I don't trust in the goodwill of the universe enough yet to write very much when I'm happy, so this is probably the ideal time to mention that for the past several months I have been, unexpectedly, and to my frequent disbelief, very happy. I can write about it because I've probably ruined it, and am in a limbo of uncertainty about whether this is the case, and am so anxious with dread at the outcome that the block on expression that I tend to keep safely tamped in place (because what it keeps contained is rarely anything good) is pushed out by sheer force. It's nothing special or unusual, just the regular stupidity of someone who thought too much the wrong thoughts, and persuaded herself that the damage done by walling herself up would be less than that inflicted by leaving herself open. It seemed right at the time, and maybe in another relationship it would have been right enough, but I have the sense from the silence that the offense is one that he considers cardinal, or that- if I wasn't wrong and he was looking for the way out- I opened the door for him myself. If that's the case, the letter I wrote yesterday in the hope that he would thaw a little towards me one way or the other will be about as effective as locking myself in and lobbing the key after him. But I really don't know what else to do.

Read more...

Sleepwalking

I'm not sure what there's worth waking up to. Anxiety and anger produced by things out of my control kept manageable by mental escape to dull thought and numb feeling results in the familiar paralysis. Outlets of expression are battened shut. I've been trying to write something for weeks, and this is all I can manage now.

Read more...

any port

Feeling more than usually juvenile this evening due to having just finished moving and sorting the majority of my belongings into that Stygian tributary otherwise known as the Parental Basement. But, in my defense, the following:

1. It is not technically a basement, being in no part underground, but merely the lowest level of the town home;

2. Fresh air and light are admitted on a really quite frequent basis;

3. I was on the verge of depositing for another place and could not have been paid to continue to cohabit with the Baconator;

4. Most importantly, within a week or two, neither parent will be living there;
a. or, in fact, even living in this country
b. for several months.

Obviously it's mostly a favor to me, but it will be at least a little bit useful for them to have someone around to make sure the Allegheny doesn't wash the place away or that the neighbors don't chop down the willows or turn the wetlands into an herbicidal bog. Again. These genuinely are my main duties. I'm not entirely certain how I'm supposed to prevent these things from occurring, but I am armed with surprise, fear, and a seventeen foot canoe.

It's a pity about the apartment. But it'll be pleasant to have some real quiet (a luxury in short supply since the last time I lived alone) and to feel the inspiration of the water again. So much in the works right now that I'll definitely be needing both.

Read more...

One layer

A number of terms have been tossed around which I find more confusing when used by other people to describe certain aspects of me than when I examine them in an attempt to understand myself.

It is cold, and I am constantly reminding myself that a moment ago I was not sad, and nothing has changed. Therefore my mind is making me sad, or I am making myself sad. Some of the time this is effective. The rest of the time- including now- I accept it and wait.

Sloughing off the job I've just left, in the sense of the way in which I envision my life in general, feels somehow both significant and superficial. A small but vital improvement, since it was growing increasingly difficult for me to cope with everything it entailed: the confusion of supervisors, the disorganization, the screams and threats and abuse from patients and staff alike, the incessant and ridiculous dependence of co-workers on me for knowledge they never bothered to acquire, the apparent expectation that I would train a far-better-compensated man to do my job so that he could tell me I was doing my job incorrectly, and so very much more. The load is slightly lessened; most of those things are not factors in my new position.

Hope is present, even if I can't see it clearly.

Read more...

vacances

Last week my family and I vacated to the Cape, where I tried hard to be agreeable and not spend my days catching up on sleep and reading in solitude, which to me constitutes restful leisure, but this is not the purpose of vacation in my family. Rather it seems to be togetherness at all costs, which, when it succeeds, is wonderful, but when it breaks down, is incredibly unpleasant. Much of the week after an initial fight on Monday was spent either enduring or awaiting further upsets while pretending nothing had happened. For once, it didn't feel like it was directly somehow my fault, but as usual, I did intervene. It didn't help, and given that the actual underlying source of the argument is deeply embedded in the personalities of the involved parties, I don't think things could've been helped.

After I helped him vacuum the unfortunate wineglass (an unusual occurrence; violence of any type other than verbal is rare, and even that is wrapped in cushioning layers so as not to seem what it frequently is) out of the carpet, Dad and I sat on the sun porch for some time, talking very little and listening to the sounds of the others going to bed. Watching me cry without sound, he said quietly, "I wish you weren't so sad," and I felt then that I had let him down, underscoring his helplessless to fix anything, a helplessness which always hurts me more than my own and more than anyone else's. I have the sense that he knows, probably better than anyone, why I am so sad, and feels the least able to do anything about it- not that anyone anymore can, or should, except myself. But it is painful to have reminded him, and I regret it having done so when I could have hidden it, but did not try.

It was heavenly to see our friends, to be around people who have known me since before I was born and who (in the case of my godparents) are not so reserved as to avoid showing that they care. My godmother noticed me kneading the side of my neck which refuses to heal, and gave me an impromptu back massage which was better than a long hug; she always takes special care to look me in the eyes and give me a little shake as we say goodbye and remind me that she loves me. It makes me shy and feel slightly overwhelmed because it's so unlike anyone else's interaction with me, even my parents, who although loving, are not always able to behave lovingly.

Poor girl in the coffeeshop probably thinks I'm slightly nuts as I go to find another napkin, having saturated the one I had with stupid tears, but the more recent ones were happy, at least. Mostly so, anyway. I wish I knew more people (or rather anyone else) like my godmother, and feel like I should go apprentice myself to her to learn how to live like she does. I have the feelings, but not at present the capability, to embrace the world as she does, and wonder if taking up one of her suggestions to come hide out at her place for awhile might not be the best thing I could do to replenish my reserves of giving, which have felt extremely depleted from lack of any return from those to whom I have given or approval from those to whom I would- making it particularly difficult to be open to new opportunities.

...a fight is breaking out between a guy who walked in seven minutes before closing and an employee now, so discretion/valor: I'm guessing it's time to flee. Maybe more tomorrow.

Read more...