POET | PLAYWRIGHT | TEACHING ARTIST
On my second cup of coffee and my first sentence. Another night of poor sleep. 4 hours. I figure at some point something has to give. I have no choice but to accept the long nights right now. At least my mind isn’t racing, nor am I ruminating. E. says that when I do sleep,…
Managed to negotiate the trail yesterday, with all the fallen trees and scattered branches in the half-dark, only to come home and slip in the living room. Limping a little still this morning, so no run. Last night’s big flakes are now big drops of rain, so there is a large part of me satisfied…
I am excavating – rummaging through – piecing together memories. Exploring the random bridges between them that put me often in the wrong body in the wrong place for it all to make sense. And I “think through” the logical narrative, which only borrows from the stories I have been told. And they never line…
B. is learning techniques to cope with her loss of peripheral vision. Reading is one of the first things the glioblastoma has taken from her. She said she has trouble listening to audiobooks. Her mind wanders. My mind used to wander, too. I could sit and listen to anything. I still can’t. But I began…
(This is a cross-post from my process journal, which is password protected.) I was talking to my doctor about this new project – examining memory. My insistence on the idea that our present determines our past and not vice versa. How if our memories are reconstructed every time we call them up, we are necessarily…