A Fun Human Being



So, no writing  has been done to pull from tonight.  M key is still fucked up.  I am still displeased with my body.  I am still caught up in watching Fix My Life videos on youtube.  I still haven’t been able to calm down and get myself on a regular sleeping schedule.  I still don’t have my dress.  I still feel all out of sorts after writing group involved a heavy dose of lady nectar and perfect flowers followed by buying a cake from a woman at Whole Foods who looked at me as if perhaps I was buying it for myself until I told her how to personalize it – maybe even then.  I did get it half off, so maybe I was misinterpreting her pity.

All of this means that I have to write this post here and now.  It has to come all from scratch, from the raw ingredients of my half-stocked pantry.  Best to get started before the night slips away.

Sometimes it feels like I just run from moment to moment awaiting a cast-iron pan to clang into my face when I get there.  A busyness has come over me that reminds me of old times.  A lot has started to happen that reminds me of that and I don’t exactly know how to resolve it because the last time it became terrible and unbearable, I just left.  I’m not doing that now, but I see the little roots of feeling imperfect and stressed at work really taking hold because I feel myself just detaching.  Disengaging, I suppose is the word for what I mean and that doesn’t do me the good I want done right now.

So you have to reengage, follow the fear, do this bizarre self-talk mumbo-jumbo to work on this.  I just feel weird.

My boss let us know that she doesn’t have cancer (who knew she was thinking that maybe she was, not me, but still, that was a bit overwhelming) and that maybe we’ll get some money in the morning (not as a result, two separate issues) and that’s an odd relief so I think about that as I’m buying this cake for her, and thinking maybe that’s a positive sign.

Of course, in the background, constantly, there’s this vigilant thought, this periscope sent up in the air from Mildred’s underground bunker that is all covered in coal and oil and so she thinks there’s only darkness up here.  She is pretty petrified about this date.  I’m trying to be relaxed, to be unbothered, to be unmoored to these ideas of what this will feel like or that I will somehow do it wrong (or right) and suffer as a result.   When you push yourself, it is remarkable the flurry of your neuroses that follows in your wake.

It is happening.  It is rolling ahead.  It is life.

And in the light of the horrors this world can inflict, some of the things I fear and worry over are such bullshit.  They are beyond insignificant.




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