field-of-dreams-1463190I don’t know how I am going to write this tonight.

It is November.  It is shockingly close to the end of the year.  It has been, as of tomorrow, exactly one year at the new job.  I have not escaped the level of stress I felt a year ago, though it has been transmuted.  We have a greater understanding of one another.  It doesn’t come in as deeply, I don’t allow it to root, to find purchase beneath my skin.  It is felt, it is keenly felt and often, it will pull at my arm around waking.  But I can shake if off and have some of my own time and my own peace.  I do still hear a voice that says I am not giving enough.  I am not Cullen Rutherfording it and giving my 1000%.  But I have done that and it was never, ever enough.   It shelled me out. Regardless of whether the tunnel has an end and there’s light there, I have a sense of being able to allow myself to enjoy my life despite the tightrope I feel us balanced on.  I just refuse to feel the dread, to own it and nurture it and hang with it.

And inside this moment of feeling exhausted and pushed, I realize I have to find a whole other rocket to blast me into a whole other stratosphere to get out of the orbit I’m in.  I have to let myself rise and face the sun.  I have to get heliotrophing against the seasons.   Winter, it is said, is coming and the sun is as tired as am I and her vacation is due to arrive.  And if my life is to continue altering itself, we will have to set up grow lights and wrap around the plastic sheeting and trap all those magic gasses that will keep the ripening and chlorophyll phylling. We can’t lie down in the cold and hibernate.

Fuck, if I wouldn’t like to hibernate.

The Clue app is indicating that Fred is soon to arrive and this means I am sad for smaller reasons than are worthy of me.  And greater ones, like the fact that my college roommate got in touch and is going to help at my event that I am completely thrown into the deep- end and trying to get like…a thousand volunteers in a day for and possibly bring our other roommate that I haven’t talked to in over ten years and maybe some other people she knows.  I just feel overwhelmed with memories of that time.  Of how marvelous I thought they both were.  How even though I was older, I felt so inspired by how cool they were as people.  How creative and sarcastic and good-natured and mainly, willing to let me into their lives even if I had no idea or reason to let them into mine.  How I missed their friendship.  What it meant to go back to the dorm for a solitary semester on my own and how that might have been part of the reason I had that summer where I lost my mind and had to go to China to get it back.




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