The Sciences Sung a Lullaby

The things you don’t say are the things you regret.

They say.

But somehow I spout off truths and regret it all the same.

How is it possible to explain that when you want to share a story it is not because you want to hide yourself but because you feel yourself as a teller of tales? To know yourself through the offering?  To pleasure yourself by aligning yourself with the Nile and not fighting against it? That you are the water bearer, that being the vessel of the water which gives life is your thing…is you?

I tried to have that conversation tonight and did not…get far.  It was not a fight.  Still, I did not get what I wanted, so I regret the lapse in judgment, even if to do so requires I ignore the flurry of compliments, of zeroed-in desires, of fixation upon the vessel, the bearer, the teller and not the salvation it carries.  Perhaps it is time for the Riveter to draw herself a new map.

  1. Amazon shopping list
  2. drink glass of water (did remind me I wanted a filter)
  3. send my three images
  4. Pajamas / face washed / teeth brushed / lotion applied.
  5. this post
  6. find the bullet journal try-out journal somewhere about (I did not find this, but it must exist, so I have not bought a new one.)
  7. let the idea percolate

The Cackler

I feel very untethered so it is time to find a railing to tie this balloon to.

  1. Amazon shopping list
  2. drink glass of water (did remind me I wanted a filter)
  3. send my three images
  4. Pajamas / face washed / teeth brushed / lotion applied.
  5. start a civ game + load of laundry out / in / out
  6. get bag ready for bus
  7. this post
  8. find the bullet journal try-out journal somewhere about


Aquarius Woman

A night for length not brevity.  Save the brevity for the poems.

I am sitting in the dark.  I am in every sort of exhausted wonderment.

It is so strange to me that this is happening, happening imperfectly.

I am thinking about how much I miss this place, this work, this slow unfolding.  I want, at this moment, the time I’ve divvy’d up to other pursuits back in my hands.   I want to have written every day.  To have notes about how his voice feels in my ear as I lay the phone against it.  The soft warmth of it.  It has a shape now for me.  How we watched Angel’s Egg together and he asked me if I looked like the unnamed girl.  I did, sort of, when I was very young, and do, even less sort of, but still, right now.

The compliments are meted out at such a natural specificity that they always feel meant, if not earned.

Meanwhile, today was my celebratory pizza lunch. This meant the whole family found themselves capable of leaving the house and going out to a place – one in fact that the majority had never been before. The pizza on offer was well past acceptable, good even, and I wouldn’t mind returning soonish, though, that is in natural opposition to the idea that is flashing off and on at greater speed that this new job is a new recreation of my personality. I want to begin having the idea that I could be the sort of person I used to have a very specific burst of fantasy about. I used to, in my playful, unencumbered childhood, crave the complexity of an adult existence. The formulation for me was short skirt, long jacket. A corporate version of myself, though I never really visualized myself as being at the office, but tested by the gauntlet of it. The fantasy was returning home in a sports car or some sort of vehicle that looked like a pellet that could take hairpin turns over high mountain passes which was required for me to reach my secret aerie, taking off my high-heels, observing a sunset or somehow a sunrise, and feeling relieved and centered. Utterly capable of whatever the job was, but that peaceful core of self that I have cultivated and protected remained so. Untouched by the drag of the day, the demands of the higher-ups. In my vision, I was suitably high-up so that I could never be crushed under anyone’s thumb. In my vision, I was slender as a bay leaf. In my vision, in my silver power suit, I overlooked the whole world and had the funds and means to stay separate, untouched.

I need new habits. Day One, Starting Gun Habits. No celebratory sugary coffee drinks to cheer ourselves for breathing.  No every moment needs a marzipan set of laurels to commemorate it.  Not everything needs a blog post.

But some things do.

They were happy for me, they hate the things that frustrate me with a laser focus.  All is as it should be.

And the past feels like someone else’s water in someone else’s jar.

Gleam of a Paua Shell

I’ve just watched a video of a spoken word poet who writes and recites and lives out a story of unwanted touch.

I, for my part, am trying to re-understand what it is now for me.  What it is to have your touch and not, to want it and not and want it again and not be able to get it because of inescapable truths about both of us.   That you suffer.  That I suffer to wait.

So strange to be walking this path and really have no idea where we’re going.  I have an idea of what I want to happen, but I can’t just go and buy a ticket and do it.  It has to be the right time and moods and time zones and availabilities have to collide and in the absence of that collision – I still feel a bit…frustrated.  But then he’ll talk about maybe me visiting him.  In a roundabout, adorable sort of way that doesn’t bear a sudden prod of, “Oh, should I pull out my calendar and look up flights?”  It’s this fragile ghost of an intention.  And then I remember that he’s not six months away from his divorce.  That life is complicated.  And I have no doubt of his feelings.

I am just selfishly desirous of a world in which we’re physically together.  One I don’t even know if I could handle especially on top of everything else happening now.

I have just completed all of the paperwork – all done digitally now – for the new job.  The new job that will lift me out of poverty and into a corporate universe.  A universe that I either will sink or swim in.  As part of the corporate onboarding (a term I’ll use now because that’s the kind of person I am aiming to be), there’s a website and as an aside on this website, a video of corporate values.  I wonder if, after today, I will mention work or what I will mention or where or if some additional layer of secrecy will be demanded upon my venting.  I have resources, but this is…home for all of that.  It’s just, maybe someday, some measure of the meat on the massive bones of this place will become known and attached to me and if there would be trouble if I’m ever anything other than utterly pleased.

Right now, there’s no reason to be anything other than utterly pleased.  It’s all done without a phone call.  I’ve passed the tests and all I have to do is agree not to act as though other people’s business is my own and to write out exactly how I’d like my pecuniary dispensation sent to me. But there is a video of the people who work at the company.  A very nice video, and I am pondering, how I cannot imagine being show in this video.

But then I imagine these techs, these corporate-looking bodies draped in suitedness, all of them go home and have their own weird lives and circumstances.  And I start to see myself, suited. Sitting at the same desks surrounded by the same dry-erase white boards and speaking in legalese as though I know anything.  I won’t know, but I can see myself capable of faking it until maybe the faking isn’t everything.  I can let myself visualize myself taking this on as a role, and not suddenly mutating into some sort of corporate husk.  Or, necessarily, falling on my face because I’m such an obscure and esoteric free spirit.

It is, in the end, just marketing.

The video, shot in the summer, where everything looks green and clean and enormous, has no words, but an obvious subtext: you will be happy here.  I want to fight against that, as I lay in bed, feeling the pudding in my brain.

But who is to say that I won’t?

And now I begin to think of losing weight.   With a pizza party tomorrow to celebrate the job, I’m wondering about how I gather the reins.  I am wondering how vital it is to break the chain Day One or if I’m setting myself up for failure.

Tomorrow, looking forward to getting some order around here.