Economy and List

 
A Fierce Practice 2 18 17
 

Location: Cabin Couch
One Notable Thing: The tallest point in Wisconsin, all 1,951 feet of it. (Mt. Timm)
Letter: R
Status: No Proofies

Library books require economy. No marginalia, but maybe the lightest pencil scratch, or the tiniest of folded down corner. Knowing I can only mark the most notable of words that fall into a line and snag my interest as my eyes flow past. Unlike the books I own, wasting highlighter ink and graphite, greedily. Making note of anything that it seems may be of importance, some time. No filter. No lens. No thoughtfulness. Recording just because I can. 

She writes about lists. The power of the yet-to-come-alive that they contain. The potential they create just by writing them. The way we bring ideas, and then action, to being. By writing one thing after another, swatting at something loose and zipping through the air, like a summer fly. Buzzing, yet hard to grasp. Each chapter ends with a definition. List: 
But I am in a verby mood. And all I can think is the teetering, the hull from side to side, the zig zag path of the wayfarer. 

  1. intransitive verb

  2. :  to tilt to one side; especiallyof a boat or ship :  to tilt to one side in a state of equilibrium (as from an unbalanced load) — compare heel.

As this becomes an intransitive day. My body a verb that does not take a direct object. I appear, arrive, become, belong, collapse, consist, cry, depend, disappear, emerge, exist. Rest, sit, sleep, smile. Stand, stay, vanish. Wait. Appear. 

I live in this body. The body I was born into. That combination of flesh and heart and hormones and head and cycles and emotions. No instruction manual. And only the length of my life to figure out how it works. I am still figuring out how it works. In what environments it runs best. The type of fuel it runs on, and what kind of rest it needs. I've know the length of its cycle for years and years now, but I am only just now figuring out how to cope with each lap.

To scoop up my book, and walk down the hall to the bedroom. Stack two pillows long ways, and another two against the headboard as a backrest. To recline and fold open the spine, diving deeply into the words on the page with hearty laughter and debate whorling down the hall. The background music to the time I need for recharging. To find people who understand my leaving, don't ask me to stay, and don't worry when I step out. It isn't until I have these moments of comfort that I can look back and understand what my body has been asking for, wanting, for all these years. 

Full marginalia HERE