Musing Interruptus

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Setting boundaries is complicated. There are seriously invasive practices colleagues and supervisors think are ok. I’ve gotten work communications vía WhatsApp on Wednesday at 10:30 pm and Sunday at 1:30 pm from an Entity for which these are clearly not office hours.  Depending on the work, or the project, there are justifications for communicating at odd times. There are time-sensitive projects and services, and people whose lives depend on an answer. I have taken on a new project with said Entity, starting Monday. It is a part-time editor job. So you see, my job does not bear the weight of life and death. The feeling of invasion is real. Even if I chose to ignore the message, it is there, the looming reminder I need to tell someone about work hours and official communication channels. Today on Musing Interruptus: That is too invasive, thank you anyway.

I can immediately feel my personal time and space invaded by the suggestion I should provide this Entity attention outside office hours. Taking attention away from my family and decompression time. My heart accelerated and I felt uneasy. This is cortisol pouring onto my organs, degrading them. My whole body was reacting to this. Both of the cases I mentioned would have easily been resolved over the phone or with an email, during office hours, the office hours stipulated in my contract. There seemed to be no logical reason to be reading work-related WhatsApp messages when I was in my bed, looking at my phone, reading Tweets, looking at Insta Reels, catching up on my reading. Relaxing and preparing myself for rest and the next day’s grind. For all intent and purposes, this is naked time. I don’t work naked. No offense to people who work naked. I just don’t. Do you know when I get to be naked? When I’m off the clock. And I do personal things, like wash the dishes, naked, read in the sun, again, naked. I’m relaxing, naked. I don’t know if you enjoy wearing clothing all the time. But I definitely do not need a cross-over between my naked time and work time. I have the right to disconnect. Furthermore, the entity I work for doesn’t remotely pay what I would consider a competitive salary, to work naked on a Sunday afternoon.

So, as I write this, I’ve put my metaphorical nakedness away and put my metaphorical clothes back on, sufficiently stressed, feeling that my Sunday brain, relaxed and happy is very quickly reentering Monday’s atmosphere, and I can really feel the burn. My downtime has been cut short. Fuck, even my musings have been interrupted, and not in the funny way that could make for a good story. I keep feeling, this arrangement isn’t going to fly. I hate having to set boundaries with an entity when I think people should have enough common sense to look at a watch or a calendar and think about using the official channels. I didn’t answer the message today. I won’t. I have things to do, with my personal time. However, I’m bothered, uncomfortable, and yes, invaded. I have to figure out how to separate those feelings from my home feelings. It is not ok. It won’t be ok. We should not put up with that. We are not feelingless cogs in a Chaplin movie, and these are postmodern times. Rights can be easily forgotten when justified by the relentless adage, you should be grateful you have a job. Followed by kowtowing, scurrying out the door, never turning your back on the entity. Don’t forget, it will stab you, wound you. This particular entity has done that already. Since then, I’ve worked with very professional people in another area. It is, however, the same entity. Continue Reading

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Are you intrigued? Me too. What do you mean this is toilet? Exactly what is toilet? Who or what gets qualified as toilet? I’ll tell you what. It is my worst fear. This is the phrase I most fear in terms of rejection. For instance, someone might walk into my house and see my paintings and go straight passed wondering if young children live in the house and are allowed to use toxic oil paints and simply say… this is just waste. Or, you call that writing? No dear, that is toilet.

Rejection is a part of life and growth. Well, let me rephrase, learning how to deal with rejection is a part of life and growth. Learning to lose is part of learning how to win. Out of the numerous decisions we make everyday, one is how to react when we are rejected, or when our work is rejected. I don’t know which one is more difficult to face, especially when we have our heart set on a particular outcome. Which leaves space to reflect on our attachment to expectations.

Why shouldn’t we have expectations? We need to direct our energy towards certain goals, unless we want to be static. As if that were possible. Don’t we do things to avoid static? Static interference is bad, static cling is horrible.  Wait, so this is confusing. Are we supposed to be unattached and unmotivated? I’m sure I’m confused. However, achievements cannot be underrated.

So, let's say one is a writer and wants to be a great writer. Then one must put themselves out there and write, and share what is written not only to be a writer, but to receive critique that could generate growth. You have to be brave. A dear dear dear dear dear person related to me told me that after your first 10 rejections, it gets easier. Very easy to accept rejection and then grow from it. We must not be afraid of the sting associated with rejection. Ok. As I mentioned earlier, there are different types of rejections. A rejection to your person, perhaps a friend who turns you down, or a company that has no use for your services, a love misconnection, the satellite is down, it is not you, it is not me… it is the satellite. Relax. But then there is rejection of what you create. Be brave, create, write, fail fast, and learn. This is not only trial and error, it is learning from critiques. Continue Reading

Hello and welcome to a very personal Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, and thank you for listening. There is a certain magic about first times, a hype, markets and celebrations have been created around them. Truthfully, you have to do something several times to be any good at it. But that wouldn’t be a good selling point, would it?  Today on Musing Interruptus, My First Time.

I have been a passive observer in many respects, purposefully, I assume that is part of writing. I also understand that life’s experiences are there for the taking. What is a writer who does not dive into the deep end? I know I need to have the experiences that nurture my imagination and senses. Striking a balance between observing and experiencing is fun. I have craved what movies and literature have depicted as love and lust. Inspiration is everywhere. I’ve been fascinated by Woody Allen’s take on loving with neurosis, and John Cusak in High Fidelity and Say Anything, the surrender to life’s experiences in Far Away So Close and Kenneth Branagh’s Much Ado About Nothing. I’m not ashamed, all of Zoey Deschanel’s characters resonate with me and a there is little bit of Ángeles Masttreta’s Emilia in the mix. I have taken life into my own hands and been the protagonist hoping to one day craft a great story, meanwhile, making a lot of great memories. Of course, in real life, I lack the Oscar flair, nonetheless, I’ve jumped from that bungy and walked over hot coals, traveled, and made speeches. Sparked conversations with fellow travelers and fallen in love, taken risks. Dreamed my little dreams and found ways to materialize them.

My expectations are completely skewed, driven by fantasy and then again, how great life can be when you make things happen. I have managed to create a life in my cauldron, a combination of magic intertwined with life’s very real slings, arrows, and boring afternoons. I know I am not a unique snowflake. Whatever that means. By now I am more clear than ever that life’s succulent pleasures are destined to those who dream, desire, and bring them to the realm of everything material. You know, those who make it happen. And boy, I love making things happen. However, sometimes things happen to you. Not magically, of course. I’m talking about life’s unguarded moments. Here is one of them.

Awaiting my first time was a combination of expectation, fantasy, energy surging through my body, capturing my imagination, a pulse towards life and death, at once. Exhilaration, curiosity, and lots of research to know what to expect. I talked it over with friends, specialists, I asked questions, got answers, and then more questions. With every passing day, I wondered when it would happen. Would I instigate it? This is a matter many people face, to instigate or to passively receive. It seems like a matter under our control; however it is more a matter of our own biology and natural predisposition. Even immunity comes into play. Continue Reading Playlist

Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking and thank you for listening. Tis the season to be traveling or hosting!

Company is coming! And you know what that means… clean, clean everywhere, clean until you feel there is no corner revealing human existence. Seriously, no cobwebs, lint, dust or stains behind the dryer or the refrigerator. Flip the couches! Dust the books. We have humans coming over. Today on Musing Interruptus: Hey! That’s For Company!

It all begins with a phone call to set up a visit. Remember those? Before WhatsApp, we would listen to each other’s voices in real-time. But things are different now. Now you need to write it out. Words that will be saved in a phone's memory or the cloud for the rest of time. Once the date is set, the games begin. You are off! If you are the host, you will be expecting company, that is, people who come to your home and look at your stuff, how it is organized or disorganized, the combination of colors and type of lighting. They will also be evaluating the beverages you serve and cleanliness of the bathroom. Having company over can be stressful in the wrong hands. In my hands it is a recipe for disaster, impending doom. Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Relax, this is the planning stage. Here we envision the best-case scenarios and the worst-case scenarios and craft a plan. It is only maddening if you let it be.

There is no reason for people to be looking under the sofas or behind the refrigerator, but I’ll tell you something, you can sense dust bunnies. Once you have cleaned your place, from top to bottom, corners, nooks, and crannies, the bathroom has been thoroughly disinfected and smelling like a hill side in springtime right before the rain, kissed by the sun… its time to plan the menu. -You know, it is a full circle kind of thing.- It is a good practice to be familiar with your guest’s diet, or at least their nutritional dos and don’ts. If there are any dietary restrictions, it is nice to take them into account. Making a nice homemade meal can go a long way to making people feel welcome. If you can make a homemade dessert, you might have a home run on your hands. Remember to put out hors d'oeuvres, napkins, glasses, and have a plan B ready on speed dial. Once you have the menu and the shopping list you can get to the fun stuff… The audiovisual experience. Continue Reading

Hello and welcome to Musing Interruptus. It goes without saying, I have had embarrassing moments. And you know what, writing about embarrassing moments is fun and yes, a little self-deprecating, but let’s laugh together. Alright? Since the human experience is experienced generally, it means, it probably happened to you, too. For instance, who hasn’t developed deep feelings for a Twitter account? Not my own, I’m not that narcissistic, no. A complete and total stranger's. A stranger who may be a man, older, passionate, deep, sensual, primitive or a woman, developing this character, and she is an excellent writer and knows her audience to a -t-. OR why not... I fell in love with a bot.

Of course, this is all ridiculous, I mean, a complete projection of latent desires onto -fiction-. Because it doesn’t matter who or what is on the other side of that account. Nevertheless, I’ll tell you how the affair started.

The account just popped up in my feed one day, and I was drawn to the picture of the old sheepherder. Old… rough but tender, exuding wisdom. Connected to nature and his flock.

I started looking at his tweets every so often, you know how it goes, first a few glances, he caught on to it, then I even started translating those tweets from Spanish to English. And slowly, I connected with the words and discussed the undertones, of course, one sided discussion, much like this podcast. Weird, right? Who wouldaknown! Well… I ached. Therefore…

I did the next logical thing… I ignored the account and hoped it would miss me. Out of 89.1 thousand followers, it could happen.

It didn’t do anything to that effect, of course. It just kept posting. Which made me want it more.- I kept reminding myself, this is a bot, nobody should have feelings for a bot.  Then I remembered - humans experiences are generalized for a reason, I’m sure I’m not the only one. There are gazillions of movies and stories between humans and artificial intelligence. Hmmm, if you could only see the tweets, you would know what I mean … There was one tweet, with a phrase I could not wrap my head around. Ojos que se quiebran cuando dicen te quiero… I still don’t know how to translate, ojos que se quiebran. The author is expressing his delight over the expressive eyes of his interlocuter who declares love, the eyes might be melancholic, maybe even expressing defeat o succumbing finally to what he/she feels, and the out loud part is pictorially represented. The eyes become a visual aid. I think this was the moment I realized that twitter account and I had a future. Much like a fan who is sure, if they only had the chance to meet their platonic love, that love would cease to be platonic and it would become the real thing, or even better than the real thing, it would even be requited. Elation is a byproduct of fantasy.

Anyway… last weekend I decided to read all the tweets, because I began obsessing over the twitter account. I wanted to figure out who it was writing for, if there was any indication or clue that would reveal who was so adored. It read like a novel or micro stories, just waiting for me to fill in the blanks. I was able to go back to the tweets from January 16, 2022. A sign! Cont Reading

Step right up! Step right up! Welcome to Musing Interruptus! Another week, another swing! A swing and a miss or a hit!? What will it be? Summertime is the right time to play games, go to amusement parks, and break out the slip n’ slide. Does that still exist? Today on Musing Interruptus, Summertime Fun or Don’t Sweat the Lines… it’s the time of the season…

As a child, summertime was almost as magical as Christmas time. It was an ongoing holiday in honor of the sun, pools and sprinklers, fun fairs, and the big one… going to amusement parks. In Pittsburgh, Pa, we had the Storybook Forest theme park and Kennywood. The most awesomest of amusement park experiences. There is even a movie… it’s called Adventureland, situated in Pittsburgh, Pa. When I watched this movie, a part of my heart glowed a little brighter and warmer because it somehow meant that the magic I lived as a child was real. It’s in a movie. I remember going to Storybook Forest. Imagine a park where you got to walk among the characters and settings of bedtime stories. There isn’t a movie about that. That place might have only been magic for me, not movie worthy. Fair enough.

The great one… Kennywood, we would visit it once every summer, it was a tradition we shared with our best friends, Adrienne and Andrea. We all knew the order of rides. First, the water rides: Raging Rapids and the Log Jammer, and then then the flying swings to dry off… If you got there very early or stayed late, you would get the chance to avoid long lines, but most of the day was divided between standing in line, the anticipation of getting on the ride, and the actual five seconds you were on the ride. It might be possible that my favorite ride was the Musik Express (imagine going in circles in a box, fighting gravity, and listening to loud music. That was fun. The lines didn’t matter, they were worth it. This was a special exercise in learning how to wait for good things to happen and your turn. I still do that. I get in line, enjoy the anticipation of the first drop, and hope for the best. With arms wide open and a near empty stomach, just in case… When it is over, I just run to the next ride to get in line. If the ride merited it, a second time around was possible.

As I look back at this experience, I think the whole thing very odd. At the same time, the metaphor for soooo many things in life and life lessons were there for the taking that day. Going to the amusement park felt like a reward, but part of that reward was standing in line, for what seemed to be, eternities at a time. Every year, getting taller was also a thing. Hoping to get off the kiddie rides and onto the adult rides was a rite of passage into full-blown childhood. You know, being a big kid. This was tantamount to getting your driver’s license.  I loved anything I could drive or that spun me in circles, especially the one in which the floor dropped. I would ride the rollercoasters because everyone was doing it. I didn’t really like them. I was under the impression that riding roller coasters would make me brave, like going into the haunted house and not closing my eyes.  It’s true, I am very brave because of it. Continue Reading

And then there was silence. After the hum and the roar. Once the cataclysm had its final rumbles. It was quiet again. The invasion was over. Retreat was completed. Leonor was the last on the field. She was the last woman standing, surrounded only by fog that covered her ankles. She didn’t know if her blood pressure was playing tricks on her perception. Was the fog real? Had that actually happened? Maybe she wasn’t even there anymore… wherever there was. How had she reached the field in the first place? She had gun powder on her hands and her arms were fatigued. She could hear her heart beating faster and faster. She was disoriented, that is all she knew, when she realized blood was running down her head and neck. Awareness took so much energy out of her, that she passed out, then and there. In the quiet forest, now she was covered by the dense fog. Today on Musing Interruptus, Leonor’s Dreams and Oscillations. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening.

Leonor woke up in the same place she fainted hours before. Nothing but the fog had changed, you wouldn’t believe you couldn’t see your feet a few hours ago. - I couldn’t see my feet, I’m alone, she thought to herself. I can speak aloud. Probably doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. Was she in a postapocalyptic nightmare or was this really happening? How did she know she was alone? It must be a dream, she thought to herself. Herself. Was there an echo on the field or did the sound come from within? It was dark except for the stars she could see. She hadn’t moved. There was nothing to move, she could not feel anything. She was just aware. She could blink and talk… she was breathing and staring at the stars. Star gazing. She was still overcome by whatever had made her pass out. She had been standing, and the collapsed. She lost consciousness. There is a before, she said out loud. What is the before!? There is silence and a dull feeling between her ears. She can feel her breathing accelerate, lightheaded. I can’t see my feet. I can’t look down. I can’t move. Why can’t I move. I have to remember where I was before. Leonor passed out again.

When she came to again. Her eyes opened and she smelled dew, it was cold. It was the cold that roused her. The coldness of that morning opened a window of consciousness. Yesterday she was in a battle. But not with swords or automatic weapons. It was a battle of some other sort. Internal maybe. She wasn’t sure. The haze was starting to rise, it would cover her eyes soon. She needed to move. She needed help. Why was she all alone in that clearing? She needed to tell her extremities to react once and for all.  It has to be that easy. She could feel gravity pulling her down, she needed to move. The stillness was not welcome anymore. She could feel the rumble of her voice starting to vibrate through her lungs and ribcage, up her throat and out her nose and mouth. Loud and deep, more than a cry for help, confirmation of life. And man, she was alive. She knew it. As she sat up, as if her booming voice had allowed her to waken the rest of her body, she opened her eyes again. She could still hear her screaming voice, but the environment changed. Silence again. Deafening silence. Darkness. She knew where she was. Sitting up in her bed, sweating, with a hoarse throat. She was undoubtedly awake. It had been a nightmare. Leonor would remember the field, and the fog. Would she remember she was immobilized, could she remember what had happened before collapsing on the field? Was she meant to? Continue Reading

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Have you ever made a wish and had it come true? Like magic? All you did was ask, and you did nothing to set events in motion. Today on Musing Interruptus, It’s Cosmic, Baby…

Sometimes not getting what we wish for is a blessing in disguise, that means that what we wanted was not going to be in the best interest of all involved. In that case, maturity brings acceptance without resistance. Other times, things do happen. I’m going to talk about those things that happen today. When you make a wish on a shooting star or unicorn. Hopefully, it isn’t a horse with a pointy horn tied to its head. That happens too… Although to be clear, I don’t think making a wish on a unicorn is thing, but it might catch on.

There is a state of being in which the soul is open enough that energy rushes to meet other energy, and communion happens. I reject this notion as much as I believe in it, which poses a conundrum of sorts. A paradox, a hypocrisy, a revolution, a madness. And yet, unexplainable occurrences, connections, images, and sometimes premonitions occur. Knowing when someone is thinking of you, having an image of someone in distress and later confirming it, wishing someone would come back into our life after an absence of decades, and it happening, being in the right place at the right time. It could all just be coincidence.

Mothers are particularly good at these connections and feelings. Knowing when something is wrong. Although I have thought that it might be that they always think something is wrong and when something bad does happen, there is a sense of confirmation.  Let’s put a pin in that thought for now.

I love calling up friends who say they were thinking about me even before they say hello. As if it were something cosmic that led us to that very moment. About two months ago, I was heartbroken remembering a dear friend from my childhood and adolescence. I remember feeling cared for and protected by my friend. He was kind, funny, and very self-assured. More importantly, he was my friend. As it happens with life, we said goodbye one afternoon, not knowing it would be the last time, for a long time. Maybe 17 years. This year I was remembering him, the music he brought to our lives, the laughter, and the simplicity of our friendship.  As we drove through the desert in the early hours of Sunday morning, I told my husband the story of my friend and how much I missed him and the fun we had on any given Friday, we just needed a guitar and young voices. Those Fridays had come to an end and not evolved into brunch with the families or Saturday dinners chased with guitars and nostalgic rock anthems. I think Heroes del Silencio was playing and that was enough for the nostalgia to become a few tears and for my heart to shoot out a care bare slash bat-signal and I sang through the desert in a white car, rushing the pavement and racing the wind. Continue Reading

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. I’m so happy you clicked and are listening. I’ve been wanting to do this with you for a long time. Let’s take a walk together. I love taking walks, either alone or accompanied. What a great way to connect and flow.

I woke up cold with the familiar smile on my face that beats me to my thoughts each morning. It was raining. I think this is the first rainy morning of the year, it’s not, but if feels that good. Cloudy, cold, dark, beautiful morning. It was raining, so we have to wait for the right time to go out. Just be patient.

It is 9:00 am, the rain has stopped, and the weather is wonderful, the air is perfectly crisp.  My body is vibrating with happiness and peace, Penny Lane, my dog, is uneasy about having to wait for our walk. She is forgiving and helps me put her dog harness on. Let me correct that, she doesn’t help, she just didn’t move back when I get close to her.

Before leaving the house, I put my shoes on, one at a time, grabbed my mask, the keys, and walking sunglasses (just in case the sun poked its rays out from behind the gray clouds). I’m wearing the hugged sweater and the watch that counts my steps and monitors my heart. I never check the register… but I assume it would alert me to something wrong. Fit as a fiddle I am… no beep - beeps, buzzing, or otherwise.

As I take the first steps out the door, peace invades me, I’m cold but I don’t go back for a jacket. Today it is Penny, the wind, and me. If it starts raining again, it will be a win. The music is perfect, and I can’t help but smile. No one is around, its too cold, I guess. Cold for summer, that is for sure… cold for this city, for certain. I’m so happy. Today I wake up, an aunt to my brother’s first baby boy, today I have no regrets but love to speak of and declare, today my body vibrates with happiness, peace, and freedom.

I can’t help it, as I walk and feel the wind hit my face and rustle my hair, I feel an invitation to dance, and Penny agrees. Each step down the sidewalk, brings new thoughts and private conversations back to life. I smile, I hold my body up like a ballerina, and take everything in, through my eyes and the pores of my skin, hoping I will remember every detail, from the color of the sky to the strength in my legs, and how Penny looks up at me every so often. I dance a little and think how spectacular to be able to do that and remember a conversation about the power of an ever-patient ballet teacher and the dream to learn ballet that came true. The wind is the perfect dance partner and listens to my every step and thought. I remember the times I’ve been alone but felt the company of something and the pseudo mysticism of energy. Coming out energetic is understood by the few that live it, the rest enjoy or reproach the fiction. In any case, the wind, Penny, and I are on a walk, clop clop clop, jingle jingle swoosh. Continue Reading

Welcome to Musing Interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. Today, there are people with whom we feel more at home with than others, from one moment to the next, you know there is a before and after that person. I’m going to tell you about one of those instances, the moments leading up to it, and 15 years later.

It was the weekend of June 30th, 2007. My best friend knew I was blue, melancholic even. Heartbroken. He devised a plan to musically reset my brain. Little did he know, so much more would happen. There was a before and after. I remember he called me up: - You have to get out of bed to come with us to a concert. You can’t say no. So, I didn’t say no. He was pulling me out of my funk to go to El Rock Nos Une festival. I packed up my Betty Boop purse with some money, my id, my cell and Riopan, the antacid I never left home without. I don’t remember what I was wearing. I know I wasn’t wearing any makeup. I didn’t believe in it. Like Santa Claus. Also, I was upset with the world and the universe. However, that evening would have some surprises in store.

I had never gone to a rock festival. I had no idea what to expect. I was nervous. Hopeful for a reenactment of Woodstock. Nonetheless, that night would open a world of possibilities for me. I also didn’t know it was a set up. I’m glad I didn’t know. I was my full self, no filters, whatsoever, and in a bad mood. I’m never more me, than when I am in a bad mood.

We met up with some guy at the entrance. I felt my friend’s energy change, in a mischievous way. He had set things into motion. He was so full of himself, playing God, I’m sure. He would later tell me, he had to take a chance, it seemed right. As we entered the neon blue tunnel, I saw the weird guy lunge surfer style into the music, as we approached the main hall. I still remember thinking what a cool way to enter the music.

I didn’t know any of the musicians playing that night, I felt like I was being inducted into a new, exclusive society, and I knew I was in the right place. It had been by invitation and somehow it was right. I was still in a horrible mood and trying to make sense of everything that was happening around me. I wish I remembered the song that was playing when the group of friends we were standing with started to dance to the beat, they paired up and locked arms, turning and switching partners… all of a sudden, I was pulled into the dance. That was it for me. That was the moment, my before and after things fell into place. That accompanied by the new music I was listening to, live… the feelings that accelerated my heart and dilated my pupils, explosions in my cerebral cortex cerebellum, and amygdala. Musical frisson, you know, dopamine release. This was the best. The name of this festival, Rock Brings Us Together… I had found my people. They weren’t exclusive, they seemed to be infinitely inviting and overall good people. After years of feeling out of place, the misfit, the brave authentic one, with the funny accent, I was just another heart opening up to the music and the good vibration of other people melting into the music and having fun, dancing, drinking, being. I was there. Cont. Reading