december 11, 2005. written to m.

Please do not feel obligated to call me if it's not of your own volution. I
just spoke with Ms. Megan after a week hiatus to get my head on straight and I
feel badly that you may have called at her suggestion.

Among the week's demon's are:

- oh my god, i can't take care of my family!
- i'll never have sex again!
- oh my god! i've increased my chances of breast cancer because i haven't had a
child by 30
- why do people inflict violence on each other (specifically why did one of my
girls get jumped right outside of our office doors and what does that mean for
my sense of safety and why can't everyone just have a peaceful existance where
they get to create, learn, and be happy?)
- hey! I'm good enough to be single and I'm sick of the Tootie syndrome! (or
why intelligent brown girls of african decent are always "really nice and
great", but never dated, or officially claimed as partners)
- holy cow! Why didn't someone tell me at 6 that i needed to start saving for
my college education, health card, and house? i'm running 27 years behind to
attain my goals and i'd like to enjoy some things before i silver on my crown
- jesus christ, bush is still president!
- why wasn't i born with a little bit more athletic prowess?
- my cowork is a f---nut and why the hell do i have to pick up after her lack
of followthrough?
- oh my god, my executive director just told me we have half the money to run
our organization in the next year than we had this year

-------

I've been seething with a sense of injustice and inadequacy for the last week
or so, talking to Mary Ann (my lovely therapist) and just examining these
feelings. It's been a process of sitting with stressful headaches, feeling
ridiculously hateful toward mankind for not PARTICIPATING in the world's
messes, and not having a productive place to put these feelings.

The most productive thing to do was to ostrich. (And write in my journal and
spend time with my cousin Taina and her son and rock out with the crew and
Michelle's boyfriend's band, and see George Clooney's Syriana with Omer.)

I was invited by Project GO for cross-country skiing this weekend. I thought we
were going to a municipal site like where I've gone when I used to visit Nevada
City environs of old. Nope. Woke at 5 am, met up with Sara in Auburn by 9 am,
and met in Reno by 11 or so and then we climbed up the mountain, broke through
the cloud cover and under an amazing blue sky, crisp air, and gorgeous snow we
skiied with dogs and a crew of 8 through the back country.

I felt like the asmatic of the bunch, but was completely amazed by the blue
glow of the fresh snow, the pine scent, and the view of the North Ridge of Lake
Tahoe from Mount Rose.

It was stunning.

My body is not well-suited for these athletic tasks. I struggle with rowing. I
struggle with guiding. And I certainly struggle to summit a mountain on
cross-country skiis.

Does this mean I don't try these things?

NO!

Heavens, no. I make sure I have my iPod with me to soften the ego's blow from
falling from seemingly invisible obstables and to keep my pace, despite my
heart thumping in my throat and temples. My breath became shallow because I
hadn't eaten enough. I had noshed throughout the morning, but my bloodsugar was
such that I lost my focus, my words began to slur and I slowed in my stride.

You know you're in trouble when your arms break stride with your legs and they
are flailing out of step.
This happened quite a bit yesterday.

What brought me back to this brilliant spot was the magic of the blue glow, the
beauty of the Lake before me, and the expanse of quiet and brilliance of the
sunlight.

We passed by snowshoers and no one else as we trekked further up and over. My
crew of river folks (always good folks, non?) kept me company, made sure I was
fed, didn't press too hard...I was allowed to be alone in my low sugar state,
but not alone in a way that would endanger me.

I shooshed as I haven't in 2 seasons. I slid, slipped, and couldn't remember
how to turn. I fishscaled terribly on uphills, clumsily sidestepped, and loved
gliding along tree boughs and taking short downhill runs, despite my body's
lack of rememberance of balance.

My legs felt thick and clumsy on this teeny, thin stretches of plastic
material.

And yet it was brilliant.

Small talk ensued as Kurt danced from pot to cutting board in his kitchen. I
explained my Burning Man experiences...and it seems strange to have folks who
live so close who have never been. I gave the Good Word about the Man as any
good disciple should.

Afterward we had dinner and played Jenga and Kurt Hoge (one of the Project GO
founders, good friend, and reminds me SOOOOOO much of you...he is you in a few
years and his home is wonderful, has an adorable dog named Oberon, and is a
fabulous host to his friends) and I introduced the rest of the folks to Team
America. 8 adults were ROLLING with laughter at the outrageous spectacle of the
film. By the end, we were all chanting, "AMERICA! F--- YEAH!" with the music.
It was lovely bonding.

As folks were begining to leave, he put in Spinal Tap and his friend Ken and I
were quoting and laughing and I was pointing out the cameos and why each actor
or actress was relevant....SO geeky. We were making bass guitar jokes...it was
awesome.

Today we went to the Nevada Museum of Art and among the exhibits were of Black
Rock (Peter Goin, I believe is a UNR professor who has studied the region). The
book is beautiful and features pictures of the Playa in different states.
Amazing. I thought of you and Jamie as I stood back and observed images of the
cracked earth, brilliant sunrises above the black rock and saw images of the
Fly Geyser(?) and thought about a non-Burn visit to the region to appreciate
its natural, raw beauty as spectacle in and of itself.

It's hard to explain the wonder of the desert to folks who have never been. He
has studied and captured things that we have been priviledged to see as part of
the Burning Man community. It was cool to see it displayed as art and not as a
freak show.

Yay.

So anyway, thank you for calling to check in, though it may have been at the
request of our dear Megan. No one forced you to dial.