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.

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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.

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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.

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