Catharsis

I remember when a day passing between my writing fits was uncommon.

It has been literally months now since I have penned anything of substance.  Ideas roll about in my head, but for some reason I just do not allow them to escape.  I know part of the problem is fear.  But that is a topic for another day.

My emotions are having an adverse reaction to my writing celibacy.  And I am fairly certain that my beloved would lock me in our bedroom with a pencil and a pad of paper if he thought it would help.

Perhaps that's what I need.  I keep putting every other action item on my multiple "To-Do" lists above the simple act of writing.  Or, as I take it, catharsis.

Even now, 2 AM, I sit here, unable to fall asleep, my mind tumbling.  Reading didn't bring about the heavy eyelids as it normally does, so my only thought was to pull my lap top covertly under the covers so the light doesn't wake my snoring dear.

I hate when the cursor blinks at me repeatedly over and over, like someone stomping their foot impatiently waiting for you to do or say something.  To make up your mind.  Keep blinking, little black line.  You only spur me to keep my fingers flying across this keyboard.

God.  I have started talking to my computer.  I need to get my butt down to writing so they don't commit me this early in life.

Of course, it did work well for Sylvia Plath.  Except for the suicide.  I'll try to steer clear of that.

Weird Side Effect

I was listening to the television in the background (Who Wants To Be a Millionaire) as I was cleaning the house. A drug commercial came on, as they seem to be prevalently mid-day, and I heard the weirdest possible side effect ever.

BURPING.

This drug, for whatever reason, causes chronic and severe burping in certain cases. Hmmm...

It sounds like something Bart Simpson would put in someone's drink.

June 1, 2007

I always drink the milk left in the bowl after I eat my cereal. Not because I like the taste.In fact, at times my stomach turns at the thought of the weakly flavored milk pooled at the bottom of my bowl. But I must drink it. It's more of a compulsion than anything else.

It's like the kiss goodbye at the end of a relationship. A hint of the flavor, but nothing like the real thing that once existed. The aftertaste stains your mouth and leaves you searching for something, anything to drink down and disguise the sensation. A gallon of water to cover the sickly sweetness. But you need that to end the experience completely.

You have to have closure in everything you do.

Otherwise, at the end of your life, you are a frayed piece of string, nothing tied off or complete.

Hands On Nasvhille

Go to Hands On Nashville.  It's simple and easy to sign up as a volunteer.  Nashville needs us, and if we are able bodied, we should go.

I will be donating my time now and probably for months ahead.  

I hope to see you all there.

Nashville, TN

I cried last night.

As some of you realize that stop here often, I live in Nashville, TN.  This past weekend, my beloved home and city was DEVASTATED by flood waters.  People lost their houses, cars, photos, beloved pets, and their lives.

On Saturday night, we watched the news, staring in disbelief at what unfolded in front of us.  I-24 under water, a portable building floating along, ripping apart as it bumped into cars and semis.  The Cumberland River spilling into neighborhoods, and people being evacuated.  We went to bed uneasily and late that night, wondering what tomorrow would bring, not believing the images we had watched.

Sunday morning, and still the rain coming down, seeming never to end, with the intention to drown us all.  We lost power, but we were so lucky that our neighborhood was not flooded.  We lost some trees, minor wind damage, but nothing so catastrophic as many, many others.  We spent the day without power, wondering what was happening.  Not able to go far in our vehicle because of the rain and flooding at the end of our roads.  

Did you happen to see The Dairy King on Thompson Lane by Mill Creek?  That is only a few streets over from me.  That is how lucky we were.  

Sunday night, we went to a friends house after the rain stopped to take showers and eat warm food.  We watched the weather channel, expecting to see news of this historical flood.  Our local stations were on it.  Nationally, no one seemed to notice.  I did not really think anything about it.  It had just happened, obviously, news reports would build on it soon.

20 reported deaths in Tennessee so far.

Our city's history has been drowned.  The Grand Ole Opry is underwater.  Opry Mills and the Opryland Hotel are basically destroyed and we have to be rebuilt.  And we do not have flood insurance.  Nashville hasn't flooded like this in centuries.  We had record rainfall.  Record meaning that the amount of rain that fell in one day during the flooding is more than ANY recorded value since they began recording rainfall.

And already we're rebuilding.  The Opry has planned shows in other venues in town that weren't damaged.  We have massive volunteer efforts going to people's houses, helping to clear out the ruined, pull out drywall, try to salvage what isn't gone.  People bringing in water, as we have lost one of our water treatment plants.

And I assumed everyone knew.  No.

We weren't on the news.  The billions of dollars in devastation and lives lost.  No, this is not the biggest tragedy ever.  But it is a tragedy to us.  It's different if you move in an area you expect to flood, around the oceans or gulfs.  It was unexpected to here, and if you asked any weatherman or flood plane analyst, they would tell you it was virtually impossible.  Some people were even denied flood insurance by insurance companies, because people do not need it in this land locked area.  We need it now, but now it is too late.

I cried last night.  Watching these families on the donation special, on Andersoon Cooper's show, as he came to Nashville.  People spilling out their hearts, their loss, but most importantly, their hope.  No one may have taken notice of us, and come running to help as in other disasters.  But we did what we do.  We pulled together as a city and a community, and we began to rebuild ourselves.  Donations, volunteers, any little bit helps.  

And so I cried.  I cried for my home, and what mother nature has done to her.  I cried for my fellow citizens of Nashville, and the pain they have to endure.  I cried for those who lost their lives, swept away by a flood we never knew was coming.

The Country Music Hall of Fame re-opens on Saturday.  Downtown has been cleared.  Visit us.  Come and see.  We are devastated, but we are rising.

READ:

We Are Nashville

Anderson Cooper