I climb into this page desperately today. I feel its absence in my life, I mourn its absence when days sort of pass unreflected upon and unremarked upon. Moments that might have been captured are going to be missed today. Perhaps that’s the thought process of a graphomaniac, but it’s the truth. I’ve forgotten instances that even with careful prodding and revisiting my daily agenda cannot be recovered. Nine times out of ten, that has to be fine, but there are little pieces of gold I’m surrendering to times past.
I just see it as art that cannot be. And if I’m an artist, isn’t it of primary concern to me to be making art?
I don’t know. I don’t want to necessarily pick back up daily journaling simply because I have the notion that laying it down made room for other things, made time for other passions to come forward, that this relationship came to be in part because I had the time to look for it among all the bineweed and dandelions. A focus that returned me to the work I want to do – the fictional work, would be fantastic. I am worried about where that will come from if the changes I am pursuing do come to pass. I am worried about finding time to push forward.
Really, that means that I have to find more impact with less lingering online. That is a hard thing to suss out, but I am going to work on that this week, at least play with how it feels to cut up my time a bit differently.
Love: The frustration remains a bit frustrating. Honestly, I wonder now if there would be a bit of harm in picking it back up with the RP player, though I refuse to do anything about it since I know that the wonder is coming out of a selfish place and not one devoid of emotions. But only, I would suggest, if it could be outright asked for. If there was a time and a way to express my desire to do it without wanting to change what we have going on, where I could know what the boundaries were and stick to them. Right now, the emotional quality is odd. It’s the sort of approximation I’ve lived with all my life, but now there are two sides to it. I’m trying to be a long-distance girlfriend and he’s trying to be a long-distance boyfriend and we’re both sort of inventing how we think that should go without any real awareness of what the other one actually needs.
For me, I need the kind of attention I was shown before we got so comfortable with one another. The kind that the RP player and I had. I am well aware that this is an old and well-worn road for many people who find romance imperfect and are constantly contemplating how to perfect it, either with their current or new partners. But this is…my experience. My contemplation and struggle. I am just stumbling around.
How strange the problems are these days.
Work: It has been realized that I have no money. Like none. The flow has stopped somehow, or at least for the next three days when I can hope to have more income, but can’t be assured of it. This means everything else has stopped. It is astonishingly terrifying to consider you can’t buy food or gas or bus fare or anything (save what the change you can scrape up will get you)…
All the while, this new job seems like an answer. Seems like a bullet train back to reality, to being able to have discretionary income again, to being able to have haircuts and meals out and savings and paying bills on time and getting myself in order.
I have a 33% chance of coming back to life, of no longer having to live in this off-brand hell. I want to hope, but I know I could have done so many little things wrong that ruined my chances. Also, it seems like it’s all up and it mostly is, it’s mostly a matter of mind over matter, but that’s never been my strong suit.
When my cousin and business coach and I met during this period, we both, mostly at my insistence, held the notion that this kind of work, the work that I’m applying for and that she trains and evaluates talent to hold, were not the direction for me. The stress. The perfectionism and criticism. The corporate expectations. Where she held a passion for it, I kept saying things like I just wanted space to write. And it is not lost on me that I am pinning my hopes on a job that is liable to chew me up and spit me out again. That might make writing feel akin to burning one’s self alive. I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know.
Health: I am eating cake out of a bowl.