I don't think I understood what I was getting into when the sly giddy idea of this project wouldn't let go of my wormy brain.
Jefferson had expressed concern a few weeks ago, after I told him what I was planning. Would I be able to finish this project, as it's so time consuming? Would I lose motivation midway?
Now, a week into it, I'm feuled with other questions. Maybe he thought of these too. Maybe he even said something about them to me, and I didn't listen.
That was one of the things I promised myself I would do during this project. More listening and less talking.
What doesn't get posted or documented and what is the criteria for doing so? Will it be the same for each household? If something is dusturbing or sad, how much can I share? It poses a judgement call, weather or not I want to be objective. I can't help but bring my history into each situation, and I feel dirty for doing so, as the immediate experience unfolding in front of me isn't MINE. I'm a sponge, not the dish being washed.
How much am I really capable of soaking up? I am trying to ask why questions of everyone. Explain yourself. But it's that damn history again. Even though I got rid of all those triggers--paintings, pictures, furniture, clothing--I am still bringing too much to really attempt true immersion.
Get outside yourself and force situations that feel awkward and unnatural. Be someone else.
Do you know how absolutely bizzare and WONDERFUL it was for me to go with Kia and Janet to the movies and see a horrendous bloody action movie? I was someone else. I was smelling popcorn smell mixed with strong perfume. I was seeing flip flops.
Chris had his 20th birthday dinner at P.F. Chang's last night. We ate and ate and there was some heat. We are heated because we are frustrated and can't communicate.
We can't listen.