So many things going on. Task upon task upon task. I used to fear and crave this sort of life. That my creative self would be broken upon its rocky shores, that my life could be pulled up out of its primordial ooze and spun into an elegant vase by the forces of just being busy. Being full of purpose and absent of time to worry and suffer and build up anxiety within. Being a vessel void of anxiety seemed always like a good way to be. Daydreaming of adult life as a girl, I always imagined silver cars up steep hills, making the hairpin turns out of a harried, glittering city, into the mountains, the highest mountain to some massive estate. Sweeping into a room that overlooked the city skyline, a glass of wine in hand, silver stilettos tossed aside to clatter on the marble floor, I would collapse onto some white chaise longue, or even some simple kitchen table and I’d watch the sun set. I would, I always imagined, feel safe and secure, fully funded, free, and yet, I always imagined myself entirely alone in those moments.
Here I am, grown-uppish, striving for something better for myself than an unhealthy future or capitulating to the belief that I can’t have anything just because that person driving those switchbacks to that hideaway mansion feels so far away from my hopes and dreams as they are today. I’m actually counting the old calories. I’m actually drinking water and not eating late into the evening. I’m actually doing the things I’m asking of myself. Weird. Who knows what this means? Who knows what 365 days of this will bring? But it would be something. It would be something.
So I am trying on the third day to continue. Not perfect. Teeth still irritated as hell and they’re begging for help and the best I can mentally say to them is that there is an appointment and it’s 12 days away and unless there’s blood or things falling outta my head, that’s what it is. I wish they’d call and let me know, I’d love to not have this impede my fun this weekend and next, but I can only do what I can do. I am just human. Sorry, gums. Sorry, I lived a life of dental fear and immoral and indecent dental behaviors, but I can’t undo it now except by being brave and calling…which I did.
So J. So that talk that seems ongoing and strained and strange. I mean, suddenly, there’s a slew of compliments…good ones, meaningful ones that only come from someone who’s actually paid genuine attention to you. But I’ve haven’t been able to say the parts of this that are the hard parts. The…thank you, but you need to know that if we don’t move on from the nebulous nature of this…that the pull to figure out how to be with someone here, someone local, is going to just get stronger. It’s going to just be harder to bear and I don’t want us to suffer through that, suffer worse if it comes as a surprise to either of us when we don’t want to suffer anymore. Not being able to properly call a thing a thing is its own sort of pain.
When I say “Oh, I don’t know” what I mean is, I know exactly, but it would hurt you so I won’t say it. That’s a deeply disappointing thought.
No disappointment. We’re on target. We’re on track.