Marabou Mule

I am thinking tonight of walking in the Garbatella, after dinner, back on that trip to Italy. This is a place on the far side of the world from the bed that holds me tonight.  I am thinking of the comfortable quiet, of the feeling of the cobbles beneath my feet, and how much safer I felt there than I ever do when I stroll here.

It is all a trick of the mind. It is a story told and told and told again.  It is not a truth that we could not tolerate the movements we have always tolerated.  It is not a truth that the stairs will rubberize and our bones will shudder and our muscles give up when we step towards its elevation.  The things we say to terrify ourselves.

Another day, another fish needs frying.

Easing the Stays

Somehow, somehow, I sent myself workward and arrived there, and sent myself home and got there, too.  Even without all the food and water I should have had.  Even without carriage to ride there.   Even with rain gilding the roads and blurring the cars.  This does make me feel a bit of an easing.

Truth of the matter, I felt much better today because I was busy and had places to go and there wasn’t time to contemplate whether or not the stairs would hold me or whether or not the ceiling of this massive building was going to cave in or whether I would have a seizure whilst walking or sitting or taking a turn down a new hallway.  I just had to go.  I just had to return.  The airspace for worry was diminished.  Nothing felt so big as it feels on a Monday.

Meanwhile, I went and learned the things I needed to know about my benefits.  Mostly, I knew them and have already elected them, but they also have this wellness program where sometime in advance of next year I go and meet with this one guy down by the gym (just the one guy in this massive company and he meets with everyone and Sorting Hats them or Ollivanders them or whatever) and we figure out how I am going to improve myself to save $300 on my insurance.  I do this by having some sort of biometric baseline figured out and then, I have to improve in that way we agree upon – which apparently may or may not be wholly based on pounds exported but in financial or emotional ways – in order to qualify.  I also have to go do challenges and basically, my job doesn’t want me to be a human jelly roll and they’re out to encourage me by offering me $300 – an XBox, basically, to give a shit about myself.

So that’s an interesting thought when I’m feeling really gross and awful and my teeth are day to day and today was a tongue thing and maybe some other real TMI issues and I just feel a bit like everything’s decided to mutiny just when I need them to click in and calm down and be a support to me so I can handle this.  When I’m thinking about low carb and control and summer on this gray day of rain.

What I could do before July.  When I might have a day and a weekend to tumble into being another sort of woman. And if I don’t tumble, then, if I don’t barge my way into the future, I would end up with a trap door.  Instead of this constant, curious strain to see what is beyond all those misty horizons.

It’s a big thought.  A nice idea.  Nobody’s thrilled I’m having it again, nobody minds, either.

It’s always up to me.  Where I am, if I like it, if I don’t.  That’s up to the choices I’ve made.  It always bears reiteration.  I have the power to heal and realign and change what has felt proscribed and inescapable.  To find joy even if the map and methods thus far have not worked.  I can do more than nothing.

 

 

The Stewery

I have been wondering to myself if I don’t seriously miss out on the curative properties of daily blogging – the release valve it offers. Right now I have a lot of quiet time (it won’t last once the boss of my new job returns) and I don’t entirely know what to do.  I’ve felt rather panicky again today.  Not drinking a soda helped (day one of hopefully a long streak of staying off the junk) and I said no to a couple purchases I didn’t need to make.  But mostly, I sit quietly by myself and do the work I’m told to do and calculate what this will mean once I can afford to live again.

All of this makes me feel a bit unreal, a bit disassociated, and just…not enjoying the windfall of this job which I can do…I can actually do. Even the hard bits that are hanging out there

Time, I suppose, to write.

Chiaroscuro with the Cynosure

It’s Sunday night, nearly Monday morning so we can afford some big ten dollar words if it suits us.

Here’s the state of affairs.

The man, for I could hardly call him a boy, is a lot.  It’s a lot to deal with.  His pains and anxieties and my own aside (and that’s no small burden to stop attending to), even his affection is this full cup every time.  And I, with thoughts and fears that have nothing to do with him, find myself hunting for moments where I can work on those jitters and big plans and not be the perpetual sounding board.

That we can talk for two hours as though it’s a few minutes is promising, but it’s also, at times…oppressive, is not the word.  Demanding? I just find myself unable to say, hey, hello, I have things that I need to do.   But I do say that, eventually, just not mid-stream.  And those streams and threads of thought are long, indeed.   Long and covering worlds in spastic leaps of loose, ungathered thought matter.  Listening and empathizing and enjoying and participating where I may means I am quite tired in advance of a new week.

I think I sound ungrateful which I never mean to be.  Not having waited for such a long time for someone willing and happy to be so intimate with me.  But I don’t know protocol.  I know I can do whatever I want, I can ask for whatever I want.  That it’s not a hostage negotiation.  That he doesn’t want me to feel bound or constricted at all.  I just am learning for myself what the boundaries are and what my tools are when I feel sort of emotionally spent, how to get him to follow-through and hear that in me without feeling like awkward about expressing that I am just not…in cheerleader mode or Florence Nightingale mode or bro mode.  But exhausted, anxious girl who just wants to silently be in her own head.  Mode.

We’ll get there.  It’s just a lot.

Meanwhile, I reckon with the first year that taxes are not easy.  This is because of all the fucking around that happened moneywise last year so that I made choices about health insurance – choices mostly by failing to choose – and that means that the refund I always receive is likely to be a relatively small charge.  But nevertheless, still a lot cheaper than actually paying for that insurance which I could have used but could only afford technically.  So that’s frustrating.  Compounded by the fact that as soon as I walk in the door to do the taxes, the sister pulls my arm and says, you’re going to take over your student loans, aren’t you.  It’s like $22,000, but that’s only like $115 a month.

I mean, yes.  It will not be a big hardship in a couple of months to do that.  But her adjudicating what is financially right for my parents (of course they’re fine with me paying it, but they’re not making any demands for it this hot second), is really frustrating.  This idea of being forthright and upstanding is great – but I, right now, am on loose change while I wait for my owed money to magically appear.  That’s frustrating that I am made to feel like a derelict jerk. I know what my mother’s chemo pills cost.  I know that they’ve helped me out and it’s time to repay these lengthy favors.  I just can’t until I can

While over there, and huffing over these bits of reality, my mother decided to rub my shoulders and it was terribly painful.  That, and the fact that I am grinding my teeth and suffering mightily for it (I have a mouth guard situation, but I don’t like it, and don’t feel comfortable sleeping with it in so it’s hardly helping.   I wish I could relax.  I had a bit of a caffeine-induced panic at the office the other day.  I am thinking salt, sugar, fat and caffeine have their role to play in all of this so I’m striving to find a way out of using them as life preservers.  They’re utterly the opposite.

I want to enjoy these new things in my life.  I want to not sit for hours worrying about how to do what I did yesterday.  I want to feel trust and comfort in my mind and body.  I want to not be damaging myself and pretending that I am not aware I’m doing it.

Okay.  Enough.  I shall carry on.  I am missing this.  It feels like an odd shadow to me to not be here.  I think maybe it was the wrong choice.  Ah, well.  2017!

 

A Heart, A Stone

He’s a fine fiddle player.

It is Friday, and I am desperate to talk, and find the new fiat of not having to means that I feel very dry.

So it is hard to describe the hallways when the light is just so on an overcast Friday late afternoon and it feels as though I suddenly work in a vampire morgue palace…sleek and shiny and florescent and silent.  Everyone marching around as though they know precisely what they need to do, as if they’re ravenous to do it, and I sit at my desk and sort emails and wonder what exactly I am doing among them.

I am thinking, as ever, a bit about J.  It is required now, to think a little bit every now and then about him, like it or not.  And I do like it.  I just am every now and then forced to reconcile myself to the fact that I could have a boyfriend here.  With all the flaws and delights that would entail, but here, not on the other side of the country.  I don’t desperately want that.  I don’t feel I’m being forcibly denied that.  I just am mining a vein that may not prove out and how long, how long do we do this?  What’s the time frame to ramp up one’s intentions?  To say, ok, our liking one another isn’t enough.  We have to be aiming to share a time zone, eventually.  Just once, at least.

I am not desperate to do this.  I am just willing to experience it and see what that feels like.  I’m eager to just feel the way we talk about one another that one step further.

Because I said, okay, July, maybe I could come and visit you.  And there was no, OH NO, just…oh, and where and what and hmm and of course I want you to, but would you come here and…I, feeling this absence of 1000% thrilled delight, an absence I know would absolutely exist were he to suggest visiting me (even if it might be 85% delight on my part), immediately started backtracking and saying it was just an idea, a thing, a concept.  We didn’t have to make plans now.  And we don’t…but…if we don’t make plans, then, maybe some other chap who is here and interested, is going to go be interested in someone else and…that’s fine, that’s no big deal, it’s just…it’s kind of a big deal.  I guess.  If you want to get married and have kids and follow that one path.

I don’t know.  I don’t know what belongs to me and what is just something I don’t want taken away from me.

It is Saturday tomorrow.  My mouth still feels unfortunate, BUT, it is not falling out of my face and will live, we think, until the cleaning happens.  And I did not take the dentist up on a muscle relaxant, but I could see how that might be useful.  Kind of planning on getting drunk tomorrow night and forgetting about what fails me.