Pertinent Information: Day 29

That feeling when you’re way too fragile, self-esteem-wise, to handle someone the avoidant-obsessive game.   Everything justifies everything else.  I said we needed to know where things stood so we wouldn’t accidentally hurt one another.

Why does he need to tell some British redhead her smile is great?  That “damn…that smile.”  It’s a group for single people!  I don’t know.   He just does.  Meanwhile, I feel as though I’ve crawled out of some terrible, pilled sweater cocoon an even greater, more shlubbier bit of nothing.  Meanwhile, I’ve got a chair half-full of pizza.  I’ve got this exhausted anxiety.  I’ve done what I could.  But everyone’s better being themselves than I am these days.   My feelings always have this edge of plausible deniability until the moment someone tries to deny them.

I want to tear off my skin and tear the bone from the marrow and get back to dust and air and weightless, speechless things.

We aren’t dating.  We’re single.  But we’re not, you know?  We’re honestly not. But we are, apparently.  This is the shit you have to just blink and determine has no power over you.  But it does.  I want to be passive aggressive and shitty like the bad sitcom wives who hold shit over their unwitting husbands’ heads – the ones I swore my relationships would have no single common thread with.  I want to post cold-hearted, snide, acerbic things.  I want him to feel bad for thinking whatever probably innocuous thing he was thinking.   Probably.

Everything is fine except in the ways, you know, it ain’t.

Everything is grand except in the ways you’re actively eating shit.

I’m glad that therapy is tomorrow.  Even if it means I have to mess with running around like an imbecile in the middle of the day.  I’m trying to learn.  I’m trying to do what I can.  Trying not to dwell on how I feel so awful I can’t even think.

Just a momentary vent.  It’ll heal.  Along with everything else.  Fuck.

Famous Ladies

I want to write this post with some modicum of eloquence.
I need to take the trash out and do the dishes, clean the fridge.
I need to read 15-30 pages of my book.
I need to make my bed up.
Play Civ VI
Play Dragon Age.  (Yes.  Was distracted, but yes.)

I begin so poorly because today does not come with a ready-made narrative.  Today had just strange conversations and strange glimpses of the past and strange impulses and strange behavior and I don’t know how to correct for it here.

So, yeah, the oddity of J and I, the pulling apart and smacking far too hard back together again continues apace.  I don’t know how to describe it without saying more than a public blog on the internet allots for.  There are communications between two people which aren’t meant to be parsed and reconstituted into a digital form for the masses to consume.  Suffice to say, that the doubts have not been erased, but they have been duly pacified, though the new possibilities that loom are…not without their own dangers.

Am I a kind soul that can balm and soothe these torments and concerns or am I a woman loved?  I have no clear vision even now.   We’re discussing things I don’t know if either of us want.  I forget all the time that I haven’t met him.  I forget all the time that to plan anything more than a single meeting is insanity.  But he suffers where he is.  He needs someone around and I think so many of these struggles would be eliminated.  Yet.  Where are we, and I have no responsibility to this, I am just a random stranger on the internet. Except I keep arguing as a method of encouraging a few inches less of this endless light between us that is not the case.  That we’re doing all this for a reason.  I am the mouth that says stay, that says I want to help, that means to foster sympathies and affections with its words.

He says he won’t be a parasite when we begin to talk about how I have some flexibility now.  And my heart breaks.  That’s not what I see or want or believe.  It is a time of recovery, but he needs some human support.  He needs some compassion after all he has given the world.

What I want is his ability to mind his shop so steadily that I am chosen and not grasped towards.  I want to free him from this sense that all is dire and impossible and bound as it has been in his painful past.  I want him to have the strength to buoy himself when I am not able to take the call or reply speedily.  I want for whatever time is that we’re actually together, fully together, that we’re not spending it crawling up from a shell of torment.

No carts and no horses.  Just this strange state again all come over me.


The Book of the City of Ladies

We can at least get you loaded, we can at least get you started.  We know that much.  The grand and collected we.

I am so confused about what I experience with you, so I need some sort of break.  I don’t know if you’re pulling away.  I don’t know if you’re mad at me for the support and ties and the graces my life does have.  I don’t know if you see this as some great kindness that protects me from a theft of my fate – I would have seen it that way once, but I am the only one who can It is not a punishment.  It is the clearest path I can discern.  Not to avoid breaking my heart, but to live a better life now and not once you come to whatever decision you are going to come to.

I hate that my kind, good heart represents some kind of too much or not enough or something I’ve yet to have clarified. So this is a time for the chaff to separate from the wheat.  I refuse to chase someone who isn’t clear on what he wants from me and doesn’t want, right now, things I am finding really important like being undeniably important to someone.

This sense of peace that washes over me when I come to terms with the fact that I have no control over his heart, over his fears, over his pain and what he clings to or releases.   A painful peace, a thought that has to be born new every time.  It is only my journey I can possibly concern myself with.

I am thinking about the Decameron.  About pilgrims, each with their own tale, walking together.  About mistranslations and palimpsests and stories retold over and over again, each time with a focus on something slightly different so you don’t see the source at first.  For Boccaccio, though, the women still had things to say. I am thinking about the Group and words used like single.  He said he was single.  He is single.  We’ve never said that we feel he is not.  I have never said I feel I am not.  I am reading into shorter sentences and thumbs up and days without calls.  I am inventing a frame story for all of this and ascribing low-esteem where I do not know that it exists.  I am busy building big structures to blot out the sunrays of all of my fears.  I am thinking about how I do feel and what this means.

I think it means I’m ready to give a damn about me.  About the truths I know.  About the universe I have built and the bed I choose to lay in. This also means I can be grateful and read The Decameron and Tom a Lincoln and watch a movie and make some toast and contemplate what more I can do to improve my outcomes.  How asking for what I want never occurs to me.  How appreciative I feel to be even at this point of pain.  To think at all.

One more day of freedom.  Very grateful, too, to have this page to write upon.

Palate Cleanser

That bright white space.  It feels deeply comforting tonight.  Ready and in alignment with the rest of me.  Somehow a bit minty.

Tomorrow we’re greeted with May.  I did not decide until late last night when I was putting together the order that I needed to use this shot to work on something that doesn’t make me feel gross.

The fitbit is charging.  I rode the bike for ten minutes but felt as though I could have done an hour.

I am deciding if…

I just need to take off the shackles and start to run.  There is a race horse in here, biting at their bit, legs aching to burst out on the fields and move, a whole body at a time, away from the starting point.

Critics are so very unwelcome.

I need the time of day.  There are things that I would like to have written down.  Being called sweetie unbidden.  Being thanked for being around.  Measuring spoons for emotional interactions.  Scales constantly recalibrated.  Am I moving into the deep water or is the tide just rolling in?  I have to see more and I think to do that, I have to up my ante.  And I have to risk what’s on the table.  I have to actually play the game.

No lies, no obsfuscation, no half-truths, but it is still a game with rules and win/lose criteria and even if you use the clearest version of your head where sits the clearest version of your eyes, you can still miss the thing right in front of you.

Of course he still loves her.  Of course he does, despite this savage pain that is okay and not okay simultaneously.   She is beautiful.  The elf against the me, the little hobbit which I find as savage a comparison as I can both make and endure.  I have craved a lithe, ethereal frame to match this striving, if woefully deluded soul.  I have been cast in a smaller role.  With imperfections a’plenty.  And every now and then she intersects us.  A facebook reminder.  A bill.  An Amazon list she’s made and I am suddenly…not cast aside, but bid to sit alongside in hallowed suffering until the razor-sharp pain subsides.

I am quite prepared for such a task.  For abeyance.  For the washing of feet.  For the silent process of taking on pains that have nothing to do with me.

But having been told, more than once, more than I could cast as just a trick of light, that I am wanted and am beautiful, been given enough leeway that I can crawl up to sit at this dais and sup off the golden plates, it’s hard to to feel as though it’s all a joke.  Fuck.  It’s not a joke…I just…no one’s said it’s a joke.  Nothing’s been rescinded.  Nothing’s been withdrawn.  Things have been doubled down on.

It’s just this idle thought that comes to me when things are quieter, our words are less at ease: thoughts are occurring to him that I can’t stop.  He is working her over in his mind as a cow works a cud, until there’s no juice left.  That dwelling on her absence is more important than acknowledging my presence.  That I am a soft, comfortable kind voice that doesn’t threaten the past because it has no future.

Those kisses that can’t hold, those tears that can’t draw back.


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.



It doesn’t need to be carried further.

Yesterday I pondered how it would be today – knowing that today I would give my notice and begin to close this stressful chapter of my life.  Here I am on the other side of it and already the beasts that bay at my ankles seem hushed.  Still chasing, but they’ve slowed their pace.

The boss was not present today.  She had been flying around somewhere over the weekend – a fact that I may have been aware of, but did not register would impact me on Tuesday.  It is hard, at times, to register anything there.  Yet, today was a day of action so eventually, I got her on the phone and told her.  This…gave her a second of pause and then insta-delight on my behalf.  And that is how I shall take it and not linger on responses a moment longer.

Now, the countdown has begun.

Meanwhile, he jokes that I might set him aside.  That seems quite impossible now.  I still think of the RP’er, the road not taken, the life not lead, the role that can no longer be performed and feel regret.  Though it is not this piercing, gasping knot of pain.  It is more a curiosity that lingers.  A why can’t I just…?  And then I remember, that oh, there would be a lie between us.  There would be something unshared, that I would be experiencing with someone else, there would be an alteration of the good faith.  I’d be another woman who didn’t tell him the truth.  I do not want that.   I do not want to feel the way that would feel.  It would deflate and destroy any kick I’d get out of telling the story with this other person.

Really, I have to figure out the way to say what I want.  I’m getting there.  Closer.  I’m still learning about him while he goes to great pains to excavate my brain.  To understand how I think, as though that’s something he can accomplish in a few weeks when it’s been the work of my lifetime.

He calls me beautiful in a beautifully manic sort of way where after a litany of information and stories about super hero universes and minutiae he has sewn together into something greater than the sum of its parts, all with increasing speed as his mind clicks along, suddenly he’ll stop and say it.  You are really beautiful.  It throws me every time.  He thinks I have to chase men off with a stick.  It makes me laugh, not ruefully, as I once imagined would always be required, but just a laugh that says this is the year when assumptions are no longer valid.  And maybe he’s right in his way.  And maybe it only happened because I stopped fighting it.

So, here we are.  Brave new world.