Taken out of context I must seem so strange

(Ani DiFranco)

Yesterday I went to an event about "Transformative Justice" which was interesting, though I wanted more: it was too much of a teaser for me to feel fully satisfied. What really sparked me was the way they begun: they asked everyone to share their name (which they subsequently remembered, I loved that) and one way in which they have observed the economic crisis cause an increase in violence in their community. As we went around, I got more ideas-- but as usual didn't think they were worth sharing. Why do I pass such harsh judgment on myself?-- but some people had some awesome ways of interpreting 'violence' that really made me thing. For example, violence to the self: not just self harm (which we all know can stem from the desperation that an economic crisis can entail) but also the choice to stay in/take a job that is not a passion/love, or the choice to go back to/stay in an abusive relationship because (more than ever) it seems like there is no where else to go. I wish I'd had my notebook near me, I could have retained more. Later, over sweet potato fries with Tasmanian pepperberry sauce (yum), S mentioned how my choice to not be vegan against my express will was a form of violence to myself caused in part by the economic crisis, which really hit home. Overall, I enjoyed the event a lot, though I could have done more with a couple hours more (at least) of dialogue and presentation. (Also, one of the presenters was pretty hot-- which was amplified by her clear passion for the subject and intelligence) The only thing that I didn't like was how it reminded me of how removed I am from theoretical analysis these days. It reminded me of the urgency of regaining/retaining my vocabulary and literary ability. [speaking of which: a word I had forgotten the meaning of, but love: maudlin (self-pityingly or tearfully sentimental--COED)] I can't pretend that it won't help me in life, and I need it for my sanity. Now all I need is methods that can be implicated in between science classes and volunteering and studying for MCATs,etc., etc. (Oh, I do love to complain. Life is not bad. In fact, it's pretty good right now-- but that may be mostly because I have lots of reflection time with Spring Break.)

On the topic of reflection, I've been kind of dodging/being dodged by J in terms of communication. Which, considering the email exchange on Monday, I'm not taking personally. As for my side of it, this is quite a common technique for me-- this way it's easier for me to pretend that nothing happened (having a crap memory helps.) Which isn't to say that I haven't been thinking about it. I was at my pseudo-family's house again earlier today, taking care of their dog, and though I have so many memories of that house (Christmases, random days, childhood... those don't just fade) they've been tainted by the faint scent of a recollection, of moans on the couch, of waking up together early in the extra bedroom... But I'm not going there. It doesn't do me any good to dwell on the past, as I should well know by now. I'm trying to live in the moment (well, insofar as that is possible in a culture that constantly demands forethought and planning, and as a pre-med student, to boot.)
Something I wrote yesterday on the subject: "Something about the evening makes me full of nostalgia and regrets-- which may be why it's usually my over-eating time as well. But I am focusing on the here and now: I am waking up, my body is waking up, my mouth feels thirst, my eyes are still crusted (allergies, ahoy!). I'm laying on the couch with a band of sunlight striping across my body, with thoughts of the past flashing in my mind. I'm not fighting them, just observing them, as Osho says to do. Lots of J looking down or away, nothing where we're interacting (probably significant.) My stomach is twisting slightly, I can feel the fan's air waves play with my skin's hair. I am thinking I am going for a run. And not in the graveyard, either."
(apologies for the stream-of-consciousness faults.)
Anyways, I think that sums it up nicely-- life goes on, with flitting images of memories. I read somewhere once that every time you recall a memory your brain alters it in some way, so it's never true to the actual experience anymore. So it's all just a fantasy now. Somehow, to my storyteller self, instead of that being a depressing thought, I find that quite comforting.