It is not just the weather, though the weather contributes, I am irritable. Four hours is not enough time to do my work. I am constantly in triage mode. I plan to do things and a week later I haven’t done them because of all of the “just getting by” re-arranging and re-arranging that is required so that we are able to just get by. I am bending backwards to be gracious but I’m running out of flexibility. I feel so ineffectual. I am running out of smiles. So tomorrow, checking out whatever the new possibility might be feels a lot more palatable in my mind. A mind that is freaked out at the very idea of appearing disloyalty is saying, hey, it is time. It is required.
Details on that if it happens.
First a thing has to be before it can be given a name. At least most of the time and in most of the places I frequent.
I am having the relationship with
But it’s interesting, the moods and nuances of the day shift and turn me over, wrap me up in their spidersilk and hang me for later. Your celebratory post about weight loss and good effort in juxtaposition with my feeling that I could just eat until I Violet Beauregard my way out of this world are one such jolt. I say congratulations because there’s nothing more to have than me shouting down my hallway and you shouting up yours and both of us leaning out windows to tell one another we heard the other in passing. And I do this, I feel, because it is better than saying nothing at all even if it implies that I have some right to feel jealous when my congratulations is one of many congratulations from women I will never meet or know. Women I foolishly compare myself to as if each one of them has secured some portion of your heart and I have shown up with a rusted fork and a blunted butter knife to force my way in. I can’t even claim to know that much, only that you’ve said that you’re available, so maybe we’re all just in the buffet line just as you’re standing in ours.
I am considering what I do and don’t do. Where I stand and don’t stand. The premise of this year as one of physical change which would allow me vaster emotional change. I am considering. And then, I feel so goddamned done with the day and with waiting and with the thoughts flittering in my head and just the weight of inadequacy that food…food makes sense. It’s just a place. I can go to the other place. I just have to have a reason.
It is a lot of ballast to put on a stranger. To try and cobble together a New Mr. Rochester. To make him a character, and make yourself into one, too. Be my reason to give a damn when right now I can’t find one myself. That’s not really a great place to let love spring. Gotta be your own reason. Gotta be a bit compassionate towards myself. Gentle, even. And perhaps, for the whole shebang, wanting this guy or at least wanting to begin with him, wanting to be on the bandwagon and wanting to be down in the muck and sad. For wanting to live fully and not wanting to risk that much. All of those thoughts are forgivable, and having said that, it’s easier to just breathe and try again. Replying, walking, drinking the cold water.
From the On Being article today: “Your body, for as long as it can, will be faithful to living. That’s what it’s made for.”