High-rise Wilderness

I am currently sitting in my bedroom window while in a silent writing session with my writing group. Getting to write has been a bit of a fight this week, for expected reasons (my eldest had her wisdom teeth out earlier this week), and also unexpected (husband’s work bogging him down- and he works from our home so all that bogging down is in our living room-, it being hot outside, the air saturated with wildfire smoke, and all of us cooped up indoors, etc). So I finally sat down, joined the silent writing session, and then thought, okay, what the heck am I even doing here?

There is a very sizeable spider who has built an extensive web outside our bedroom window. She was hovering almost equal to me on the other side of the glass for some time, before dipping down below the window frame. I stood and peered down to get a better look, only to discover a very grotesque sight- her winding her way across her web to ingest what looked like a black fly who has had better days. She appeared to scuttle with urgency across her intricate web over to where it lay, motionless, possibly already dead. Upon arrival, those 8 long legs wrapped themselves in graceful horror around her prey.

I was reminded of Mary Oliver’s amazing collection of essays titled Upstream. In one essay she describes how she sat for hours to watch a basement spider descend upon a cricket who found itself in a similar predicament as my South Loop black fly. Her recall of the spider’s actions against that cricket, who, unlike my fly, was not yet dead, is one of the most violent descriptions I have ever read- hands-down- and I’ve read and viewed many.

As my kid is recovering from having her wisdom teeth out, she’s been watching The Vampire Diaries. One slash of a carving knife on a countertop and there go some guy’s fingers, necks are snapped in an instant, bodies are thrown across a room. The show wages war on the peaceful energy I am trying so hard to cradle in my soul. I struggle to stay in the same room as this (even the sounds make me want to burrow beneath our couch pillows), yet I want to offer connection with my kid who is feeling impatient with her healing and keeps talking about how all she wants to do is dive into a box of Cheez-Its. I don’t know if voicing her longings for crunchy snacks is really helping the situation here, but she has my attention, nonetheless.

This morning, before I caught the spider hustling over to devour the fly, I decided to turn my attention to where I am in The Artist’s Way. Since it is July (and I am going through these chapters monthly), I am on week 7, which is aptly titled, “Recovering a Sense of Connection." The Artist’s Way is all about acceptance and allowing and nurturing, letting your inner child out to play as part of your creativity recovery. But as I watched my spider lay waste to the fly and went through the prompts, all I responded with was no. No way. Nothing is working. I felt a bit like Roy Kent from Ted Lasso. No! (next question) No! (next question) No! (on and on).

It went like this-
Writing my morning pages has shown me I can _____________.
My self care is _____________.
Possibly, my creativity is ___________.

These are supposed to induce positivity and be affirming. Instead, this is what I wrote:
Writing my morning pages has shown me I can spiral deeper and deeper.
My self care is on hold.
Possibly, my creativity is unable to be expressed right now.

I was so negative that it made me laugh a little, and laughing about it made me feel slightly better. Laughing brought me up for air and into a space where I could separate from myself slightly- just enough so that I could very lightly poke myself and say, with light-heartedness, “Girlfriend, ease up!”

I have been working on a couple essays this summer and am a bit stuck with both. I’m stuck in this apartment on hot days. I’m stuck parenting two teenagers (I’ll say it). My inner child is not only angry with summer, she is angry with the world. She’s had enough of this administration. She’s had enough of world conflicts and dumb toxic masculine energy. She is a little tired of parenting and having to figure out everyone’s needs each day. Yesterday, as I was on the 146 bus, a lady sitting several rows ahead of me (and pretty far away- it’s a long accordian bus) was on a phone call and just started screaming into the phone- “DON’T YOU DARE TAKE THAT OUT OF MY CLOSET.” Screaming, you guys. I am often able to find some compassion for those around me, but in that moment, all I felt was anger, for how dare this woman disturb what had otherwise been a fairly cathartic bus ride (I had even welcomed the traffic at State and Upper Wacker and how it felt to sit in the idling bus- but this was before the yelling began). Oh my rage. A vision of a dripping wet washcloth entered my mind- one that I was wringing out because it was so saturated, and I realized in that moment that there was no space for me to take in one more drop. I left the bus early and walked in the 95 degree heat an extra block. And you know what? It felt amazing to get the heck away.

On my bus ride home (where no one yelled, thankfully), these songs filtered in on my kismet playlist, saved from moments in the past where they’ve been on the radio and have found their way to me when I needed them. These songs took my anger for a waltz and I appreciated them filling my dance card.

I Am The Highway - Audioslave
How Not To Drown - CHVRCHES
Driving to Texas - Tom Morello
Gone Away - The Offspring

And then this morning, on my way to Pure Barre, “Around the World” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers was playing- which was a reminder of how I’m not purely a negative nelly. Life IS beautiful around the world. I love that song (it’s also on my kismet playlist, of course).

Finally I pulled myself away from my ineffective Artist’s Way journaling and began writing this blog post about my pessimism. I thought more about my spider. It is clear that she does not suffer fools. She possesses elegance and power. She goes in for the kill. From her bulbous body, my spider spins webs deceivingly delicate yet deadly. She deconstructed her meal with a ferocious grace.

After I found my flow, I peered over the window pane one more time. There was no sign of the fly, and the spider appeared to have ducked out of sight. All that was left was a translucent web flapping in the breeze.

Summertime Meh