ought

I don't honestly know the use of trying, except for the lack of alternatives which are actually alternatives, and the chance of helping someone whose heart hasn't given up.

In the past day or so my thoughts have hovered around the fact that my reason for existence seems to be a combination of indulging a handful of what I think are relatively modest desires, an essential clinging to immodest and improbable dreams, and a sense of obligation to be of use, to relieve suffering in compensation for that which I inevitably cause, a moral compulsion which I am unable to kill despite a long-lived resentment for those things that have been done to me for which no apology or comfort is ever likely to come. I wish I could kill it, or else find a way to sacrifice the desires instead, as well as the one or two dreams which make drastic life choices less appealing because of what doors they might close. I cannot shake the burden of what seems to be conscience, and I don't know exactly what to do with it, either. No amount of reasoning successfully convinces me that I ought to do anything other than everything I can, though the demands of making a living and the wealth of frivolous distractions my comparatively privileged life provides do a good job of muffling the voice of the moral imperative.

When I have my own attention, though, and distractions have temporarily failed, I know clearly that I do want to answer that voice with an unequivocal yes. The troubling question is whether I have anything of value to offer- how to decide what to offer- and how to educate myself so that neither it nor I am wasted. I don't know how to make that determination yet.

It's so late, and I've lost an hour more than usual. Would write more, but must go to bed in order not to guarantee myself a foul mood and a headache to take to work.

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important:

Recognizing that at times my tone can be rather lackluster, I have added via Cornify the ability for readers to inject as much sparkle and glitter into this blog as they think it requires. You're welcome.

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it goes

Because of my schedule at work and its basic inflexibility, I've had to give up being in the show, something which I'm just sort of trying not to dwell upon too much. It's useless to do so, anyway.

But, one positive thought... I did renew an acquaintance which might, with a little luck and effort, expand a bit- an interesting girl who I first encountered in the young adult circle at church. During our few meetings before, I was reasonably sure she disliked me (moreso than the usual utter-lack-of-interest that I usually sense from casual interactions with people my age) but this seems as though it may not be the case. From some preliminary conversations, it sounds like we have some points of upbringing and tastes (classical music, music in general integrated with lifestyle, austere mode of living that isn't solely due to poverty) in common. I was not left, afterwards, feeling as though I had again exposed myself as a freak for having mentioned one or two genuine opinions, so it seems worthy of consideration for that point alone.

I suppose the most surprising moment came when we were talking about past roles we had played, and I told her about the last play at college, where I was Horatio to Eric's Hamlet. And she said it was one of her favorites, a great role, and that she at times had been Horatio for others, and had a few Horatios in her life as well. For all the discussions I've ever had about the play and the character, I had not heard someone say exactly that about themselves or others, except in my own thoughts, where I have alternately wondered and given up wondering why that is always the role I seem to play in my friendships, if they have the chance to grow at all deep. It may be as simple as ensuring that it is my giving that matters, so that I develop no dependence upon receiving or vulnerability to the inevitable withholding. I am envious of those who are able to grow confident of others' loyalty or commitment, at least while other factors make the friendship feasible, and I envied her briefly for saying she had been able to have it both ways. But maybe I could learn something from her.

The difficulty with interesting people is that they typically have no more room in their lives for newcomers who don't immediately serve any specific purpose, and I'm not the sort who can make more than one or two attempts to clear some space for myself on the off-chance that we might get along as friends. I don't mind setting aside my pride a little bit in order to take the first step, especially since I know from experience that no one will be doing it for me unless they are male (usually) and want something. Past a certain point, though, it's just embarrassing. I'm a little weary at the moment of being embarrassed in that way, written off, politely ignored. So I suppose we'll see.

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Impulses

This came into my head all at once the other night, and its particularly stilted language, which I have left unedited, is a consequence of the fact that I could barely write quickly enough to round out the idea on paper.


The thing that I am finding, and coming to recognize as a comprehensive truth in the way I process the world, is that I have no true comprehension of the idea of "enough". While it is possible to become temporarily sickened of a thing, I do not know satiety in any form, and once my mind has identified a thing as good and has formed a desire for it, it wil not die until something happens to prove the thing not worthy of desiring. So while my mind considers a thing good, it will always crave it, and wish to have it to excess. It seems to be this way for every sort of object or feeling I experience. There are the obvious troubles such as a ceaseless craving for food or liquor- and indeed I am never not hungry or not desirous of drink, in my mind at least, however distended my stomach or throbbing my head. The only time I feel the slightest relief from the anxiety that is bound up in the hunger is when I have far more of a thing than I need. Consuming a pint of ice cream, for example, is not nearly so reassuring as having a freezer full of untouched ice cream. My actual capacity for consumption is fairly small, but it increases in inverse proportion to the availability of what I would consume. So if I try to obtain and consume a little bit of a thing at a time, I will always want more and more of it, and consequently obtain and consume more than if I had an endless quantity readily available to me, and did not have to worry that the next might be the last.
I am always thinking of the time when the things I desire will be ended or exhausted. I am haunted by the idea that at the end of my own life, nothing will have been enough. The eventual loss of those I love is difficult to contemplate for this reason alone- how can my memories of them, when my memory is little better than a broken basket for containing the things I would have it hold, how can they possibly begin to comfort me for the fact that I can have no more? I have had my family for twenty-six years, and if it were ten times that, I do not know if I could love them enough. I see no way of being reconciled to that, and know I have no choice anyway. I cannot live long enough for all the things I want to do, and feel certain of amounting to far less than I have been given, whenever my final accounting comes. Although I do not expect to have to pay for it once I am gone, I am possessed by sadness at the recurring thought that someone else might, or that they might have less repayment than they deserve for their kindness to, or faith in me.

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A little more human

Very gradually, and in small but encouraging ways, my situation seems to be improving (though in others which I can't yet talk about, it is worse.) I can't claim that hard work has paid off, because I've done nothing new to account for it- and I can't pretend to have been particularly patient because most nights in the past several months I've gone to bed worn out by dull despair- but luck has decided in my favor more than usual lately, and it is a very welcome change. I need to find something to do in order to express my gratitude for it, and will when my schedule settles a little more.

The first way is a silly thing: I've been cast after all in the chorus of the show for which I auditioned last month, and will start rehearsals next week. The strange, instant camaraderie of being a part of a cast, usually linked together by nothing more than a common purpose and interest, has always provided me with a sense of being included that I have rarely felt elsewhere (and too often in more casual social situations, it has been clear that there was no place for me, or role to play, no matter how willing I was or qualified to fill it.) I have undoubtedly been fortunate enough in the past to work with some wonderful people who found it a pleasure to welcome me rather than a burden, and I can't expect this always to be the case. But from what I've heard of this group, I might have that chance again. It's been almost four years since Hamlet, my last show- and now that I write that, I can't believe it. How can I possibly have made the series of choices necessary to deprive me of one of the things I love most in the world for four years? Honestly, I don't know.

The second way is a small thing, almost a nothing, but of significance to me: a few words from the man I consider to be my closest friend, even though months frequently go by between communications. Three, almost four months of this most recent silence. I worry for him sometimes nearly as much as I care about him, and so hearing that he is alive, well enough, and remembers me from time to time is a comfort.

The third way is almost purely practical, and I probably shouldn't even be as happy about it as I am, except I can't help it. Part of me really was afraid I might not find a place to live, at least not one where I would feel safe, or one that wouldn't be so expensive as to send me deeper into debt. But the place I found is beautiful, and shockingly cheap considering the size and location. I'll do my real rejoicing when the papers are all signed, but I will have a key tomorrow and a place to sleep that isn't borrowed or resented.

Simple things, but enough to renew my sense of hope and restore me a bit. Especially needed now.

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