Under a Super Blood Wolf Moon: Day 20

The most metal of moons.

I need to change this website.  I know I do.  I’m not entirely sure how to go about this.  But the endless icy sheets of black and white, even the blurry little weed breaking through the crack on the screen no longer makes me smile when I look at it.  I need to just hire someone?  I don’t know.  Just change the picture, that would be a start.

I am needing to do something different tomorrow.  All of it.  I made real shit choices today, this weekend, this month, really.  So.  How do you stop the engine when you’re rolling right along into a hotter and hotter fire?  You are here, for one.  You turn off the other noises and you give yourself over to a bit of self-reflection.

I have written a lot today, none of it really suitable to share.  That’s been the sum total of it.  Did leave the house for a brunch I absolute did not need to have.  I’ve spent the day bleary.  In some conversation with J, consoling him for his bleariness and ignoring my own.  Honestly, this is the hardest bit of it. The up and the down.  I don’t blame him for it or even judge him for it, but finding yourself attenuating your moods to someone who is equally fluid when it comes to being able to tolerate themselves is a rough gig.   Yesterday, I’m queen of the universe for him, today, exhaustion and sad posting and a bevy of other people suggesting how to break out of the mental funk while my suggestions get little more than a shrug.

I’m reacting much more poorly than I’d like to all this.

So now, end of the Sunday shame spiral: I am here, spattered with gravy from the undying pot roast, and everything is a mess.  Petrified to check my work email.  Checked it as best I could and nothing was radioactive so I feel instantly much relieved.  My plan to combat this and come back to some form of recognizable :

Become Willing
Find my Fitbit
Drink an entire glass of water (a whole and entire eight ounces)
Charge my phone and fitbit and put them somewhere I can find them in a few short hours.
Defenestrate the undead pot roast.
Not get so distracted by nonsense that I can’t finish this post
Finish this post.
Remember I have my drink in the fridge in the morning.
Brush my teeth and try and wash my face in a format that my face will find tolerable and not set to itching over.
Fix my sheets so I don’t find falling asleep completely impossible.
Set my alarm.
Figure out what the heck I want to wear tomorrow out of the bundle of laundry I did and tossed aside out of some sense of boring laziness that sure as fuck fucks me over now.
Possibly order groceries for tomorrow.  Possibly just plan to go to the grocery store?
Trust in the process.
Remember to reschedule therapy.

Chekov’s Vase: Day 17

Here’s the frog to swallow. Do this now and everything else will be easier. Not easy, mind. We can’t make that assumption these days. But easier to not despair so fully. That’s the benchmark we’re reaching for…to not maintain an overfull sense of despair about things we have zero control over.

I’ve bought my airfare to go to Seattle, see some dear friends, indulge in all the Critical Role my heart can endure (this is why you need less despair, so the bucket can tip and sway under the overfill of joy) and reliably, it’s nice to have something real and immediate on the horizon to look forward to. It’s a good reminder, of course, about the Grand Plan, to get myself into a bit better shape to not get overwhelmed by those hills once again. A reminder that you can’t get there by doing what you’ve done before.

Someone posts a meme: “You deserve someone who isn’t confused about their feelings for you.” Comments ensue. His feelings – all feelings in all forms – are confused is the public statement. Well. I think. Well, I nod to myself, pulling at my dry eyes. Well. I can be snide about it. Post back something charmingly sarcastic about how little confusion he seemed to exhibit last night. Maybe all of that is a lie. Who can say? But I know that would be painful, mortifying, frustrating, and would end with me apologizing and feeling as though I’d crossed some line in the sand.

And I would have. It’s not who we are to use the forum to have actual communication, to argue publicly, argue at all. But the forum exists and these parallel streams of experience flow through its conduits, currents that split and run for miles in opposite directions before they cross into the fog of Love and War and somehow end up pooling in the same ocean. I hear what he’s thinking as a vase in a room absorbs an actor’s monologue. I just get to know it, hold it. I don’t have any option to roll myself on the floor and crack over it. I’m not the audience. I’m a piece of set dressing in the long Pinter play that is his life. An upgrade from a handful of dust, tangible, photographable, but unless you put some significance in the narrative, the gun is just a gun, the vase is just a vase, a spade…

Not entirely true. But far less false than it should be.

No word from the honorable RP’er. That is as it should be, of course. He’s passed the test, refused the ring, and away he goes with a good and happy life.  Maybe.  Nobody can begrudge him that.

I am moving on?  Not really, but I’m enduring by building the small brand of power I claim.  Another day – 3 days running  – of facing the turn of terror.

A note, as a poet one must comment.  Mary Oliver passed away today.  You can kind of feel a chill in the air, a lacking that feels urgent, new, inexplicable.  Let’s not forget the work, the way the work can make a life just where it stands.

Ain’t No Gimmick: Day 16

Stitching in time, trying to save way more than nine.

It’s frustrating how the dreams one has at either end of the day never seem to make it through to the other half.  I wake up and am plotting how much power and juice I have tonight to whirlwind some house organization.  Not exactly KonMari it, but do something with the free time and I know I will get there all bleary and ravenous and distracted by the chemistry of my body and collapse into sleep far too late – just before thinking that somehow I will wake up early and be level-headed enough to pack my lunch and do my makeup and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and hit work early and make something of myself.   Then I always wake up, holding on with my fists, digging nails into the last little segment of sleep as it tears itself free of my grasp…I stumble into work, late, distracted, with more caffeine in my system than I can properly absorb and the cycle begins anew.

I have things to do that help with this.  My plans for life help with this.  I am not, at this moment, following these plans. I need to fill out my daily paperwork.  I need to read the blogs.  I’d allotted for this grace, but dang, it feels wasteful to flagrantly spin about in it.    Let us have a moment of recognition that my suffering is entirely self-induced and can be resolved only through my own instigation.  No one else can stop this train, save me, and the cliff in front of me.

Lame. I thought it was all going to be that piece of proverbial cake.  Just goes to show the power of a little sugar on a plan of austerity.  You let someone remember their hedonism even for a moment and you loose the reins.

I wrote a whole post yesterday about my new, marvelous dentist.  Marvelous mostly for the fact that he didn’t leave me feeling elated just to have gotten out of there alive and having spent less than $200.00.  Boy o boy. High art.  I feel like that’s where the stories are right now for me.  In the extremely specific happenstances of my small and generally uneventful life.  It is in the looking that I will begin to see something and when I blot out my vision and clap shut my dictionary in favor of the blurry images inside my mind, a blindness reigns my spirit.  I forget all.  I find myself at those melted candle ends of day with nothing to show.   This year, I spose, we gotta pour the sugar there.  The energy, the thought, the images, the will.

Today, though, we are able to report that the one or two very specific things I was requested to do in her absence are done.  We traumatized the cat and gave her the medicine she requires.  We scooped her shit.  We’re shortly to wash our hair and selves and somehow find our way out of the Royal We.  We and I also drove the way I wanted to drive, no turning about for the longest long way.   Small, concrete, factual tasks.  Slow and steady.

 

 

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.