I sat once, briefly, and observed the Temple of Asclepius in Rome.  A god of restoration, I hoped then, idly, but I hoped for some of that power to be worked over me.  Perhaps it did and it served me in that I had the strength to carry through from that point to this.  Perhaps it didn’t and I was just not overt enough in my prayers.  Asclepius is now a very old god, a son of a faithless mortal woman, perhaps he did not hear my thoughts. Perhaps I am not the sort to receive that beneficence.  It was a beautiful place to stop regardless.

Today, an earthquake rumbled through the Temple’s waters, my dear friend’s flat, the city and surrounding cities all the while I slept.  All the while it rained on my roof and reduced the ever-present threat of drought.  All without my input or opinion, the gods made themselves known.

My retail job boss, my mentor, took me upstairs for a meeting.  I thought, in my anxiety, that I was going to be given a talking to.  I didn’t have a reason to suspect that I needed a dressing down, but lately, with the crap that occurs without warrant, I was half-crouched.

It was not about that.  It was about October and what am I doing jobwise.  Am I continuing on part-time, am I returning full-time to the other job, is there some other configuration?  It was not about my mentor trying to steer me in any direction, besides saying she likes me working there and she’s happy for me to stay, but what do I want?  She’s heard my conversations, for going on ten years, and is probably one of the only “real” people I’ve revealed my thoughts on my career outside of family.  She joked that when she met me I couldn’t say no to anyone.  That she sees the difference in me.   Then we talked about my other job hiring a legit dollars person and I


I said I’d talk with my other boss.  I think she’ll say yes, yes, full-time starting in October.  I think she will because that’s what needs to happen regardless of whether or not it actually can.  And I think…my heart sinks a bit when I hear that.  Like what joy can I find in going back into the frying pan, even if they say they’re going to turn down the heat.  I just don’t believe it’s just a turn of the calendar to fix all of this shit. But at the same time, the idea of having enough money to restore my financial health, to plan vacations, to able to buy dresses on the cheap is a pleasant one.

I’ve said that I will stay working on Saturdays for a while at the shop regardless.  I want the discount.  I want to be able to pay off my credit card.  I want to talk with people, to maintain the connections.

She talked about where that would leave my writing.  And again, the heart sinks, but it leaves it exactly where it is now, in my hands to do something about.

That said, I called off writers’ group again.  I am on an impromptu hiatus.  I am so balled up inside my belly, so punch-drunk, so giddy with anxiety that I can’t write anything for anyone but myself.  It also doesn’t help that I took the name of my heroine for use in RP.  Now, given what’s happened, it is hard to recontextualize her as a straightforward, romantic striver.  It’s hard to spend time with her.

It’s not heartbreak, this thing with the RP dude who is mostly your quintessential modern American-style ghost right now.  All vapor. But it’s this revolving disappointment because it was so exactly the way I wanted it – all text, all intensity, all game, no repercussions, no demands, no responsibilities, no bodies, no travel, no boredom.  So everything everyone else offers in terms of giving a shit about me like that feels onerous, exhausting, lame.

My attitude on all counts is really outta whack today.

A healing or a shake…what is it that I need?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.