FEEDING MY SOUL

Tired today. Went to sleep early, woke up a few times starting around 4am, and feel pooped. Took my temperature, and it's normal. But of course, the mind races and you wonder.  What would happen if I had it? Would it be like my friend, who indeed did have it but was told to stay home until it got really bad, and somehow made it through? He looked like ass for about a week, have trouble breathing, fever, and all that, but made it through and is now on the mend. We played D&D the other night, killed a bunch of orcs, and all seemed well. So that we cool. But every case is different, or so they say. For most, it's supposed to be mild. For some, deadly. I know life is uncertain, and nothing is permanent besides impermanence, but holy shit, it's a weird world. Anyhow, I'm up, coffee is on, dog has been let out, and I am blogging. This has become the one mainstay. I get up, let out the dog, put on the coffee, and write. I highly recommend it. I have kept a journal for most ofmy life, going back to high school, and every day I write in it is a good day, because I let out some of those half formed thoughts that if left in my brain do not go quietly into that deep night. No, the unexpressed thoughts I think fester, cloud the system, and become one of a long line of "what ever happened to that idea I had"s.  So I write as often as I can. Things with journaling really kicked in when I first read The Artist's Way. Before that, I would be a sporadic journal writer. I'd write every day for a period of time, then go for months without an entry. In the Artist's Way, they call writing in a journal doing your "morning pages", and the author made the point that all you really have to do is get up half an hour earlier than normal and just write whatever pops into your mind. I gave it a shot, it stuck, and here I am.

So, went into a Safeway for the first time in what seems like a year yesterday. It was eerie. The energy was muted, everyone kept their distance, and it was oh so quiet. Made me think of the movie The Mist. For the most part, shelves were stacked, though there were a few prominent empty patches in the produce section. As I rolled the cart around, if I came upon another shopper we'd both stop, make sure of our distance, nod and smile, and move on. We had already hit two other stores, and I had just left Lisa in the line at Trader Joe's, where they were monitoring how many people could go in, so as not to have it too crowded. People were waiting outside, evenly spaced, for their turn. 

And last night, I taught a few classes online. An acting for film class, and a rehearsal for School of Rock. Young people never cease to amaze me. So here and now, so in the moment. In the acting class, we worked on monologues. It was a small class, 3 kids, and went for an hour and a half. Then I had a two hour rehearsal with 24 kids. Yikes. But both sets were amazing, and there is something about focusing on other people, trying to help them figure things out, that energizes me, and keeps me going. It was hard to rehearse, to be sure, but the simple fact of being together, recognizing we are all going a little stir crazy, that we are not along, was a shot in the arm, and needed.

Other than shopping and teaching, I continue to write down memory after memory for a possible screenplay based on my early life. And out of nowhere, one of my oldest friends sends me a text this morning all about a memory he had  today of when we did the Mile Swim at Camp Chawanakee, a rite of passage where, around age 13 or so, you get up before the dawn, make your way to the shores of Shaver Lake high in the Sierra Nevada, and swim for a mile. I can see it clear in my mind's eye- the lake seeming to steam as the rays of the rising sun hit it, our voices carrying across the lake as we laughed and swam, the metal row boat in front of us with a camp counselor in it to make sure we didn't drown, passing Thunderbird Island, which was the mid-point, making it back to the shore, and the great sense of pride as we walked back to our campsite.

I find writing things down about the past easy right now. Of course, putting all these memories into a story is another thing entirely, and I haven't a clue as to how that will work out. But for the moment, it feeds my soul, like this blog does, and like teaching does. And that will suffice.

Here's a song.

https://youtu.be/3PZSpmAKxVY