Teenage Heaven

One more time, with feeling.  Try it again, breathing’s just a rhythm.

Thank you, Ms. Spektor.

I’m doing the creepy-crawl back towards sanity.   What else is there?  We’re all sick of it.  We’re all tired and running out patience.  We all have bigger expectations than we will ever be able to achieve.  We are all not super interested in going forward and staying still is obnoxious as fuck and backwards is debilitating and depressing and miserable.  Crawling in a circle isn’t exactly a genius life plan, but it is at least now involving movement and that’s a good thing.   That’s the thing we have.

So, look for some serious updates tomorrow.  A scale update.  An exercise update.  A food rundown.  Look for loving hard and working hard and an accounting of one’s peas and queues.  It’s diving in too far when I don’t have the time to do it, but fuck it all, what else can I do to motivate myself?

Re-reading some posts, turning off the video games and doing something.  There’s the grand plan rising up again.  Don’t have to change the world, just the tone of the day.

What can I do in a case such as this where I’m promising to be a better person, but it’s already 9:18pm and I’ve just gotten through a stressful day by the skin of my teeth and I’m so ready to throttle everything and I don’t feel as powerful as these big sweeping reforms would require.  I don’t want to show up with two different shoes on and waste another day on flaking out of being a better person.

“You’ve come too far to turn around now.”

You look and look for a catharsis until the absence of one starts to seem like proof that you don’t want one.   And if you don’t want one, you are going to be exactly where you are and how you until the day you die.  That is pretty remarkably scary.  Scary enough to maybe get you moving and doing and taking care of business in every direction and scary enough to get you doing so much that you don’t have time anymore to break down and mewl about the state of the universe.

“I want to sweep the halls of this arrogance.”

So I’m cramped up on the couch and despite working hard at making us not explode at work, I’m not really minding myself the way I need to.  I’m forgetting how nice it is to know where your things are, to have cleared spaces and sweet smells and lit candles and I know the magick can’t work unless we give it room to work.   You can see, obviously, how much fear and loathing and protection I’m getting out of letting things get out of whack again.  I’m getting some kind of psychic satisfaction out of flailing and falling towards rock bottom when rock bottom is a myth we tell ourselves to let ourselves begin to try again.  There’s always worse and there is always better.

More than that, you are always choosing between them.

Rhiannon

No grand story today.  No big principle.   No big statement about who I am and what I am going to do and what I have to prove.  I do those things a lot and I like those things, those things are a big part of who I am and what motivates my actions every day.  Big picture stuff is better to me than most of the boring details that I am bound.  I delve into it here because it gets my blood flowing and excites me to delineate.  Makes me feel brave and smart and learning because that’s the way I can learn instead of ticking boxes and dotting i’s and crossing t’s.

But not tonight.   I have only details to throw at you and they’re non-important things.  Like my headache that made me feel like my eyes were charcoal briquettes and they were going to burn right through to the back of my skull and keep right on going.  Like the kind of attitude I got from the girl in the suit with no personal items at her desk when she smiled and you could only tell by the muscles around her mouth that she really was lasering out all your imperfections and sending the details back to the mothership in case you needed to be assasinated at some point in the future and they wanted to know where best to stick the knife.  Like the salad that was full of green spinach and fresh chicken and sun-dried tomatoes and feta and marinated artichokes and olives and was so heavenly and delicious for thirty minutes before becoming completely nauseating.  Like the woman who used to be friends with my mother before my sister and subsequently before I was born and who now is sort of a work colleague of mine and comes in to pick up some papers I have for her and brings these pictures she has of my sister as a two-year old and she and my mother are in a garden and you can tell that she keenly misses, despite it being over twenty-five years absent, my mother’s friendship. She talks about the flowers they subdivided and how they’re still growing there and in the picture you can see how much they might have been wonderful friends if life hadn’t wended its way between them.   Like the wind beating relentlessly at walls, at duct-taped cars, through the barely green and desiccated tree limbs, every edge and crack and gap, desperate to get in and say the things on its mind.   Like the gray sky massing and dissipating, a musician not quite good enough to keep a steady crowd, not quite brave enough to force a rain down on all the nonchalant listeners.

Even on a day where I don’t want to commit to a story, there are stories.  There are eyes.  There are strange happenings.  There are random photos and kind words, ephemera to collect, a link between one big idea and the next.  Sometimes that’s all the importance you need to have for yourself.

Viper Nebula

The cat that is never affectionate to me is being very huggy.  This is quite suspicious.  It’s like he knows something.  Not a likely theory, but he always stays well away from me and now he’s laying there, plaintive, and not quite purring…more like he’s emitting dolphin sonar.

So I need to keep playing Mass Effect since this is apparently the best game ever (I did know that but I am liking this DLC, despite the fact that I just died for the first time in ages and it caught me rather off-guard.

I am doing okay with food, today, shockingly.  I am drinking water.   I am handling the stress, more or less.  I think shooting things in the face definitely helps.   I worked and cleared a lot of paperwork today and some random issues resolved themselves randomly.  I was still very unfortunately dressed like a white trash care bear which would look pretty much just as you might it imagine it would.   Pinks and purples and dear god, sometime I wonder how I let myself get out of the house this way.  If I could just wake up five minutes earlier, I would probably save my reputation.  Sleep, though, comes at such premium that I covet it a minute at a time.   You only think of these things in the morning, though, with a whole day ahead of you.  At night, you’ve managed to survive and five minutes more free time enjoying yourself seems just as priceless.

I am burning my candle at both ends and taking a flame to its center.  You’d think there’d be some kind of poetic heroism in this, but mainly, it just leaves me feeling like something of a husk.

I feel much happier when I consider everything in my life that is outside of my work, whatever those scant things are, and when I consider the joy they give me and that’s where I’ve got to put my attention now because eventually I’ll leave this job if I don’t tear the whole place down with my bumbling and these things will endure and remain and buoy me up because I know I will hardly be able to bear this post-work world  that exists only in my imagination.

What else?  What else?  There was so much to say at noon when I opened this window at work and intended to throw a hundred words in.   There wasn’t time for that, there wasn’t even time for a break or to get up and eat away from my desk for five minutes and there was drama about rewards points on credit cards and the shamefulness of using them and I could not have possibly rolled my eyes any harder without ripping my retinas.

The sister is sick so I can’t regale her with a five-hundred word description of Wilsop, which I have been edging around doing.  I both feel very sorry for her and very disinterested in being sick myself.

Oh, I took a day of vacation next week.  Have to deal with a car thing and I am going to take the whole day to not be bothered.  I think…I need it.

Charted

If you put it all in a pile, eventually, you have to work down that pile.  Random thought for the day.  I think, more than any other trait or state, not slenderness, or a bigger, better, more agile brain, or beauty, or grace, or riches or to be endowed with kindness and bravery and compassion for others, I would prefer most to be more organized.

It would make all the rest of those things feel less like pipe dreams.  Like I could get there if I could just somehow get myself through the muck and mire of my own best intentions.

….

I’m a great deal less organized that I meant to be by this time.  I’m rather haphazard and keening and running along madly in so many different directions.  I’m alright, to be sure, just everywhere and kooky and wanting to be done with these words so I can play games and sink into myself where there isn’t all of this constant scalpel work.  But I know, I know, that my constant retreat does me no favors and it’s the root of the problem.   Rough when the treatment causes the disease.  I always want to start at rock bottom.  I don’t want to maintain anything and I have no propellant power to take me from rock bottom to anywhere more than two inches above rock bottom.

I did my best on one thing tonight and that was make sure I didn’t go to bed on the iron maiden again and wake up hunch-backed and stiff and angry at how sleepless I feel despite getting 7 hours in.  I don’t have a grant solution to that, either, at the moment, so I thought I’d at least go about flipping the mattress.  Well, naturally, this mattress of mine has no bottom.  Something I only find out once I’ve torn off the bedding and flipped it.  I thought for a moment about just leaving it flipped and undone, the travesty of it not being soft on both sides just another burden my crappy surroundings have throne at me, but that lead to the thought of a morning doubly cramped and doubling pinched and slighted and dwarved by this mattress and I just couldn’t do it.

So the bed is remade with the soft side up, if swapped around so the head is at the feet and vice versa.  I hope to feel some difference tomorrow.  It is a very real metaphor for my life, this bed.  This house, with its cracking sinks, and unkempt everything.   It’s loved and its safe inside and we are aware of its flaws and we can abide them because they’re ours and no one else has to suffer them because they’re all kept inside, but it does strike you as a wondersome thing that this is where you choose to be.  Where all your time is going and it brings you no joy, just stress and displeasure.

The crux is this: I can’t believe that I’m an adult and have all these choices and this is what I choose.

Faith

There’s a great quote in Miranda where she talks about becoming “a new me.”  I won’t post it here to distort my count, but basically, she wants to be one of those women who have it together, are Janies on the spot and are not the awkward miserable people she sometimes and in some ways sees herself as.

Today, I could have really used a new me.  Because the old me is doing things completely worthy of a Miranda episode like leaving the house to get food with two different shoes on.  No, really.  I woke up from a nap and sort of gathered myself so ridiculously quickly that it wasn’t until I got out at the restaurant that shall not be named when I realized was wearing different shoes and also my jeans were way too short over my bright white socks and basically I looked like…an idiot?  Is that too unkind to say?  This would also be the day where the makeup was decent and the coat was okay and there was a nice guy holding the door for me at said restaurant and I had to completely shuffle along with my head down on account of the fact that I was wearing TWO DIFFERENT SHOES.  God.

But other than random moment of FAIL, today wasn’t that bad.  I did go over to my parents and am 99% done with my taxes, just need one more form, I think.  Our most wonderful aunt came over and we did take a walk just as prescribed yesterday which was good, a very good start.  Also, we did figure out how we were going to do our July vacation/trip to my cousin’s wedding in Minneapolis and booked the flights which astonished me that we were able to get done without major fighting and rolling of eyes and shoulders.  No car crashes to or from, either, though I need to stop listening to the same 3 songs on the Apocalyptica CD otherwise, I may burn right through the cd and set the car on fire.

In the light of a successful weekend, I am writing this post and friend tweeting and feeling not wholly uncreative or ill-humored so I feel that’s something of a success to note.  I also did read today and I did have water.  Edging closer to not necessarily a new me, but a less whiny, self-doubting version of the current me which is a joyful result.

Uh, what else?

I am not looking forward to tomorrow, but who is?  I’m kind of crunched in every single way with trying to get things done that should have been done ages ago and dealing with the drama of the co-workers and the growing suspicion that I need to just be away from them for a long, long time and I can’t have that right now, so I am just going to get some sleep tonight (after hopefully flipping the mattress of evil) and promise that I’ll take small steps forward to make things not only better for myself, but awesome.

 

Firmly But Gently (Rumba des Burros)

goWell, instead of going down, I’m leaning forward.  Or something directionally positive whichever way that is.   I’m still a complete mess, and I’m still playing computer games and sitting in this room like that’s the way things will ever change, but it doesn’t feel like a new story or one I have to be caught so agog by like last night.

There are only two ways that things will ever change (and they always do) is incrementally and exponentially and you can only attempt to achieve the former and you’ll eventually you’ll be caught off-guard by the latter.  You can wig-out like I did yesterday about your life, but unless you have some interest in bugging out of it – and I don’t, even you know, as something I’d melodramatically joke about – you still have to wake up and do something with yourself.  Still have to write the 500 words a day.  Wash your face, put on your pretty makeup, and eat and be.  It may not be being swept off your feet and vacationing in France avec ton copain…but it’s life.  And there is something indigestibly, indefatigably, indisputably remarkable just about going around bearing the spark.

When you’re down, you can take comfort that you’ll come back up again if you let yourself rise up.  Have faith in your own psychic buoyancy.   I’m trying to.

Also, my makeup was really cute today.  Thank you, MAC.

So, here’s the weekend rundown.

Food and Exercise:  I did not eat a lot, but did have a heavy lunch that is causing my stomach to hurt after not really eating too much breakfast or dinner last night.  I’m getting myself in order for tomorrow, though, and going to my parents where I plan to do my taxes, take a walk, have my dad look at my wounded car, speak to my mother and return some tupperware and then get back home to do a little walking DVD here.  Starting small.  Had water and carrots today, too.  This is infinitely better than what it might have been.  I am kind of excited.  The wedding in Minneapolis isn’t so very far away, but I have time to start digging my heels in.

Creativity: Well, aside from this and the makeup, I’m starting to do some vaguely creative things with some art I found through the cleanup.  And I’m reading the novel’s wiki and finding things that excite me to write about.  Sort of relearning the plot a bit.

Humor:  Let us never forget the importance of this one.  Oh, god, when you don’t laugh, when you spend all day pretending to be Oda Nobunaga in Civ V and all of a sudden, it’s seven at night and you wonder why the hell you care at all about increasing your culture output and it’s time to do something else, you sort of give yourself a depression headstart.  You can have some kicks with a computer, but it isn’t EVERYTHING.  Remember that and nod sagely back at me.  The computer can however link you to dear and wonderful people and the friends and I are finally on the same page and getting to watch Strictly Ballroom and I know they’ll love it and it gives me joy to give them joy.

Cleaning:  Lots of laundry and visible progress moving out winter clothing.  I have not been a complete layabout today!   Working more tomorrow to make this a restful place that doesn’t constantly distract me.  Working.  Trying to do what I can and not look back.

 

 

Common Bird

Okay, so I need to get going on this and me trying to bloviate depressingly is going to just get me nowhere.  Sure, I’m spending another Friday night trying to manage a mild existential crisis that is basically just another way for me to get out of cleaning up and doing actual active things with my post-work life.

Anxiety when you become inured to it basically presents itself as the most logical illogic you’ve ever heard.  Needing to do the weirdest things or being unable to do the weirdest things, random things that you’ve always been able to do or you’ve never wanted to do, and all of a sudden, it becomes obvious to you that in this moment you can’t or must.  The threat is present, completely obsfuscated, but present and real and if you’re a sane person, you have to act accordingly.  Like not going to the grocery store because going that way where the accident was will somehow trigger some kind of panic attack even though I’ve driven that way like a million times, even driven it yesterday morning to prove that I could face it, and instead, just going home where you don’t have proper food and eating so many apricot jelly and peanut butter saltine crackers that you are sure you’ll never be able to have any of the components of that ever again.

And how can you follow up such a random spasm of mental self-restraint?  By lolling around in bed judging yourself for your absent and void romantic life and how you have absolutely nowhere to go and absolutely no way to get there and no friends and no prospects beyond a life of cat pictures and podcasts and driving to work and driving home and weight gain and dissolution and delusion.  You lay there wanting to cry, thinking it would be really nice to just face the sadness of the truth of all of this, to sit in the darkness and drain all the reservoirs overhead until your face is red and puffy and you’re done with the ridiculousness.  But it doesn’t seem like a real worthwhile use of your time.  It doesn’t seem like you can even engage with the sadness enough to cry because it would mean somehow acknowledging the downness and accepting it.  Because the hole you’re imagining that you might have to deal with is so much bigger and deeper and costly and leeching heavy metal and emo that you can give by if you just stop giving it credence.

I do not like wasting Fridays like this.  But if I did, I did.  Gotta let it go.

My friends and I are going to have our Saturday chat tomorrow.  We are going to watch Strictly Ballroom.  I am going to do my hair up fabulously tomorrow.  I am writing.   I am going to the grocery store tomorrow and I’ll clean up, too.  Light a candle.

I let go of the rest of it, all of which I never had control of anyway.