I’ve felt a little paralyzed lately, not exactly in a bad way (as if there could be a good way), but in a way that sitting down to write – to write anything – seems a chore. My work life has gotten so nuts, so gray, so murky and unknown that it’s as if my creativity is being gently but firmly pulled from my brain, as if Dumbledore was standing behind me with his wand to my head, invisibly removing the creativity from my brain in long, wispy strands, and keeping them in his sieve. I’m somatizing like crazy, too- my skin has gone nuts, and if you can believe this, I have ANOTHER UTI. And not just “another”; there have been numerous unreported ones (to this blog anyway) so this is now my fifth or six in as many months- I don’t even remember anymore. Finally, I think my right wrist is finally deciding that typing as quickly as I do is no fun anymore, and whispers of carpal tunnel pain are shooting up from the joint. All in all, it seems to me, it’s time for a big, fat vacation.

Alas, instead, in two days, I’m going to have elective surgery. This time Wednesday morning, I’ll be walking into the eye institute, where they will strap me down, slice open my eyeballs, and shoot lasers into my eyes.

I’ve been doing all the crazy pre-op stuff required: hot compresses on my eyes, lid washes, lid massages, and twice daily doses of Theratears vitamins. I’ve been back to the eye institute for another pre-op appointment, and also back to my eye doctor who had to do a final check on my prescription to make sure that nothing whatsoever had shifted in the last three months, and all of it checked out. So, it’s really happening. I don’t really think I’m the elective surgery type, and I’m not even sure exactly WHY I’m doing this anymore, other than my deep hatred of contacts and glasses, as well as the freedom I need from such trappings to really do relief work. But it’s almost as if I made the decision to do this, and so I’m jolly well going to go through with it. The possible complications are horrendous, but… but if I can wake up in a few days and see well enough not to run into walls, I’ll consider that a thing of such tremendous beauty that it makes all of it worth it- the $50 eye drops, the three trips to Berkeley, the $4000, the 24 hours of goggle-wearing, the 4 weeks of no contact sports (what exactly is included in “contact sports”?), the post-op hours of worry, etc.

For a couple of days I am not allowed to read, and therefore I’m also not allowed to write. Perhaps this will be a good rest for my wrist, although even a full weekend does not seem to improve it on a Monday morning.

What does improve a Monday morning? Waking up with warm arms wrapped fully around me and a cat spooned next to my belly. Waking up and not being able to move, because two living creatures, in that moment, want to be as close to me as possible. And then getting up, starting my days, and hours later, still feeling that warmth. These things I do not take for granted.

I’m in New York again, this time for a very brief stay on my way to D.C. for an arts advocacy conference. It’s oddly warm here, and since it’s oddly cold in California, the two places are about exactly the same temperature. It’s good to be here, in a way, because suddenly “here” is no more rich than what I have at home. It’s easier to be away, less stressful, when I’m happy to be away, but also looking forward to going home.

I’ve moved into a new home, a little creekside house that is a four-minute walk from work, and a five-minute walk to the heart of the downtown district. Better yet, “creekside” is a truly apt descriptor. I walk out from my porch and the creek- which during this season is much more like a river- is ten feet from my door.

One of the views of my porch (still without the porch swing and all the potted plants, but they are coming…)

And another view, just to the side of the porch- I realize these pictures aren’t terribly exciting, but it is extraordinary to walk out to see this much nature.

And once I’ve finished bricking the patio out there, and lining it with flowers, and buying a new gas grill, it is going to be even MORE extraordinary.

My new place is twice as big, and unbelievably, twice as sunny, with windows stretching the length of the rooms. I don’t have all of the furniture I need, nor all the art I want, but I love it. At night I fall asleep to the sound of soft, flowing water, or if there is a storm, rushing crazy water. Mornings are filled with birds and squirrels.

Someone else is rather fond of the new place, too.

And handing over the spare key to a certain someone else was the easiest important choice I’ve made in a long time.