Overflowing Bin

I put our black bin out for collection this morning, only to find it overflowing a few hours later. My guess is Ugly Betty is responsible. I am tired of stressing about the black bin. Before the last collection, I actually went through the trash to pick out some stuff for recycling and reduce the size of our trash. Once before, I had dumped some of our excess garbage into a neighbours bin. I have had enough. Relations between Ugly Betty and me are at a nadir after her self-harming episode, so I cannot tell her to reduce her trash. I am tired of quietly picking up her trash after her. I am not her mother,  and this is not my house. So, I am just going to leave the bin as it is and wait to see if the bin men collect it. If they don't, I will let the landlady know and let her sort it out. I am tired of scrambling to catch the glass before it crashes to the floor. Maybe it will break, maybe it won't. This is about setting boundaries, deciding what  is your problem and what isn't and assiduously following your decision, even if your personal proclivity is not to. Maybe that deserves a separate blog. 

Indian Variant

Just as I had feared, the Indian variant is causing anxiety in the UK on the cusp of another significant relaxation of Covid restrictions. Form Monday, we will be allowed to visit other people's houses and stay overnight. But, its just a matter of time before Covid restrictions are tightened again. I was hoping to visit my aunt in Brighton in July after submitting my PhD thesis, but that looks unlikely. I am trying not to think beyond the submission of my PhD, because I have no clue what lies on the other side. What will life be like without a PhD to chip away at, and without a PhD room to spend the long days of summer in? I hoe I am allowed to use it at least until September. Big disappointments overshadow small disappointments and stresses. If we are likely to remain under restrictions, what does it matter if I am not able to get any dates on dating apps? But, I am going to do my best to finish my PhD on time. I cannot allow fear of what lies ahead to slow me down. Being in PhD mode cannot become a permanent state of affairs. It is not healthy, and I need to move on even if I don't know what lies ahead. 

Sensation Over Shape

One of the things Adrienne say frequently in her yoga videos is to focus on "sensation over shape". Its taken me years to internalize this message and I still don't think I have completely. I suppose that is the beauty of yoga. There are so many layers to peel that you can keep doing the same videos but discover something new. Not every time, of course. I don't do YWA to discover something new,, I do it because I find it quite relaxing. It took me a year or so to realise that there are some poses that I would never be able to do, so to stop trying. I suppose a lot of people feel that if they do yoga or stretching long enough they will be able to eventually achieve the flexibility of a gymnast. Or, at least, I did. Not true at all. More recently, while trying to rehabilitate my shoulder, I have been focusing too much on the shape of restorative poses, rather than the sensation. I have been trying to have every body part perfectly placed. But bodies are different, and while broad guidelines still apply, what is restorative for you will not be restorative for me. To be far to myself, the physios I visited did not focus much on the sensations too. But, now I am trying to rehabilitate my shoulder through youtube videos by assiduously focusing on sensation. an exercise might feel like the perfect remedy but if it doesn't feel right after a few days, I abandon it. 

Trigger Warnings

I read a post on Twitter a few weeks ago which was long the lines of "what triggers you may not harm you". A trigger is a psychosomatic reaction, which is something that I had never experienced till a few years ago. For me, my heart rate quickens, I feel light-headed and I can feel anxiety swell up inside me. Yesterday, I was triggered by the sight of my crazy housemate's crazy friend, who had knocked on my door in the middle of the night last month to blame me for my housemate self-harming. But, awareness that I was being triggered, and that the trigger was not likely to harm me went some way in calming me. It was the same with the crazy women whose dog I ran over a couple of years ago. In that case, I calmly stood my ground when they confronted me again, even though the experience was triggering. Of course, it depends on the extent of the trauma. I can't compare my experience to someone who has survived violent physical or sexual assault. But, in the case of mild trauma like me, facing the triggering cause has helped blunt the trigger. 

Methodology Blues

 I don't know why I thought writing the methodology chapter would not take long? I am interested in methodology, but, boy, is it a minefield. There is a lot of stuff I would write about but can't, either because I don't have a sufficient grasp of it or because it would expose me to attacks. Most of my time has been spent in reading about interesting concepts, only to realise I wouldn't be able to use them. I am going to have to walk a very thin line, and do just enough to satisfy my second supervisor.  Or, at least that is what I have been telling myself. The truth is I will have satisfy myself, as with every writing project i care about. 

Cake!

 I never imagined how excited about cake. A couple of days ago, a school friend who lives in the US asked for cake and flower delivery recommendations in Mumbai for Mother's Day. I told her to feel free to send cakes to everyone on the group, and not to bother with the flowers. She asked for my address, and, I, playing along, gave it to her. Then, today she asked me to pick cakes from a website menu. I couldn't believe my ears. Her thoughtful gesture lifted my spirits and I was too excited to do any work. But, why get so excited about cake? Yes, a touching gesture in the midst of the steady stream of bad news from India is welcome. But, that is only part of it. I have realised I miss making enough money for guiltless discretionary expenditure. its been seven years since I quit my well-paying career for academia. I thought I had seamlessly adjusted to the frugal life of a student. And. for the most part, I have.But, being aware that I am living someone else means has tempered my weak tendency to consume even further. I would never spend 15 quid on a cake, for myself or anyone else. I can't remember the last time I ate at a restaurant with table service. Over the past year or so, I have cut spending on food as I cook almost all my meals. after seven years of frugality I also have a small list of things I want to buy after I get a job. A new watch and a new bicycle. I will never be a spendthrift even I get a high-paying job at some point in time. Indeed, a high-paying job in a time of staggering inequality and the climate crisis would likely send me into paroxysms of guilt. I am better suited than most to live a frugal student life and there are worse problems to have. But, there is no harm in acknowledging that I miss having an income and the possibility of guiltless discretionary spending.

Condolence Meeting

 I attended a Zoom condolence meeting for Pravin Uncle today, which started at an inordinately early hour for me. I didn't set an alarm, but most days I stir from sleep between 4:30 am and 5 am. I am glad that I did. it was nice to see many friends from my childhood. These are the people I used to play with when our parents were having Party meetings. We had a special bond, forge through the realisation which we were too young at the time to articulate that our parents were not like other parents. They were of the left but not part of the mainstream left. Most of them were trained in the sciences and had day jobs which had nothing to do with their political activism. Indeed, in most cases, their respective employers had no clue about their political activities. In comparison to them, the parents of my other friends seemed small-minded and even petty, in some cases. 

I don't want to put them on a pedestal. At a relatively young age, I decided that I would not be following in my parents' footsteps and join the party. It took many years for me to understand the reasons for my instinctive reluctance to join the Part. But, whatever my issues with the Party, it had some of the warmest and most helpful people I know. And the Party kids, as we sometimes called ourselves are like cousins whom you don't necessarily talk to often but who occupy a significant space in your heart. As it happens, we would often introduce each other as cousins to sidestep the questions about how exactly did we know each other and what was the connection between our respective parents. It was wonderful to see everyone despite the circumstances. And, I felt glad that I attended. Mourning rituals are important for one's emotional well-being.