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.

Dowdell’s Knob: Day Two Hundred Sixty One

14568_2254Getting ahead is now the phrase we live by.  A stitch in time meant to save nine.  Nine stitches, minutes, lives.  The whole cat.  My skin feels cool, clammy.  I think might either be getting sick as a result of getting so overwhelmed so much of the time, or perhaps, I’m getting overwhelmed because my head is just sick.

More Roosevelts.

I have to go get candy from the car.  I have to go get candy from the car?

I spent some time talking with my mentor about work and software upgrades, but it quickly ran into a closed door discussion again of procedure and planning my retreat.  She suggested I have a one line response to the wave of BZUH?! OMG.  That my work here for the past eight years has been wonderful, but I have had an amazing opportunity I can’t give up.  That it can become this repeatable line.  Everyone should be able to understand getting ahead.  Talking about it did make me realize that there are hundreds of people who are suddenly going to have an opinion about this, are going to need to say something to me about it.    She also, more or less said, that she would make sure her area of work transitions correctly but then, she’s done.  Wait, I want to say, who is going to look after my show.  I realize I gave up whatever “babies” I had and now, I don’t have a say in what happens.   The other side of my relief is an odd grasping feeling.  Somehow I thought I could just hang on to what made me feel most in charge, proud.

Somehow, Eleanor is guiding me along through her own misgivings about the future.

After all the intensity of this, I ended up at the silent house of my parents – my mother away with my aunt and possibly my other aunt arriving from Chicago (see, I feel there is a certain destiny to being a daughter of a family made up mostly of daughters) and my father asleep. There was a single last bowl of slumgullion, and I scarfed it down and sent myself back home.

Food?  Yeah, I don’t know.  I know the body – my body, don’t mean to step away from it semantically – is aching for a time of vegetables, water, and less poison.  I mean, it seems like a hundred thousand light years and an ocean away before I don’t need the crutch.  Before I feel like everything has returned to status quo and I can start to make a move, a focus on self.

I don’t have some clever guy in the corner, some best friend, some fount of wisdom to access every time I feel overwhelmed and stupid and distraught that I am shaking my whole life up top to bottom and I’m jumping ship without shouting iceberg.  Food, even as it makes things worse, seems like the go-to solution.  Because drinking and drugs would be irresponsible and expensive.  Hah.

More to do and say and think but I’m done for now.

Dance Me to the End of Love: Day Two Hundred Fifty-Two

713495_65518429This place.  I am so grateful for this place where I can gather my thoughts and my momentum and recall what the morning demands and what the evening siphoned off.  I have the clearest picture yet of my future and I feel like a poached egg being spun in boiling water, my center starting to solidify whether I like it or not.  I like it, I just…I am so vulnerable right now.  I am naked in the street.  All those things I kept under my vest, said under my breath, now I’m saying them out loud.  What is currently happening is not enough.   My worries about leaving a wake of disaster, of not really being able to leave because of it, loom large.  My desire to be some place where I can find the room to care about my personal life is warring with that in my head and moment to moment, I’m eaten up by both.

I do want to tear the band-aid off, but instead, there are steps.  Things that, year after year, I daydreamed of in second-long flashes.  I have to put together my resume.  I have to go in for an interview.  All of which I’ve been told is just a formality, that the job has to be posted.  All of a sudden the issue of driving there is clear in my mind, because my sister will likely already be there, or would need…

In cases such as these, it does not serve me to do much more than vent.  And then to remember that I have happiness in droves.  I have things that make me feel good. I have a life that exists outside of all of these concerns and will continue past all of these transitions.   I do need to call the therapist.  I was going to do that today, but I…in an effort to not stay in touch with my anxious feelings…downloaded Sims 4 last night.  It is a dumb decision.  I was looking for something that would create a bridge between here and Dragon Age: Inquisition.  I need to be present.  I need to freaking plan with my friend for Italy and mentally get my head around that and I even need to be aware that I have stuff due tomorrow morning.

But I did start eating low-carb today.  I did send out the email as required.  I did start.  I did try.

I. I. I.

The weather is turning.  Yet another fall rising up, stripping off its summer dainties and standing once, naked in the street, before thinking better and finding its leathers and wools and its hidey-holes.   The animals stand at the edge of the asphalt before bolting in the bright, full daylight, because there might be more over there and more is necessary before the great time of less.  They do not worry about this lessness in the same way that we might.  They will risk now, hunt now, because they were built for chances.  And if they cannot make it, they will never know they failed.

Chatoyance: Day Thirteen

 

There are no five paragraph essays to be had this evening.  I am evolving towards health.  I am not there yet, and am enjoying today’s new symptom: cotton mouth.  The coughing has been in ragey spurts, mostly this morning and it comes, it’s stressful as hell, but I’ve been able to breathe most of the day and haven’t upset too many people by sharing their space while being less than in the finest of fettles.

 

I have been, though I think it is quite easy to forget, well before and will be again.  At least now, I’ve got the advantage of a week and a half of curative experience and have the humidifier back on after finding it burdensome to setup last night.  But I like the nightlight and the subtle bubbling sound it is making. A very nice sort of white noise.  I have a cup of decaf chai.  When we’ve settled this daily debt here, I may find it doable to watch Austenland.  Not sure if my mood is up for muslin and swoonery.   I have you, of course, me hearties, and I have the day that has been.  And in that day I got the three big must do things done – the books which seemed to go too smoothly and I’m willing myself to get up early enough to account for proper drainage time so that I have a moment to review things before I send them off willy-nily.  Aside from the books, I got the Monday email out.  It does make me look forward to the new boss being in place so that we don’t have to generate content that the old boss used to.   I also got the oodles of event tasks the old boss was unexpectedly frantic about having done early done.  All between gasping for breath and pondering who the young man working for the tenant upstairs might be.   It doesn’t matter, of course, but I am curious to know who he is and where in the grand scheme of things he belongs.

This sick spell has not clamped off my appetites, I can tell you that.  Not of any stripe.

Idle fancy.  I think it is a sign of recovery.  It’s always healthier to think of things outside of yourself, especially if you find yourself falling victim to the most vile solipsism.  You are just one egg in a vast chicken coop and it’s time to start pecking your way into the light and the warmth of your fellow poultry.

Okay, there’s a lovely metaphor that needs to stop.

While the above sort of covers the general question I’ve been asking myself lately – essentially, you could read it as Stevie doing the Heather Smalls’ voice in Miranda and singing  “What have you done today to make you feel proud?”  I also drove through my continuing grumpiness about night driving.   I’m trying to get to the nut of the illogic and have that be as powerful as my sense of nebulous, impending doom.  All I can do is do it.   That’s all we can do.