, mind stuff. Does that reside entirely in my brain?

It seems like when I am altering my brain with drugs or alcohol that those things change, sometimes permanently. Is there a cloud, or some safe storage device, where everything I've ever done, thought or said continues to exist, uncorrupted by time or perception?

I feel as if I am wasting time. I worry too much about today's problems becoming the bigger problems of tomorrow. My body goes through one perceived illness after another. Sometimes it circles back to the previous one, but normally, one will appear just as another is disappearing from view. Thank God for my limited attention span. Perhaps I can't multi-task any pain processing.

Anyway, it's a beautiful day in February. Grass is growing, birds are flying about. There's a faint, actually, pungent smell of I don't know what decomposing in the pasture. Mold, I'm guessing. Probably the source of my maladies. (see where my thoughts go). This was a good idea, coming out here where it's...well, outside. I brought a cup of tea with me to add to the ambiance.

This chair is a real stinker, though. Hard plastic, an old shower chair, it is not the kind of thing one could really relax in. But I'm not purposeful enough to haul out another chair from the living room. I'd have to clean the cat hair from it and then haul it back in afterward. All of which would take time away from my---hmm.

Time. Weigh the cost/benefit ratios. 5 minutes of work, to enjoy the pleasure of a comfy chair for the afternoon. Nah, not worth it. I would get antsy being all relaxed in that chair. I'm already getting squirrely, like I'm not fulfilling my purpose here.

Back to my line of----....._____

Oh, crap. Another pen dies under my watch. So into the house I go-- and I'm back with a new pen and a compromise: a pillow for this hard-ass chair.

So, part of this meditation "technique" is to let everything be exactly how it is. Technically then, I'm already meditating. I'm letting myself continue yammering on to this notebook, sipping some tea occasionally, and things are just going on without any intervention or objection from me.

I'm noticing, along with the pungent smell, some insect activity, dogs barking and a generator or possibly a lawnmower starting up. Pretty faint, in the distance. It's probably Bob checking the mail or feeding his chickens.

The fence guy showed up a few minutes ago, but I don't see any activity out of him yet. Birds, mostly, a truck motor, another neighbor checking the mail on their electric golf cart. My hotwire fence T-post caps rattling, as the wind gently blows  the tape.

Yellow grass flowers are the flavor of the week, popping out everywhere in little clusters. It's a quiet day. No chainsaws or heavy equipment in my immediate range of perception. But far off I hear a car, obviously a manual transmission, being forcefully driven away. Pretty quiet again. Sip some tea, why dontcha? Relaxing.

Trying to avoid thinking about my eye. My left eye is somewhat injured or irritated, infected or infested--I don't know. Just my latest drama. It's been over a month. I thought it was poison oak, but googling stuff just makes me more paranoid that it's something else.

I am probably conjuring up all kinds of stuff just by thinking about it. Face mites,  blepharitis, conjunctival chalaisis. And my face is peeling from dousing it with apple cider vinegar. But it was starting to peel beforehand, to be fair to the vinegar. More tea. Let's move on.

It's the kind of day I should be out riding my bike. Exploring or a least getting some cardio. Damn shame about my stupid eye and stupid face. It puts me off my game. I feel compelled to just sit around, doing the minimum until things get better. But what if they never do?

That's where I go in my head. I'm not even living in the real world. I'm in some worry world, where all outcomes are negative.

Two kids are riding a quad and being paced by a German shepherd. Now the whole neighborhood's dogs are barking. Not mine, though. They are most likely sleeping on the grass in the back yard, with the sun warming one side and cooling the other. Dreaming about dinner and peeing on stuff. And smelling stuff that other dogs have peed on.

Everything really is just as it is. It's like I'm not even here, although I am. Better than sitting inside in front of a computer. That was good tea, honey pooled up at the bottom for a satisfying finish.

Who will ever read this, I wonder? And why? Actually, my penmanship is so bad it's more like a secret cipher, so no one can interpret it anyway.

Nice, quiet day. Sharon is inside, of course, watching TV shows or sleeping. She would be enjoying this nice day if she could only even get as far as the front door.

The last time she was out this far, besides in an ambulance or fire truck, was back when she was still taking showers in the shower chair. I wheeled her out to the front door to meet the dogs. They barked at her, and she cried. They never bark at people, but apparently the wheelchair frightened them. She still cries when she thinks about that day.

It's one of my triggers, too. But I have so many triggers these days. Like "Party Size" when describing a bag of Doritos. Because I buy the bag while shopping in a robotic, depressed state, and even I know there isn't going to be any party. Who are they to cruelly promise such things? Or "Big Laughs" on an ad for some new sitcom.

This gets tricky because I've actually heard Sharon laughing at such shows. Merciful that she can be entertained by such banality. And shame on me for in any way looking down on such an innocent mind. Me and my jaded perception of things. I hope I can scrub away the layers of negative filters that don't allow me to see the good in anything.

Not exactly true, I do see it, but I immediately discount it and focus on the perceived flaws in anything. I'm letting it all be, even my rambling, my gross exaggerations, my filtered perception. I am just sitting here, occasionally shifting on this semi-comfortable pillow, and just taking notice. Am I done meditating yet, or should I start?