Monday, December 29, 2008


17 bazillion inches of snow fell over Portland for 12 straight days before Christmas, the most snow since ever. Honestly, snow has never fallen on earth like it did here, in my yard.

My car broke through one chain, then the other and after several days of grinding the motor over icy ridges and ooofing through snowdrifts, I parked and left the car at home. I still have about 40,000 more miles to the moon, depending, of course, where she is in her elliptical orbit when I touch down, and I can't burn up all the ju-ju left in that car during one plucky commute.

The day after Christmas I tromped through the filthy slush and rode the filthy bus downtown in the company of all mankind for my first appointment with a therapist. On the 9th floor overlooking downtown and east, she asked my why I'd come. WELL, I WAS STARTING TO FEEL REALLY ANXIOUS AND IT WORRIES ME THAT I AM A HOSTILE ENVIRONMENT FOR MY BABY. I THINK I'VE GOT A PAYLOAD OF STRESS.

I have been through a cluster of major life events in the last two years. Generally, my response to astronomical levels of stress is to sort of evaporate and drift into the ether. But this time, before the eupepsia and renascent fettle of the second trimester, I felt dreadfully rooted, and dull like my brain had swollen in my skull. Being speechless and short of breath are two things that absolutely will kill me.

But that was then and I am here now, even though I am quite not unhappy. I came still because life cannot be trusted, because I am a god damned Ouroboros, because what threads one day to the next is an eternal recurrence. Wherever I think I am going, I will never fucking get there. It trips me up, again and again and again.

She asked me a million questions:
Do you hear or see things that are not there?

Do you have thoughts of suicide?

Do you ever experience periods of days or weeks where you can function with little or no sleep, build rocket ships and cure cancer?


Two days later. I totally forgot where I was going with this, something about how she is really short and wants me to come back to talk about my mother. Who doesn't? It is a very entertaining story.

Now the snow is gone, there were no long filthy goodbyes. Tonight I ran down the Springwater Trail with Owen, in the dark and rain alongside Johnson Creek. The water is high, and light malty, rushing with the melted snow.

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