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juushikaThe very great catch-up post.
March, 7: Saw the Twilight Sad in concert
at the Doug Fir. Most of the bands I see with Dee are ones I don't much listen to or only listen to live; I have never yet been disappointed by a performance. This is in part because Dee has great taste, and in part because live music is its own energy and sound—and this show was a great example. The energy flow between musicians and audience was joyful and near palpable; the band was so obviously happy to be there, with us, and I felt somewhat responsible for that—a phenomenal experience.
March 8: Made trip to Corvallis
A brief one, as it was right before finals week for Devon. The very first thing that happened as I walked in the door: Devon's mom asked, "oh, how is Mamakitty doing?" and Devon went "WELP it seems I forgot to tell you something." A weird trip, not entirely in a bad way; I missed seeing my sister but did see my parents.
After an abortive attempt to play catch-up, I had a conversation with my father which went approximately as follows:
Me: I'm sorry I don't have a lot to say about my life; not much of it is fun to share, and sharing it just makes it more stressful.
Him: But you are still sad?
Me: Yeah.
Him, with dawning realization: Isn't that ... nine months of sad?
Me: Eight.
Him: No one should live that way!
Followed shortly by:
Him: I realize that you and your sister are not me: I can't expect you to live like me, or have the same experiences as me. But if there's anything I can do to help you live your life in your way, I'm here for you.
My college experience was marked by my father's inability to understand why I just couldn't stop feeling sad. He had a great time at college, and is a really well-adjusted, healthy, stable person; my mental health issues were outside his reality, and his difficulty comprehending them translated as denial and dismissal. Over the last few years, I've watched him, through active effort, learn to accept my experiences at face value. I'm currently tied up in unpleasant knots about the practical limitations that surround a promise to do "anything" to help, but that my father can see me, accept me, be upset on my behalf, want to help me be my best me—I don't take it for granted. It also breaks my heart, a bit, that he's had so many opportunities to learn to change.
March 13: Traveled back to Portland, got sick
Started with a tolerable cough; remained a tolerable cough until directly after:
March 21: Saw The Decemberists in concert
I can't remember how many times I've seen them, now. Many! At least four, if you count Meloy's solo show. I occasionally listen to them, but not often; Meloy's twang sounds raw on record. But I adore them live, and this concert was no exception. It was in the Keller Auditorium, which is quite stately, but they still got everyone on their feet. Their concerts are performance art, despite the minimal performance (whale excepted): presence, energy, vivid dark humor, self-awareness, an appetite for the absurd, a proactive engagement with content and audience.
Then was really sick
Polite of it to wait until I had free time to be miserable. Complaining about a cold feels trite, because no one enjoys them. But post-Mama, still unsure how I've recovered; post-travel, which is exhausting even if positive; post-two big, beautiful, but energetic concerts: I'm already bereft of energy and cluttered with unexamined feelings, and being ill and nigh unable to sleep didn't help.
My saving grace is that I've been consuming a lot of engaging, enjoyable media—and while I don't have the energy to spend time in my own life, escaping into another is welcome. The problem is that I should be reviewing, or at least making note of, all I've consumed, but I feel disorganized and feeble, and can't set my thoughts to order. So, I thought, writing some of that down may help, and I wrote.
March, 7: Saw the Twilight Sad in concert
at the Doug Fir. Most of the bands I see with Dee are ones I don't much listen to or only listen to live; I have never yet been disappointed by a performance. This is in part because Dee has great taste, and in part because live music is its own energy and sound—and this show was a great example. The energy flow between musicians and audience was joyful and near palpable; the band was so obviously happy to be there, with us, and I felt somewhat responsible for that—a phenomenal experience.
March 8: Made trip to Corvallis
A brief one, as it was right before finals week for Devon. The very first thing that happened as I walked in the door: Devon's mom asked, "oh, how is Mamakitty doing?" and Devon went "WELP it seems I forgot to tell you something." A weird trip, not entirely in a bad way; I missed seeing my sister but did see my parents.
After an abortive attempt to play catch-up, I had a conversation with my father which went approximately as follows:
Me: I'm sorry I don't have a lot to say about my life; not much of it is fun to share, and sharing it just makes it more stressful.
Him: But you are still sad?
Me: Yeah.
Him, with dawning realization: Isn't that ... nine months of sad?
Me: Eight.
Him: No one should live that way!
Followed shortly by:
Him: I realize that you and your sister are not me: I can't expect you to live like me, or have the same experiences as me. But if there's anything I can do to help you live your life in your way, I'm here for you.
My college experience was marked by my father's inability to understand why I just couldn't stop feeling sad. He had a great time at college, and is a really well-adjusted, healthy, stable person; my mental health issues were outside his reality, and his difficulty comprehending them translated as denial and dismissal. Over the last few years, I've watched him, through active effort, learn to accept my experiences at face value. I'm currently tied up in unpleasant knots about the practical limitations that surround a promise to do "anything" to help, but that my father can see me, accept me, be upset on my behalf, want to help me be my best me—I don't take it for granted. It also breaks my heart, a bit, that he's had so many opportunities to learn to change.
March 13: Traveled back to Portland, got sick
Started with a tolerable cough; remained a tolerable cough until directly after:
March 21: Saw The Decemberists in concert
I can't remember how many times I've seen them, now. Many! At least four, if you count Meloy's solo show. I occasionally listen to them, but not often; Meloy's twang sounds raw on record. But I adore them live, and this concert was no exception. It was in the Keller Auditorium, which is quite stately, but they still got everyone on their feet. Their concerts are performance art, despite the minimal performance (whale excepted): presence, energy, vivid dark humor, self-awareness, an appetite for the absurd, a proactive engagement with content and audience.
Then was really sick
Polite of it to wait until I had free time to be miserable. Complaining about a cold feels trite, because no one enjoys them. But post-Mama, still unsure how I've recovered; post-travel, which is exhausting even if positive; post-two big, beautiful, but energetic concerts: I'm already bereft of energy and cluttered with unexamined feelings, and being ill and nigh unable to sleep didn't help.
My saving grace is that I've been consuming a lot of engaging, enjoyable media—and while I don't have the energy to spend time in my own life, escaping into another is welcome. The problem is that I should be reviewing, or at least making note of, all I've consumed, but I feel disorganized and feeble, and can't set my thoughts to order. So, I thought, writing some of that down may help, and I wrote.
