Throw Her Over: Day 15

There is a White Russian in a bottle waiting for me at the end of this post.  Or maybe tomorrow.  It exists on this plane.  It’s only a matter of me moving to meet it.

One cat is tenderly, and then aggressively, grooming the other.   Warm and blocking me from stretching out.

A note that what follows is more specifically for me than perhaps other posts may be.   It is entirely a post written to describe my dentist visit. I feel the need to highlight this fact this now that I am aware that some people I “know” read this tiresome screed now and again.  Hard to explain how a post like today’s post truly benefits me but sometimes it’s just a matter of getting through this to get to the next good thing.

Some days you derive power from the weirdest places.  Today, I went to a new dentist and the act of doing so was so significant, I can hardly begin to say.  It made me brave to stay and work from home – it would have been ridiculous to drive forty minutes in for 2 hours and then back forty minutes for a forty-five minute appointment and then another hour and a half coming and going to return.  Now that the dentist is not more than two minutes from my house.

I told the hygienist and receptionist I was super nervous, anxious, but my symptoms were largely gone. I plainly expressed everything I was worried about without couching it at all in terms that might ameliorate this picture of a tragically fearful woman in front of her.  She narrowed her eyes for a moment in a way where you can’t quite tell if she was sympathetic or apathetic to your cause and then, after gagging away on the X-ray camera a few times, we both took a breath and I calmed down and was able to endure the apparatus and she took X-rays that actually looked like something.  As opposed to the blurry, best we could do X-rays at the old office.  She said in a very soothing voice that I had done great, that I was worried, but I did great.

Then the dentist came in and proceeded to be the dentist I’d always thought I’d ought to have.  I think I learned more in that 20 minutes of examination and cleaning than I had in four years of regular service at the fancy, high-tech joint.  And mostly what I’d learned was that the shit they’d been doing to my teeth was not, at this point, necessary.  That where I’d been desperate to get in having run long on a 3 month appointment schedule, he felt perfectly comfortable putting my next appointment out in July.  He didn’t see a ton of gum damage and felt that the grinding was the cause of my former discomfort. He explained about how it’s a natural method of the body to discharge stress and there are things we can do to adjust our habits so we don’t do it as much.  That the jaw was a joint, but we don’t treat pain in it like we do n our knees, for example. He didn’t charge me for 3 minutes of glancing at my teeth after an incompetent tech messed about with them.  And while he talked the whole time about things I was in no position to have a conversation about while he flossed my teeth, I actually learned about plaque development and how to floss and how often and all the things nobody ever bothered to tell me at the expensive office with the 900 signatures and the let’s spend 35 bucks to fluoride your mouth add-on charges I absolutely was sure I had to pay for.

I felt like he knew what he was doing.  I felt empowered to learn more.

I even went so far as to ask about the wisdom tooth extraction.  He was all nah, it’s not bothering you, and there’s only this bit of weirdness and yes, you need to pay attention because bacteria can get trapped there, but no…I don’t feel any rush to do that.  I was positively beaming at that point.  Then, they brushed me out of there with a huzzah, and here’s a toothbrush, and no, my dear, your insurance covers all of it.

Kitchen Martyr: Day 14

Strange days back.  Things I thought would happen didn’t, tasks surprised me with their incredibly efficient incisions into my spirit.  The pile-on piled on.  I endured.

Small thing:  something nobody save the therapist will be all that delighted in: I fought an irrational thought and won today.   Letting yourself recall the advice you intended to take before you stopped letting yourself absorb external stimuli…helpful, you know?  Oh, I don’t have to blow off the idea that I drive this way because I’ve got these thoughts that don’t make any actual sense.  I can let the reality sink in and not be overcome and panicked.  I can deal just a little bit.  Even if I don’t make the turn and take that road today, I can push a little bit.

And, I thought about my friends and their freedom and willingness to drive.  How we’re such similar people in so many regards and while they may – or may not – be weighed down with psychic pain that lives somewhere else in their heads…they find joy in driving.  They’re not in constant, irrational fear.  So with them in mind, with the peace of the weekend running through me, I made the turn and I saved 20 minutes of driving into the Hinterlands for the sole purpose of avoiding a feeling that I didn’t actually have when I took that road today.

So that was a good thing.

I also – I know you can’t possibly know this because I haven’t properly said it here – but I’m alone this week.  Alone with the cats and my cookery and my TV shows.  And it’s so relaxing and marvelous to experience a deeper quiet of the soul.  To not feel like you’re on stage in any way whatsoever.   It drives a desire to be domestic, to be organized, to be still and whole.  I hope I get to move some of that desire into actual housework tomorrow.

More than that, I suppose I need to talk about l’affaires du coeur.  Which is to say the things that used to thrill me about long-distance relationships (or two people being in psychic orbit without any plans about it) now…they wear me down a bit.  The excitement of being emotionally servile…servile is not the word, but it’s not not the word.  It’s sort of the stage past the courting when everyone’s gotten comfortable and in that comfort, they’ve decided to open the cupboards and let the unmentionables get mentioned.  It’s hard to feel the romantic whirlwind when, instead, with top billing with have a very modern take on the whole 2 people thing.  You can get dark with me, I don’t mind, but I need to not feel like we’re only ever two to three sentences away from the things that you like and we’re a whole Jane Austen novel away from my fantasies.

I don’t know how I feel about the place we are now.  I don’t know how I’ll feel at the end of the week.  What the connection means.  But it’s on my mind.

The Vile Language: Day 13

I didn’t post while I was up in the mountains. I could have. I absolutely could have broken away and spent the forty-five minutes to add some scattered notes and that probably would have been the wiser option. But old vacation habits died quite hard. I didn’t think about anything but the very moment I was in. I worried ever so slightly about driving or more rightly, being transported to the mountains and if the elevation or any little thing at all whatsoever would have triggered.

I’m hopeful about going back to write about the excellent nature of what did transpire. Not only to fill out the deck, but to explore what is true: Which was the fact that I had an excellent and relaxing vacation – five days par exemplum when it comes to the idea of not being owned by my anxieties. Of properly enjoying a peaceful, mostly spontaneous, stretch of time not owned by my job or some man in some far distant land or of this exhaustive mess of things I have to haul about and care for in my house.  I was travelling light. It was marvelous.

This morning, waking up to see the view in the skylight at the Airbnb of a giant side of a mountain, we got up, got packed, cleaned the house up of all our water bottles, and bottles of booze, and with a warmed up car, drove home in the most glorious, sunny morning you can imagine down and around the side of the mountain.  I felt like I was showing my friends the absolute best of what Colorado can be.  A winter that is sight, but not pain.  No slick roads to contend with, just little gingerbread houses and Red Dead Redemptive scenery.  I was quite proud.

Then, our final meal together: tacos, the best version of them, then a shot to my sister and her boyfriend’s home where they could finally meet some of the most important people in my life.  Then, a ride home and a hard crack as we hit the wall of recalling all the work I was trying to do and the person I was trying to be before I left.  How I wanted to snap right back to work.  Trying to do that by being here and doing this.

But what I’m attracted to in my arrival home is adulthood. It’s enduring one’s own distracted, concerned mind and accepting that there are things that must be done.  Meeting the timelines of my own reality.  Bucking up, buckling down, not crying for someone else to find a way.   Monday – let’s do our damndest to keep this in mind.

Maybe along the way I was hopeful that I would have received some message from the RP’er. Some final moment where he might have reached out and written some kind and final farewell as I endeavored to do two years ago. When I felt the extreme burden of moral clarity and I acted upon it in a moment of absolutely murky logistics. At this point, the google-fu has made it equally morally clear that occurred in a window that is now entirely closed.

So back to the drawing board.  More to say, more to say. Best to stop mid-sentence, leave them all hungry for more.

A Refusal to Be Vexed: Day 9

No head starts today.  I think I am almost there.  I don’t know.  I’ve got options for clothing for 3 and a half days like I was going on a 30-day cruise.  I’ve got all sorts of random things I somehow think my friends may be interested in.  I’ve been running madly for four days and now, now, I think I just need to hit this wall.

My font just changed for some reason I can’t determine.  It’s interesting.  Now that I know people are reading this – maybe people I care about, maybe not, I should be more motivated to speak broadly and boldly.  To write with verve and linguistic punch.  To speak of the project of self with power and hope and to pull all of us, collectively, out of the muck and mire that is this life with the piquancy of my wit, the sincerity of my vision.

But I’m fucking tired, y’all.  I don’t know what to say about that in a novel way.  You know what it is.  Everybody’s got sore shoulders from holding up the universe.

Tomorrow, tomorrow everything just relaxes.   And gets silly.   I hope so, anyway.  I’m looking up brunch places and hoping one of them won’t be so obnoxiously busy that we have to wait.

So let’s do this, my friends, as you may or may not know, these posts have to be five hundred words long.  I make the rules, unfortunately, and that one was carved into stone tablets long ago.  Let’s do the old game.

I am grateful for…my mother enduring her chemo so beautifully and keeping up her spirits and all the odd things that come with this – my father so earnestly telling me about the will, my sister taking it upon herself to supply my mother with cute caps now that her hair’s falling out – for the nice people at the treatment center that she so enjoys or at least fakes enjoying.  I’m grateful for the luxury of not having this an anvil in my heart right now.  I don’t know when that weight will fall, but I’m grateful that now for the moment, we can enjoy her spirit.  Her heart.  Her being her in the purest form.  She’s a good person.

I’m grateful that there is therapy tomorrow and some of the loose detritus floating about my brain pan will be filtered from my system and I’ll be set back in order again.  I’m grateful I had enough werewithal to put a few things in order and get what I think I need to m

I love the Black Phoenix Alchemy lab oils I’ve discovered hiding away even as I tore my place apart to pack.  I’m excited to wear them tomorrow, to wear jewelry, to have a nice,full face of jewelry on tomorrow.  I love that I don’t have to impress anyone, but I can try to impress myself.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could stay calm and happy tomorrow and enjoy without trying to leave my head too much?  Wouldn’t it be grand?

Perspicuous: Day 8

People have been, seemingly, checking this blog out.  That’s nice.    It’s all very pleasant to write something and have an idea that a handful of people and/or bots are going to run their eyes/code over it.

Wish I had anything worthy of reporting.

Reliably, at least we can say that nothing will happen until something does.  And for now, we’re on the side of the nothing that hasn’t happened.  I’ll certainly share if any late, breaking personal news comes over the wire today.  I’m growing quite wise and letting the bead in my brain that is fiendishly hopeful settle and simmer and shrink.  It won’t go away, how can it, but it can get very small and still while I go about my business.

The business needed to be busy and distracting.  There’s so much that is running and flying.  Spinning overhead, both the delicate crystalware, and the giant, cushy possibilities of doing something that will benefit you a year down the road.   Suddenly, I’m booking travel and making decisions and whirling here and there, making suggestions my boss approves of and I realize that there isn’t any time for thinking.  Just doing.  I thought I had another week somehow.  Isn’t that always the case?

I am going to end up, despite wishing entirely otherwise, doing everything tomorrow to prepare for this trip. I’m tired as hell from a hectic few days at work, have one more early start, and I still don’t know exactly how I’m managing the points A-B for Thursday.  There’s nobody around to make anything else work and I’m no longer willing to ask my father for things like this.

So, Trix, let’s get to it.  I have almost lost a pound in this first week of dieting.  Which I think is both heartening and disheartening.  Mostly the former, but I get, obviously that the reasoning for this is because in my busy-ness, the fundamentals so easily get lost.  I am tracking rapaciously, I read a book, I lost a pound.  A children’s book, but 100 pages of anything that I’m not required to read by my job is significant to me, and I know that what I’m doing will work supposing I prioritize it over everything else and thus far, I haven’t learned how to do that successfully.  But I did exercise once and even 10% enjoyed it.  I don’t know if that will continue, but I keep thinking I shouldn’t exercise after work because them I’m way too wide awake and don’t sleep.  But I’m so achey and tired I can hardly peel myself out of the covers to get to work on time so the idea of just shoe-horning in an extra hour to silently trot around my 10×10 bedroom, seems….implausible.

Alright. One task at a time.  Packing.  Read a page of the new Princess book.  Stop overpromising and under delivering.

Just get it in the mail.  Just get it out the door.  Don’t live in the pit forever.  Move on.  Move on.  Move on.

 

 

The Body Demotic: Day 7

So yesterday, though nobody would know it to look at me, nobody would know it without going after me with a needle and a fine-toothed comb, was a hard, heartbreaking sort of day.  I’m not dating anyone, though, naturally, I kinda sorta thought I was.  And I kinda sorta am.  Still.  But not really.  I can’t claim the title.  Wouldn’t hold up in court. And that’s as much clarity as anyone can give me on the situation.  Wait it out until you don’t feel like waiting anymore.  Like, what, what does that actually mean?  Care about me until it becomes a problem for you.  What’s it actually require of me?  A woman with broader shoulders and some sense would say, okay, halfway is not enough, we’re just going to hurt ourselves on the sharp edges of this. But I’ve pecked at crumbs and ash my whole life when it comes to affairs of the heart, so this understanding that the porch light is going to be left on for me, always a dish of food and water at the door doesn’t trigger the negative reaction that it should.  Even if it’s clear I’m never getting in the house. I think, well, there’s food here. That’s not nothing.  And nothing ties me down.  I can keep my own devices as it pleases me.  It’s what I wanted, right? It’s everything I’ve ever believed, that’s all.  The best relationships are those conducted entirely by post?

And I thought I took it in stride, accepting the ambiguity of it all, the inevitability of my hope being broken down into a sticky sort of powder, until I realized, about halfway through the evening that I was acting like a teenage maniac.  A stupid, stupid maniac who is going to regret her choices when they spin around and smack her in the face.  Emailing the RP’er like some kind of ridiculous swanning princess who thinks she can set a world down for two years and pick it back up and find it entirely as it was.  That was never going to happen and I knew that.  But still, I was free! I was uncommitted.  I was not on a path towards anything or anyone.  I was officially and am officially single.  Sort of.  Only nothing’s changed.  And it was only ever going to be about me.

I don’t really feel comfortable writing it out, this thing in medias res which might well be speculated upon and swiftly deciphered if anyone were of a mind. I suspect they’re not, but nevertheless, I feel bad enough about it that I want the shame shield to hang up like a Great Wall of China (and not some evil, orange-hued paltry attempt at nothing) between us.  Sit down with me and a cup of coffee, glass of wine, and I’ll tell the rest.  Suffice it to say that it all had to be entirely as it was, but my own good intentions done effed me again.  The world has changed much since all these trains hit the station at the same time, and I am certainly not the soul to demand anything of anyone, certainly not punctuality.

It’s just going to be disappointing is all.  Not evil.  It’s not evil.  Not yet.

Given these truish facts, I am endeavoring to continue on something I know is benefiting me – my small, paltry attempt at getting this body on the same page as my mind.

Supralucid: Day 6

So a thing happened about which I have emotions.   I have been cut loose.  Well.  Not really.  I have been told that the walls around Rappaccini’s garden are not locked. The poison is not so very poisonous.  We are all free to come and go as we please, but ideally, we will just stay right as we are, happy as the pearl in the clam.   Benefitting from the friendship.

I don’t know how I feel save that I know that I feel a bellowing, echoing, stentorian vibration in the deep unknowable fathoms of my soul.  A bit of an how dare you feel so free and easy?  It’s not free and easy for either of us, not in truth, but I suppose what I am sad about…what I am able to reckon with being sad about right now, is that it felt like he felt he could just offer me this gift.  He could just back away from the past two years. like an inconsequential sandwich at a forgettable lunch on some innocuous afternoon. It was just logical.  There was no welling of the soul, no choked back tears, no fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Knowing him, as I do now, if I am fair and not speaking out of the pained parts of me, of course there is an intense sadness for him.  But in that moment, the control, the adult demeanor, it’s important to be reasonable and honest and logical and therefore, it’s all up to me to determine the fate of everything was just depressing and frustrating.  What I want is what we will have.  He doesn’t want me to have regrets about it all.  It’s almost a dare…in its way, looking back, it’s this almost bravely, absurdly brazen, request to just knock me off this perch.  To stop being the person of general kindness he’s known me to be and just cast him aside with a HA HA HA.  That’s the frog to swallow.  And if it’s not that, if it’s fine. It’s just fine.   Life is beautiful if I’m not the devil.  Like waiting to take a punch and if I’m the pacifist, well, then, what a strangely perfect tension we get to sit in.

I guess, I guess… I’m proud in that moment for saying hey, of course,  I don’t want to send you flying off the top of the tower to your doom and tell you I’m no longer speaking to you, let’s not be silly, but I do need to know if we meet other people, that’s…that might happen, what does that mean?  And then, he said, well, I would never want to be in the way of your happiness.   So Spockian.  So ordered.  So straightforward and unmoved as if I’d asked him the time of day on a street corner.  I said I don’t…I’m not…it just could happen and I don’t want us to be surprised.  He says, no, if there’s any…prospects, just let me know.  I said there wasn’t.   If there was, I would tell him.   And he should tell me.  And I flashback to the boots through the thin crackling ice sort of heartbreaks I’ve have had in the past – places where I thought I was safe and cared for and special and turned out to just be a placeholder for some other, better person. And then, the subject is forcibly changed.

So I have my answer.  I am free and unrestrained to find somebody here as my therapist believes I want.   Impossible.  I’m terrible and full of panic and weight and shit that never gets off the ground. What do I want?  I understand my own hypocrisy here.  I understand I want to be free while I want him to beg.  Beg? No, just fight for it a bit.  Just offer something to it?  Just fan the embers slightly?  I understand it’s unfair.  I understand we had to have the conversation.  I understand, but I don’t get it at all.