Cat Skinner Club

Oh for a muse of fire…

I can’t write anymore. I’ve been reduced to the cliche of the writer who writes about not being able to write.

I’ve stared longingly at the dashboard of this blog for hours, for days, wishing I had something to say, but the things I want to share I can’t write here.

Is anyone still reading?

What if we make a pact? I will post every day for a week, just for the sake of posting. Perhaps it will be dry, and tedious, but at least there will be something to chew on. Brain jerky. It will be like one of those photo blogs with snapshots of the contents of my head.

Work is all-consuming right now, which is good. It filters the worry usually reserved for the rest of my life. It makes my general anxiety make more sense. Currently I’m asking myself why I do this at all, but I know ten minutes after show time I’ll remember.

Therapy yesterday felt clear, and positive. I know what I want. That’s good. Not sure I’ll get it, but none of us really knows, do we?

I’m particularly interested in seeing how the next three months of my life shake out. No big decisions, no grand conclusions, no final deductions can be made at present. So I remain suspended in time, meditating on patience and faith.

Then I need to know, to absolutely know where I’m headed.

I’m convinced that there is a reason for all this waiting. A reason that I’m vaguely aware of, but unable to articulate. Spidey sense whispers secrets in my ear, especially when I’m dreaming, and I’m listening all of the time.

Last night I dreamt that I was in Paris with an old friend from high school named Julie. She and I were in the Metro, and she was seeing me off as I headed to the airport, destined for home. The news in the city of lights was consumed with tales of a homicidal maniac who had been attacking people with a razor, but I had barely paid any heed because of the language barrier and because I was enjoying my vacation.

As Julie kissed me goodbye, we were approached by this lanky, gaunt man wearing dirty, tattered clothes. He had dark hair, and hollow, glassy eyes. He grabbed my hand suddenly, and forcefully, and pressed something into it, using his own hand to force my grip. His lips parted and he whispered “Merci” as he swiftly used my hand to drag a flashing blade across his throat. I must have pulled back, because he wasn’t satisfied with the cut, so he did it again, this time hitting his jugular. Julie and I watched him bleed to death in my arms.

The authorities came. There were enough eye witnesses to realize that I was in no way at fault. I was traumatized, and fortunately a very kind female investigator was able to arrange my questioning for later.

I took solace at the home of my friend Lenni, who shared a lovely Paris apartment with her partner Simon and their wee baby. As the investigator was packing me into the taxi, I woke up, and needed to take several deep breaths.

My dreams are vivid, and disturbing, and in every single one I’m either looking for something or trying to get somewhere.

Meh, quoth I.

I’m Not Going Anywhere

A genuine shrunken head

Some people still believe in this. They can look you in the eye and say it with complete conviction.

I used to be one of those people.

Now life and love have taught me that our best intentions can often be foiled by the complex machinations of the universe. That forever and ever are words best left to describe diamonds, or the hole in the ozone layer. We just don’t know when the jig is up, and any jig is subject to this rule.

But still…what a beautiful thing to hear: “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.”

Even though I can’t believe in the phrase, I can believe in the intention. That was my revelation this week past. I can believe again, really believe in the possibility and the power of love.

Life has been a bit tricky of late. Big questions needing firm answers, big issues needing the whole team to tackle them. Big possibility at work, requiring big focus and big attention.

While my first instinct is to run for the hills, I did just the opposite and tried to roll up all of my sleeves and dig in. Huge, difficult conversations were had. Feelings and wants and needs laid out on the table. Commitments and promises were made, and now I sit and wait for the follow through. I wait to see how it all shakes out.

My therapist asked me a question last week that I was surprised I could not immediately answer. As I meditate on this, I think it’s becoming more clear. “What do you need?”

Here’s what I’ve come up with:

Stability
Security
Support
Inspiration
Friendship
Love
Laughter
Passion
Family
A quiet room of my own
Strong Partners
Opportunity
Trust
Faith
A king sized bed

Now, I ask you:

What do you want?

Nine Lives

I’m a lion, I’m a cat, and I’m a fire dragon. I credit these things for my ability to mostly bounce back from whatever life might toss in my direction. I’m good with things like hope, most of the time.

Today, I feel like I’m on the precipice again. Looking up, and looking way, way down. If I step off, I’m sure to plummet, but there’s always the possibility that somewhere down there, through the fog and haze, is a fluffy clearing where I will land softly and beautifully, and triumphant.

How does one gather the nerve to step off the ledge, over and over again? Even with a perfect record of brilliantly executed landings, or just a few minor bumps and scrapes, there is always the possibility that the next plunge might be your last. It’s possible that the fall will be so bad, there’s no bouncing back, and you’ll never again get the chance to consider pushing off with your toes.

I’m so tired. Deeply tired, down to my very core. I look into the mirror, into the eyes of a woman I know very well, and neither one of us can tell me how much strength is left there.

Ask my mom – if I am not good at something, I get overwhelmed with frustration and anger. I didn’t know this, but as a child, she’d have to intercept and cease activities so that I wouldn’t spiral into the pit of despair. All this time I’d thought she was just really impatient with me. Now, as an adult, if I can’t do something well I lose interest, shut down, or just get angry with myself. I’m eyeballing affairs of the heart right now with the same wary look I give to mathematical equations.

This time I’ve given it my all. I’ve emptied all my pockets and laid everything out on the table. I’ve opened up my heart wider than I even imagined it’s rusty hinges would allow. I’ve loved with every cell in my body.

The desire to jump off the cliff is not enough. Love is not enough. You need trust, and faith, and communication, and security. I need to know that if I’m going to jump, there’s a safe landing at the bottom. That there will always be a safe landing. My helmet and my knee pads are completely useless if there is not.

In fact, it’s probably smarter to just walk away from the ledge if you have no idea what’s at the bottom.

Will all these hands catch me?

Embrace Tiger, Return to Mountain

Despite this clear, sunny, temperate day I feel very small and very uncertain.

Yes, I look forward to starting rehearsals tonight for our Valentine’s day extravaganza. True I have lots of exciting professional stuff going on. Overall, I have lots to feel humble about.

Brain and gut are tapping me on the shoulder though. When I turn to address them, brain has her arms crossed and she’s shaking her head at me. Gut has his eyes down cast and is shuffling his feet. When he can’t look me in the eye, I get very uneasy indeed.

It’s the kind of day that merits coffee, and an extended sit-down with my journal. List making kinds of activities are on the horizon, starting with the “what I need” list.

Perhaps I’ve been a little idealistic. Some might even say delusional. I believe that all the choices I have made have been based on remarkable, compelling evidence in favour of these decisions.

Now, I will sift carefully through the zip-locked bags of Exhibit A’s and Exhibit B’s and re-examine the case. These periodic evaluations are essential, I think, especially when we’re talking about a possible life-sentence.

The best outcome, of course, is to realize that there is no trial, or investigation required. To realize that peace and prosperity prevail, and everything I’ve dreamed of is not only possible, but probable.

Perhaps tomorrow will feel just like that.

Face Value

As cliche as this sounds, with New Year’s Eve approaching, I’m thinking about resolutions for the coming year. I’m proud to say that I’m generally good about sticking to the ones I make, and I think that this is because I really try to give them some thought.

One of the biggest issues that I’d like to tackle in 2010 is my inability to live in the moment. The happier I am, the more I find I’m looking over my shoulder to see what kind of bad is coming my way. In fact, I don’t think it would be a stretch to say that sometimes, hopefully subconsciously, I create problems because the peace and calm scares the bejesus out of me. I fear settling deeply into happiness in case it should suddenly come bursting apart at the seams.

Ridiculous, right?

I don’t want to allow fear and self-sabotage into my love life. I’ve been mostly successful at forbidding these things from clouding my professional life, and I’ve realized some pretty incredible success as a result.  After wishing so hard for this kind of happiness, I would like to receive it gracefully, and graciously.

So, resolution number one:

I will endeavor to be present each day, and accepting of the love I am given, free of doubt and fear.