A sequence of choices

Photo: today on "Lilac Way" a juvenile brown snake, Storeria dekayi, about 15 cm (6 in) long, crosses the path in warm sunshine.

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"It may help if you give yourself a weekly "query quota." Boursaw suggests two or three well-crafted queries per week, whereas Bell-Rehwoldt aims for five....When the odds seem insurmountable, remember that every successful freelancer once had a blank list of credits."

~Jenna Glatzer, "Getting into the glossies" in WritersDigest.com


"abulia, also aboulia \uh-BOO-lee-uh; uh-BYOO-\, noun:
Loss or impairment of the ability to act or to make decisions."

~wordoftheday, October 5

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A study involving 600 participants in the US has shown that warm weather—not just increased daylight—improves people's moods. The results indicate this factor is more significant in winter and spring than the summer, when hot weather actually depresses our moods. Of course it isn't enough for the sun to be shining, you really have to go outside.

Meanwhile with global warming, we're supposed to expect better environmental conditions in parts of Canada. It means a longer growing season on the Prairies; more profit for farmers. Even parts of the high Arctic will become considerable for certain agricultural crops.

Maybe it's a harbinger of long-term improvement in my moods. If we keep having fine autumns like this one, I wouldn't doubt it. Keep pumping those greenhouse gases, everyone.

Lately I have become more aware of what I need at a given moment, as opposed to what I want. Maybe the Remeron and better sleep have something to do with that. When I get out of bed it's easier to eat breakfast because something in my head switches on an tells me that's what I need right now: "Ignore the computer for a few minutes. Okay, now it's time to do our journal writing. Uh-uh, no coffee this morning, we're feeling too edgy already. Okay 20 minutes with the notebook. Here's what we need to write about. I detect some anger. Better write about that. No, don't write about smashing his shins, turn it to something constructive. Who cares if no one else is going to read this? This is your mind. Make the best of it. Okay, that was good. Now we need to go to the bathroom."

It's like having a tiny parent deep in my cerebral cortex. It might be annoying, except that it knows the best for me, knows better than anyone ever has.

I used to spend hours playing my favourite computer games. Still do sometimes. Spider solitaire and parcheesi. It took up whole days and weeks sometimes.

Recently I noticed something strange. Whenever I play those computer games my anxiety symptoms—that nape-of-the-neck prickling—go away. I have had a huge feedback loop helping me avoid what's necessary. I always understood in a theoretical way, now suddenly I can see the thoughts and feelings as they happen. It's like this little reddish-orange pill has given me a queer set of new glasses for seeing things as they really are, giving me the power to make decisions.

So there's one voice telling me what I want: "Let's play solitaire. We'll feel better."

But now I hear the voice from the other shoulder arguing, "No, you need to do something constructive: write to the employment advisor. It's time to work. It's harder now, but we'll feel better in the long run."

This is insane, schizophrenic: the angel and the devil sitting there, quarrelling like in the cartoons. Except it isn't a question of conscience or morals, simply one of self-care.

After I wrote the email to the advisor today, I clicked over to my reading links, started to view the news and information sites I've been perusing lately. This is another good thing; a new part of the ritual I have built into my day. It informs me. I challenge myself to remember things. It's like a game. So I was starting to read, then the sunlight at the window caught my eye.

And there it was as clear as day: "This reading is good, but it can wait two hours. The sun will not wait. What I need right now is a walk. To get some of this fine pleasant weather rubbed down into my skin, eyes and soul."

I live these good days as a series of frames, pictures waiting to be painted. I see the square before me. I have choices about how to fill it. Man, I don't know what this is. It's like the difference between knowledge and wisdom, knowing what we need to do, and feeling the power to do it. I hope it lasts.

Over the next few days I need to start telling myself to write query letters.

Thursday evening special

I've used a lot of restraint lately, putting the emphasis of my journal on writing. And I'm happy with the way it's going, both therapeutic and creatively stimulating. It's fuelling all kinds of ideas. I feel much more experienced and competent as a writer than as photographer, but the writing wasn't happening. I was blocked. Now I'm breaking past some blockages.

I'm still excited about photography. I just can't afford to invest so much time and emotional energy in it. Once in a while though, I'll indulge.

This will be one of those days. It was an awesome: 24 °C (76°F) and I went for a good, long afternoon walk. Meanwhile friends, some very nearby and some very far away, were also enjoying an exquisite autumn day, and sharing photos in their journals. This is a response.

Sumacs:




And the river. This one was taken Sept. 28. I was waiting for the right opportunity to post it, and it seems to fit here:




Happy Thanksgiving to everyone from Canada. I'll probably have time to make my regular post tomorrow. Then I'm heading out to pick up Marian and Brenna and take them to the cottage for the long weekend. We'll be spending it with my parents, and expecting my cousin Catherine to join us for dinner one evening.

I'm excited about that. Catherine sent me a tremendously supportive email a couple years ago. She was greatly fond of a gay uncle on her mother's side, who died not long ago, and wanted me to know she was firmly on my side. We have exchanged occasional emails since then, but I have not seen her since our grandmother's funeral in 1994. Catherine is about 46 and single. She used to be a professional cellist, but now teaches high school. Her parents are both dead and her relationship with her brother seems strained, so it will be nice to include her in our family for Thanksgiving. I know it feels good for my parents, as they were both very fond of her father, my dad's brother Bud.

I plan to make multiple phone posts from the cottage to keep in touch, one way. If anyone would transcribe them for me, that would be wonderful.

Last Thanksgiving I spent at Amber Fox farm. I forgot my camera. This year I expect the fall colours to be at their peak. I will not forget it this time.