4.15 miles
marshall loop (cleveland)
65 degrees
humidity: 85% / dew point: 60
Mostly overcast, a few moments of sun, no shadows. Sticky, everything damp, difficult. I felt better during the run — distracted by the dew point and the marshall hill — but when I finished, I felt a heaviness: hormones. The NP agrees: perimenopause. The good news: I’m healthy, the new NP I went to is awesome, I don’t feel anxious, I have an order in for an SSRI (lexapro). The bad news: I feel bummed out (depression doesn’t quite fit, I think), there’s some problem with insurance so they can’t fill the prescription so I have no idea when I can actually start taking the medication. But it’s June, I have several cool books to dig into, and I just got a hug from my daughter so I’ll be okay.
10 Things
- the red of a cardinal seen as a flash
- one small white boat on the river
- shadow falls falling, sounding like silver
- the smell of breakfast at Black — faint, sweet
- pink peonies about to pop
- click clack click clack — a roller skier’s poles: orange happiness
- the strong smell of fresh green paint on the base of a streetlamp
- the next streetlamp base: disemboweled, gray wire guts hanging out
- a purple greeting: morning! — good morning!
- a group of people in bright yellow vests laughing and walking on the road near the Danish American center — why?
added a few hours later: When writing this entry, I forgot about all the chanting I did. Started with triple berries:
raspberry strawberry blueberry
strawberry blueberry raspberry
Then added in some other 3 beat words:
intellect mystery history
remember remember remember
Then played with remember:
remember
try to re
member try
to remem
ber try to
remember
Then I decided to chant some of my favorite lines from Emily Dickinson:
Life is but Life
and Death but Death
Bliss is but bliss
and Breath but Breath
Life is but life is but life is but life
Death is but death is but death is but death
Bliss is but bliss is but bliss is but bliss
Breath is but breath is but breath is but breath
Life life life life
Death death death death
Bliss bliss bliss bliss
Breath breath breath breath
something important to remember: Donald Trump was convicted on all 34 counts of falsifying business records. He is now a felon and will be sentenced on July 11th. He can still run for office, but most likely won’t be able to vote (for) himself.
I’d like to focus on color this summer: June, July, and August. I’m not sure how I’ll do it, yet. Will I break it down my color? Possibly. Yesterday I picked up 2 color books that I had checked out 4 or 5 years ago. I’m anticipating that I’ll find them more useful now: The Secret Lives of Color and Chroma.
I also checked out Diane Seuss’ latest, Modern Poetry. Here’s one of her poems with some color in it:
Legacy/ Diane Seuss
I think of the old pipes,
how everything white
in my house is rust-stained,
and the gray-snouted
raccoon who insists on using
my attic as his pee pad,
and certain
sadnesses losing their edges,
their sheen, their fur
chalk-colored, look
at that mound of laundry,
that pile of pelts peeled away
from the animal, and poems,
skinned free of poets,
like the favorite shoes of that dead
girl now wandering the streets
with someone else’s feet in them.
At the beginning of the book, Diane Seuss offers a quote from Wallace Steven’s poem, Man with Blue Guitar, which I first learned of while reading Maggie Nelson’s Bluets. It is a long poem, so I won’t include all of it, just the part that Seuss quotes, with a few lines before that too:
from The Man with the Blue Guitar/ Wallace Stevens
Here, for the lark fixed in the mind,
in the museum of the sky. The cock
will claw sleep. Morning is not sun,
it is the posture of the nerves,
It is as if a blunted player clutched
The nuances of the blue guitar.
It must be this rhapsody or none,
The rhapsody of things as they are.