A few small miracles from the last 24hrs:
*Sitting across from Sommers during dinner, and being witness to the moment at which he began processing that the woman he has settled into this year really went out of her way to help him earlier in the day, and that it was ok to accept that help; or rather, that he was worth that such that she might've taken some joy in being that support.
*Watching a woman who abruptly lost her father just weeks ago, prancing about on her roof, lighting fireworks, and answering with a confident "Oh, nothing really." when I asked what was new in her life.
*Acquiring The End of the Peace Process (Said), Representations of the Intellectual (also by Said), and The Essential Works of Foucault, Vol. 3: Power -- all for a whopping total of about $12.
*Slipping on the wet porch stairs of a client's house, re-spraining my wrist.
*Discovering that I feel irreparably useless to a particular local organization. My orientation to it is such that I must've hoped that one or more of my skillsets would be necessary in one or more projects initiated by other members. However, of the few (nearest I can tell, one) projects that have actually evolved beyond mere discussion, I've had very little to offer. As I walked away from the meeting tonight, I thought to myself: Maybe the problem is that you're not taking any initiative; just waiting to offer support to those that do. Of course, it then dawned on me that this was absolutely consistent with my deathgrip on my own safety. If I forumlate or initiate some undertaking, I'm culpable, and bound to whatever (in my mind, always abusive) response that may inspire. If I confine myself to meeting the needs of those who accept those risks, I'm helpful. I haven't yet decided whether it's a commentary on my own cynicism, or that of the sea in which I swim.
Oh, how you are as petty as the post punk kids you pity.
And how you swear by the myth that you're not beautiful.
- Kind of Like Spitting
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