Chicken Trenta

romantic-dice-01-true-love-1562893-639x426

Oh, blog, oh, blog, oh, blog.   I am grateful for you tonight.  First, we speak of the world, which is scary and awful when we try to swallow the whole of its suffering in one choked-down gasp.  What am I supposed to do? is the phrase that comes to mind and the only answer I have is…just don’t make it worse.

And then, I speak of the storms inside the teapot.

While I was quietly telling old ladies their tiny, bony bodies are not too fat for the top they want to buy, my own world was flipping and flopping around.

The good news…god, that is a fucked-up way of saying it, but the good enough news is my mom has to start chemo on Friday providing insurance covers it.  It’s only good in that they were lucky to find the cancer at all, lucky to find it before she even felt symptoms, and its of a sort (I need to get the exact name, though I don’t exactly want it as if I know its name, I am allowing it a place or a voice here) that has a high survival rate, even if the fact that it’s a second time, apparently makes it harder.  Harder, easier, it’s all just words.  It’s all just shit no matter which hand it’s piling up in.

So I’ve grasped that by a pinky, by a fingernail, by a hair’s breadth and that’s rattling around in my head and in this head is also the fact that I have advanced at least to the next stage in this job application.  I have to offer up basic details about how I know how to use Word, Excel, and how to be in an office.  I think I can do that.  It makes you think for an instant that you’re in the running, but I think there’s probably at least 50 or 100 other people who bothered to apply.  There’s no reason to even worry about driving there, there’s no reason to even think about the trauma of quitting.

That said, now, two out of our office of six have quit/resigned.  One of which I learned about tonight via Facebook.  So that’s another stressful goddamned piece of news.  While I have been slowly trying to get my act together to leave, everyone else is whooshing out the door.  It can’t be good for anyone and not for my martyr complex that feels like someone’s just looking for the hammer to nail me to the office door.

And I am only 99% sure I locked the inner door at the shop.  I did.  I must have.

A headache, an sense of tiredness that I’m only beginning to register, and a wave of just wanting to be looked after is rolling over me.  I just want yesterday’s Okay, false as it is, to play one more song.  I just want to close the door and hear silence.  That’s dramatic.  I just want the earth to stop shaking so I can stand up straight.

Cattywumpus

No, seriously, what the fuck is going on with my life?  Because I have no idea.  I am trying to keep up almost ten conversations like I’m some kind of fucking internet Bachelorette and things are still stupid and agonizing at work and mostly I just want to turn all of it off and write on my book, but even that feels like the wrong answer because I made it through the day.

So, I kinda got minorly in trouble because I sat in bed and squinted for an hour than I should have this morning.  I squinted because there was an inch of snow on the ground and I was trying to make it not be there.  This, I do not think I have to tell you, did not actually happen.  So then I squinted in hopes of conjuring a ride.   That did not happen either, though I did find out that my mother was going to the doctor to have some sort of exam and I might not have even known about that otherwise.  I also was able to be reminded about how my family is both supportive of me and not necessarily completely enabling because, it got to the point where a girl had to stop taking advantage of a situation at work and actually bring her ass to the workplace.   Where the work happens.

And I did.  Of course the roads were better than they appeared and of course, I was petrified beyond any sense or reason, but I turned up.  Got my fingers wrapped and then had to deal with this boatload of correspondence my little internet query.  I mean, there’s a lot of it.  So much so I think I almost need a spreadsheet to keep track of who is who.  I asked without a lot of forethought if some people from the internet, they needn’t be guys but if they were that was fine, would want to send some clever letters back and forth to help get through the holidays.   Well.  Holy shit, there are people who think that means cybersex.  But there are far more that take that completely earnestly and answer with a sincerity that’s rather overwhelming.  I can’t just blow people off.   Or at least, I don’t want to be the  person I know I am who would blow off people for not spelling perfectly and basically shave down this swathe of general, uninformed interest into nothing and nobody just because that’s where I’m comfortable.  Status quo.

To shake up status quo, you have to do something different.

So that’s what that is.  I have no idea what will happen.  Which is hilarious to me.

One day at a time is the plan.  And enjoy the random.  Like the delicious coffee I was given tonight.  And the fact that I was really worried about something and it turned out fine (even if I am still crippled with worry about 400 other things) and I am going to have a bath.

So, hell yes!

Jumble Gymkata

It’s so nebulous.    This anxious, unsettled feeling.  Though I know its source, it’s all the stuff I haven’t accomplished at work and they think I have and all the things I need to do but can’t because of other things (mostly money)…it still sits heavy on my chest.

And I am trying to shake that devil off.   Or all those seven devils and keep my shoulders down while I do it.

Because it could always be worse.   A girl I know on facebook’s mother is going into hospice.  She can’t be more than a year older than me, so 29, 30?  And I was reading her update and thinking about how impossible that would be for me to deal with.  And while, that’s true, right now, I think it would throw me into some level of mental unhealth that is unprecedented even in my sketchy state of affairs, my mom has had cancer.  She has gone through that.  We have gone through that with her.   More or less.  I mean, we were too young then, well over fifteen years ago,  and my mother did so much to shield us from whatever might have meant if it hadn’t gone the way it did.  Thankfully.  But that threat was dealt with.   Even if all we could cling to was that time would make it better.

Time will make this better, but it can also make it worse if I don’t get on top of things and stop retreating into the dark corners of my life.

I was so angry at my sister yesterday.  Aside from the unexpected hormones impacting me, I was angry because she was treating me like a child.  Like I could just be chastised like a dog.  That she was better than me because she lived “more” than me.   And part of this struggle right now is that I don’t want to take charge of my life.  I don’t want to own any of this.  I want to detach and play video games and hand off my debit card to my older sister to go procure food and basically, germinate this little Hoarder seed inside me.   I want someone to take the burdens off of me and I don’t want to invest in any given direction.   I don’t want to fail and so I keep failing myself by standing still.  And sometimes this gets dangerous.    Risky, at least.  I’ve learned that with my mouth and I’m watching these punching bags drop towards my head.  Waiting for one to knock me off my post and I’ll call it destiny.

It’s stupid, is what it is.

So I tried to eat a little better today.  I tried to calm down and not blubber or drive myself crazy.  I tried to do some laundry.  I played a lot of video games, but I recognized that I had to turn it off and get this stuff done.   I have a huge project tomorrow along with about fifteen other less major but not minor projects to do as well.

I just am in a spiky jumble.  I can accept that.  I just have to accept that I am now unjumbling.

Release

Day 3 of the Great Whatever has nearly been achieved.  I don’t know if I’m so exhausted that I just haven’t been able to find the time to consciously allow myself what I’ve decided to give up wholly and forever, but I’m not too fussed.  It just needs more time to become habit, like this.  This has become bone.  Breakable, but only on purpose.  Only with a massive fall.  Not by simple neglect.

I really, really, really, really, gut you and sell your kidney on the black market want some chocolate.  Release.  I could do with some release in a big way.  I could do with someone rubbing my back and whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

The highs and lows of having a uterus. And, by way of a clue, this could also have a lot to do with the third day of this self-denial.  Suddenly, today, I feel justified in hating everything and everyone and shouting for no reason.  At the moment, though, I have no one to shout at but cats and that completely makes things worse.

I got the project marginally done and feel crappy about having to turn it in that way, but it just was impossible to extract even 30 seconds more out of this day.  Days like this leave me feeling very lonely.  Very isolated.  Because it also leaves me feeling really angry about connecting with other people.  Annoyed by everyone and their ignorance of what feels like really obvious exhaustion and frustration.  It feels like you’re on the rack and someone comes blithely by and asks “What’s wrong?” with a dopey expression.   It feels so obvious, your agony, so neon and throbbing and feeding on the very air that you would have to gather it all up and control it just to speak of it, categorize it and if you can’t do that in the thirty seconds they’ve allotted for you, they leave and it falls off the agenda and you deal with it.  It’s like it never happened because you do, slowly, gather it all up like you’re folding a sheet the size of a football field.  Fold it until it’s this ceremonial flag, never intended to be unfurled, just held, just buried with you.

I know it’s not long lasting.  It’s not forever.  I spend all day craving isolation I can’t have.  I know it’s me and my temperament and the project that I worked so hard on and had so little time to refine as I usually do and I know it’ll be okay once I breathe through it and let myself come back down from these peaks.

It all serves to say: you are finite.  You are limited.  You are here.  You are now.  And someday, that will no longer be so.  So, choose.   Choose how you spend your time, how you feed yourself, how you let the world spend you down to the last.  I, for my part, do not want my recollection to be naught but the the strange, intangible feeling of discontent.   Not when that discontent is just a function of my desire to live a full, deep, happy and genuine life filled with risk and joy and acceptance and chocolate and trouble and emails to boys which may or may not be appropriate and which may force me out of my staid box.

Food: Thus far:

Cereal.  Some coffee.  I really only sip it.  My Piggly Wiggly sandwich at lunch.  Water.  And now some of my leftovers from last night.  I need a wee bit more to eat (probably some pasta)  and should have some vegetables (probably at least some carrots).  And, I hope, something small and sweet.    Maybe some writing.  Maybe the budget.  This isn’t food, but I’ll feel better for doing it.

Nothing I Could Do

Luxuriant Torpor.  That is my dream.

I would really like to direct your attention to the third option.  We are not having fun.  We are not having a grievous, injurious time of sorrow.  We are just doing.  We are doing and doing it as hard as we possibly can.

I’m listening to Abigail Washburn’s City of Refuge.  Feeling it as cool and refreshing as the oscillating fan’s breath runs over my hot water bottle body.   She’s playing in Boulder.  Imaginary boyfriend, if you existed in the corporeal plane of existence, you would be going with me to see her.  You would know how lovely she is, how much of a temperature drop she is and how needed she is in my life right now.

But you aren’t.  So I am passing you this note in hopes of inspiring in your some sentiment of urgency or at least guilt.  Some practice, I suppose,  for the grievous misery and injurious sorrow I am sure to cause you within moments of our actual acquaintance.

I tried very hard today to have fun, but I do not know if I was successful.  I am suddenly aware of the huge effort in front of me and the odds against me and how people around me absolutely don’t care.  They come to me complaining about how much they have to do and only after complaining for five minutes and me being non-responsive, do they realize that they are, maybe, just maybe, wasting my time?

It’s not that my time is so precious, but I Random things happen that only happen where I work like suddenly an hour into your day being shuttled off to a restaurant to possibly be in a commercial – like literally shoved out the door – ordering an unexpected and kind of unwanted breakfast, waiting around for said commercial to commence, turns out that they aren’t ready yet.   Sit around and eat for a while and then go back to work.

The day was just full of frustrations like that.  Suddenly it’s my job to track down who owns these pies.  Suddenly it’s my job to mail people’s lost mail from our market.  Suddenly it’s my job to refresh webpages on other people’s computers.  Suddenly it’s my job to remember everything we every talked about and have already taken care of it.   Suddenly I feel very small and the elephant I have to eat is very big and I just had one last week.  And you want to cry, you get the hot, pre-tear eyes, but you know from experience that you can cry and cry and that elephant will be there, dead and on the dais and your only choice is just how much fresh and how much rotten elephant you want to eat.

There’s no real bravery in this.

The real bravery would be to assume the responsibility of extricating myself from the business of elephant eating completely.  I just keep thinking “One more bite, one more bite. Eat one more bite.”

Anyone can eat one bite of anything.

Happy Trails to You

Things about today:

1.  I had a very random and unexpected social anxiety flare-up.  We had a networking thing for work which was not very well attended because I felt it was not very well publicized by staff and just was sort of slapdash simply because I think they’ve stopped trying…I have other issues, but this is a public blog and not really about that, at any rate, I was stressed on behalf of us all and empathically bearing the spark-throwing going on in all of our minds.  Suddenly, I couldn’t talk to anyone and I needed to get out of there.  NEEDED to.  I wasn’t sick.  I wasn’t feeling bad.  It wasn’t quantifiable.  But, I sat there, with my phone and I smiled and suddenly, the feeling wasn’t gone…but it was manageable.   That smile pasted on until I calmed down enough and had some food and the sugar from our volunteer lunch worked its way out of my system.

2.  I did run out the door like a bat out of hell, though as soon as I was released after seven.  I was going to drive equally fiercely and rapaciously and get to the burrito store because despite the fact that I had Mexican food not yet thirty minutes before – a really delicious chile relleno – because, I felt, that’s what you do.  Even if just two or three days before I had this really great epiphany when my sister was talking about enabling me and saying out loud how I started the year doing so well and my poor arteries and it left me so deflated and miserable that I was sure I was going to explode like a health-nut rocket.  I’d show her!  But the days have been stressful and time kept escaping me and the plan went whoosh out of my head and all the justifications seemed to Magneto a bridge for me out of thin air and metal plates.   It didn’t matter that I didn’t need this burrito bowl, I didn’t even matter that I didn’t 100% want one, I just was going to have one because it would make all the frangible, tattered emotions and disappointment and everything I felt being in that big event hall go mute.  Who knows if I even had that explication laid out in my mind?  For me: right then, inevitable as death and taxes.

BUT, all my exempt immortals, Jesus must have taken the wheel, because it occured to me that my frustration with the event is that we never do anything new or different and we wonder, dope-like, why the universe isn’t turning up to kiss our feet.  And it’s the same with the diet.  I keep staring like I have no comprehension whatsoever that if I eat a burrito everyday and a red velvet cupcake and an omelet and hashbrowns and a apricot bar like I did today, I might get blockier and stockier and less happy about it.  That if I choose to change, something actually has to change.  Hear that, Congress?  Sorry.  So I drove home.  Had some oatmeal.  Not hungry.

I walked last night.  Considering doing that again.  Need less considering and more doing.

So let me finish here and we’ll send me on my way.

GSPC

You can definitely make yourself crazy and today is proof enough of that.

I didn’t know how traffic court was going to go, but I had the general sense that it would go okay. Prophetic being that I am, it went okay.  I, of course, had to leave a half an hour early for a nine minute drive and took a few wayward turns to get myself into the right spot.  The judge was nice and I had to wait for just a few minutes while he promptly processed a few other cases, including a poor woman who described having shingles on her behind as one of numerous reasons she couldn’t do community service (I mention it laughingly, I guess, but you ended up really feeling for her and I think the judge did too since he removed that requirement.)  It took all of two minutes for me and then I was out to pay my unfortunate fine and figure out how to spend the rest of my day.

I ended up not going back to work.  Not calling them, either, like I said I’d try and do (since I didn’t explain why I wanted the day off).  I went, instead, to a coffee shop and read.  Tried to be present in the world so I could make eyes at some available people (ahem, ridiculous, but I keep thinking that if I spend so many of my waking hours amongst wholly unavailable and undesirable people it may put me at a disadvantage dating-wise [NO WAI]) and had some coffee that ended up being way too rich and turning my stomach.  Then I went to my parents’ where no one was home and paced about, trying to forcibly arrive at some sort of psychic epiphany about how to resolve my loneliness and need for catharsis and my general anxiety and dissatisfaction until I felt like I was starting to slightly disassociate. Maybe that’s not the technical term, but I know what that feeling can be a prelude to, and I really don’t want to go back to that state of mind so I went home and looked up health insurance and mental health insurance and local therapists and figured that it probably would cost me about $90.00 to see someone for an hour to tell me to chill.   No, I know it would be an excellent idea.  It would probably really help.

But at the same time, I have to look at the anxiety factors involved in the day.  Hadn’t eaten.  Stressed about not being at work and having them picking through my stuff, spending money we don’t have.  Stressed about the ticket and my money situation even though I know it’s okay, it feels like a black mark against me as a grown-up person.  My lack of driving cool makes me feel like it’s just another way in which I’m socially retarded.  So there was that.  My schedule hasn’t been lining up with anyone I know so I’ve been isolated for a while, making up for it with gaming and then, now that the game’s over, I’m rather bereft.  I’ve been egging myself in this direction for a few days and this sort or schedule disruption was just the spark I needed to make the assumption that I am categorically in need of psychiatric help.

Which…is a whole kettle of fish that I don’t have the money or time to take care of.  It’s a shitty national state of affairs, but me being lonely because I don’t have the balls to talk to boys and because I’m no one’s idea of a bombshell and my work stress isn’t an emergency.  It isn’t something I can spend 400.00 a month.

I’m alive.  I’m not crying.  I’m not depressed.  My shoulders are slowly drifting away from my ears.  I’m okay and now that I’ve eaten and vented and laughed and got gas and cleaned my room and did laundry and have begun to feel useful again, I don’t feel so frantic anymore.

I know I sort of lost my clarity today and that’s okay.  Things are not perfect and they’re not great or awesome.  But I know I deserve them to be at least awesome.  At the very least.

So I go forward.