Amber M.

Everything i wrote for this class has fallen out of my computer. Everything. Plus everything I've written over the past several years. Gone. Nothing in the iCloud, either. Good heavens, really: How is one supposed to trust something called "Cloud" to hold things? Evidently the people who named this have never seen actual clouds in operation. A cloud can be dissipated with a stiff breeze.

As was all my writing. Ironically, the topic I had for this week was how moths have got in and everything I've knit is disintegrating before my eyes and I have no way to stop it, and how that paralleled what's happening in my body.

And then the iPad ate it. It disappeared before my eyes and there was no way to stop it.

I'm really hating life right now.

But we were talking about alignment, weren’t we?

I wrote several lists of skills and/or talents I’ve had over the years. Some I don’t really need anymore, so it’s not a great loss. I’m not interested in doing any more counted cross stitch, for example. And there are some skills I very much want to learn but now never will. Weaving cloth comes immediately to mind. Deciding whether my body can handle it requires actually doing it, as in buying equipment and classes and stuff. I don’t have the wherewithal to even consider it. 

Some of my listed talents are gone and I miss them very much. Singing, for instance: I’m a Broadway Belter – or anyhow I was until arthritis got into my ribs and made deep breathing too difficult. Writing longhand. I’ve got an entire 3-volume novel written out in longhand, and I loved writing it that way. I can compose on the keyboard, but somehow there’s a more emotional connection between me and my words when they come directly out through my hand. Even typing is becoming too hard to do, so I have on my “desired skills” list the ability to compose verbally what I re-learned to do on the keyboard and which I’d really rather do with a pen and paper. Each modality has its own learning curve.

And when I look over these long lists filed under 7 different categories, I am absolutely overwhelmed. I’ve lost so much. It’s just not fair. Whining about what’s lost doesn’t do any good, however; focus elsewhere, Kid.

Losing all my work yesterday was devastating. Mark tried in vain to get it back but no soap, no hope. While he worked and ultimately bought me a better word processor app, I made all my unhappy noises. I wanted to scream. I wanted to pace in tight little circles until everything went back to where it was before I pushed the “stupid” button. I was in a panic, in a tizzy, in quite a state. I went back to my room and cried into my sleeve for awhile before picking up the black Kona I’ve been covering with Paint-Stix rubbings. The simple act of making a rubbing, moving the fabric and making another, rinse and repeat, helped calm me and settle me. My tears dried up and my breathing calmed down.

There’s a lesson in that. Switching focus can make all the difference in the way things look. Sometimes life is so stinky unfair bully-mean that the only way to make it through the day is to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. And then sitting down for awhile.