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?

I’m No Frankie Avalon

So, first day of vacation, only talked to my boss three times about something that’s pretty ridiculous and unimportant.  Sigh.

But speaking thereof, I have some pink hair.  Not all of my hair is pink, but I love it.   I aggressively love it.

There was this book I read when I was young and I forget the name of it – probably easy enough to track down where there was a little fairy girl given to be raised by human parents.  Ah yes, “The Fairy Rebel” and she had this hank of hair that was green or blue or some odd color that kept growing back no matter how many times her parents cut it off.  And that was her fairy magic showing up.  I remember it was the first time I learned the word tunic, too. (This is not accurate, I realize, as I go back and read the Amazon summary – that she was in, fact, a human child, but gifted to a childless couple with 20 magical blue hairs at the back of her neck.)

So naturally, oddkin that I am, I lusted after magical colored hair.  But I always hesitated as to what people would think if i did it for real.  I think, though I never realized it at the time, it was all about being seen.  So time after time I’d go to the hair salon and pay decent and indecent amounts of money to get my hair colored and people would literally not notice.   Every time I’d tell myself, this is the time to do something dramatic! This time, I want someone to see me and be compelled to talk to me.  And then, I’d just say, oh, the same, please.  Give me the same.

This time, I asked for pink and despite a brief moment of “we don’t have pink” and then, me finding myself entirely willing to backtrack, she found some.  Some that was not ugly pink, but was Rachel McAdamsy pink and it is now in my hair.

It will still be in my hair when I return to work in a week, albeit, much lighter, I’m sure.  And I don’t give a single shit.

So that was a big part of my day.  It actually took up so much time that I didn’t get the chance to eat as destructively as I might have done and I continue to look forward to my realignment on Monday/Tuesday back into weight loss mode.

I am also considering not bringing my laptop with me.  This would mean no post on Friday/Saturday.  Not a timely one.  I can certainly still do one about the days events and really only a few of you would be the wiser, as I’ve noted before, but I’d be hauling this whole thing just to do this and while, I can, and I do believe I’ve proven I’m committed to the cause of daily blogging…I just want to travel light, you know?

So I might do that – and you’ve been forewarned – you people who might think less of me for my pink hair and my wanton ways and my truancy…I may disappoint you yet again!


Things You Say

I don’t know.  I made it through the day and now…scheduled relaxation.

I have something to eat in a second.

I’m just faintly…faint.  I am a bit, after one glass of wine, detached.   I don’t know who should be here with me, though I think someone should.  That feels firm while I float around it.


I’m getting a bit nervous I’m falling too far off the grid.  But I am thankful and grateful for a chance to let the tautness in my muscles, in my jaw, go slack.  I like the new skirt I’m wearing and my black tights and my little necklace with amber.  I like that I was able to drive out and about today and get a few things done willy-nilly, spontaneously.  Made me feel mildly human.   The NeuroSleeep was actually very helpful last night in helping me drift off and stay asleep.

I am gathering steam in figuring out some stuff right now.  Since probably May, there’s been the usual crush and thrust of events that has been, well, punishing.  And the new year’s energy for self-revolution dissipated after I went to Disneyworld.


I keep getting back to the idea that as much as I fail, consistently, deeply, almost aggressively at this dieting, life-organizing thing…there just is no other way to get to what I want.  Because what I want is on the other side of change.   I just.  I both understand that and also understand how it seems like just getting by seems to be all I’m capable of.  I mean, I should have a boyfriend.  I should feel cool with driving wherever I want.  I should be getting things published.  But my sense of wanting that seems to ebb whenever it comes close to doing the essential, daily, exposure-pushing tasks that will get me there.  And everything in my life allows me to just wade about in the shallows.

I just wonder if it’ll ever happen.  If either circumstance or willpower will shake me free?  I wonder if I will ever get the formula…no, I know exactly what the formula is, I just wonder, really, if I’ll ever choose to see my way clear and stop standing in front of open doors.

Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving.  It’s a season of self-assessment after many months of just putting the blinders on.   It also puts the focus on food.   The empty feeling.  The need for constant distraction.

I just really want to shock everyone with what I’m capable of.  My grandfather’s not doing well.  I really want to find a way to a different place.  This is all just talk, things said while sugared up and gagging for attention.

I just wonder.  This could be the last time I do this.  I could never have to be wondering ever again.  I could not have to suffer through another Christmas unsettled, exhausted by the constant internal churning of discontent.  I could be with someone.  I could be with someone?  Someone? I don’t know.  It shouldn’t be so laughable.  It shouldn’t be this bizarre, Beckett play level joke.



Airport Dreams

Oh, I should give it another go and start flailing and rushing about and get everything together for  tomorrow, but I’ve come to realize that I could actually come home from work and make sense of what I’m putting into my luggage as opposed to just running down my list and making sure I have at least touched some pajamas, touched a shirt, some shoes and hoping I haven’t forgotten something critical.   That, and then I wouldn’t have to haul all my computers and this box I’m taking tomorrow and I could also, maybe, get this place in a bit of an order before I go to spend the night at my parents so my father can drive me to the park-n-ride for the shuttle (which reminds me that I do need to snag some cash for tipping and buying my excellent shuttle pass which also reminds me that I need to get my travel playlist together, oh dear oh dear how can all of this fit into one person’s head!)

Apologies for recent followers who must find this kind of perfunctory post quite galling.  But this is typically how it goes around these parts. One nice-ish post followed by a hundred posts of me talking about my  packing situations.   You are, of course, in this as in most of adult life, free to answer questions and I am free to decide if I care to answer (though I think my delight over being asked anything at all would override nearly any disturbance with regards to the content of the question itself).

I’m excited about my trip, obviously, but at the moment I’m most excited about skulking about the airport at six in the morning. Inasmuch as one can skulk with the TSA and being herded about like cattle. The sunlight does magical things under the tent of the terminal as it rises. The sleepy workers set out their prepackaged danishes and every now and then, there’s a noise and a gust and hundreds of people shoot into the sky. It’s amazing.

I get the best rushes of creativity sitting there when there is no where to go and nothing to do but wait for the time when we all get to blast off together, this collection of strangers.  So seemingly random, so seemingly disparate and disconnected, but each having this magical thought of spending the necessary time in the heavens to arrive somewhere else on earth and have what they hope will be the best experience of their lives thus far.  Or, perhaps, at the very least memorable.  It always surprises me how far our little caveman heads have thought ourselves.  Up into the firmament.   So that we can be oceans apart but we can suffer a bit of discomfort and disorientation and find ourselves together again.   And then, despite our great affection, we’ll suffer that same discomfort to escape one another again.   Life is essentially absurd.  Camus was right in that regard, at least.

One more day.  I will be pinned to the wall and snakes and flames will find my feet, but day after tomorrow, I have a date with a plane.

The Paperweight Coquette

A quiet day alone can sometimes press you into places you don’t intend to go.  Or, perhaps, you actively avoid going because you know it will change you to go there.

I went home early as promised and I called my mother and aunt and the timing was wrong and I went out to eat by myself with my red composition book and ordered what I liked (no soda, we don’t drink formaldehyde anymore)  and I made notes on my story.  I’ve made a lot of notes over my lifetime, but I was alright with these notes.  Not that they’ve clarified anything, but I was there and I did it.

I didn’t feel strange to be alone.  I didn’t feel overly hurried or even distracted by the environment out of my norm.  It was a nice, brief walk there and back, too.  And then I sort of dissipated.  I played Civilization 5 until I got to that point, about four cities in, where I envision the future.  My future.  At a reunion or something and a panicky, terrible feeling rises and I can see old classmates smiling, leaning in, asking the cliche question that makes my whole generation panicky (though we each think we are secretly the worst offenders) and they ask “So what have you been doing?” And my truthful answer would have to be, “Well, I’ve played a lot of Civ 5.  You know.  Songhai.  Pillaging the pixels until the barbarian hordes got too thick and I got bored and then I was on Tumblr a while.”

It’s not the whole picture at all, and I don’t know that me putting my poems on a sheet of paper for purchase would somehow warrant a feeling of self-satisfaction that might impress people I haven’t seen in nigh about ten years, but sometimes, that feeling makes you feel like you’ve been dipped in acid.  So pressed up against the two way mirror, observing a whole world that would never let themselves live like you do.

Sometimes it amazes me how we can be in such pain, such dry rot, such states of disrepair and we can walk about as if we’re completely well.  That the social compact is that powerful that we dare not show this weakness.  We can completely  It amazes me, but I suppose we construct these rules for the corsetgasm we are treated to when we take down the walls and play at being free.

“But the truth is, you never needed someone to comfort you.”

I’m alright, though.  One day in your own head is enough to give you a shock and a shot and a shake, but it’s not enough to start or end anything.  Which I guess is a good thing today.  I guess. It’s all guessing, anyway.

So, here’s how it goes: stand up.  Take a breath.  Pull back your hair.  Quit with the self-deprecating remarks you only use to, tragically, try to insinuate your intelligence with.  Open the poem book.  Fix a poem.   Open the where to submit poetry book.  Pick a place.  Print the poem.  Send the poem to the place.  Feel an honest rejection instead of the celestial rejection of moon from sun, of known from unknown,  dusk from dawn.  Watch a cat play with its toy, wholly inconsiderate of the fact that she hasn’t been to Nairobi.



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.

Staying In

Difficult day in some respects.  The sky is the color of the national mood – or at least what I hope is the national mood – gray with grief for the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords – and not, I pray, red for blood.
The Congresswoman, who we hope survived, and many others including a small child were killed for…what?  Politics? The madman’s single violent expression of his insanity? Every generation feels it’s on the brink of something wholly terrible, for lack of a better phrase, looking at the end times.  I don’t feel that, even in the light of this beyond tragic event, this loss of life and security, that we are collectively standing on the edge of the abyss.  But we are perhaps, orbiting, the black hole above the abyss and if we don’t fight the pull, this is a way we could get pulled in.
On to other topics, I suppose, since I don’t much beyond the news reports readily available to anyone and don’t have much to offer but my continued hope for the families of everyone impacted.
Today, along with being gray and foreshadowy, is a day to be on my own.  I’ve been trying to accomplish a few things on my list.  I’ve done the bulk of my exercise using the WiiActive, but I have a few other calories to burn off to meet the goal.  I’m doing this post, as you see here, I’ve eaten broccoli for heaven’s sake!   Broccoli.  Raw.  If this isn’t an epic show of my good faith and intention, I don’t know what is.   I have read.  I have this snippet of a story going.  I would like some help, but it looks like I might just have to take a nap and get myself going again to work on the cleaning and other organizational things I’d like to do today.  Right now, I feel very slow and still.   I’m eyeing the last sprig/stalk of broccoli and I’m pretty sure that I’m so full on my little lunch that I couldn’t get it down.
But I am considering many things.  We got the invite to our cousin’s wedding in Minneapolis/St. Paul in July.  July is the middle of the year.  It is a big goal, but just to have lost fifteen pounds by then on my small frame would make such a difference in how I experience that event.  How much less it could be about how I look and what I’m wearing and more about being happy to see her and happy to be there and free to enjoy it.  Not perceiving everything through a funhouse mirror, all fragile ego and sugar-spun moods.
Already, on this micro-micro-micro level, I feel change.  I don’t feel like doing this forever is impossible.  I almost like the restriction.  I definitely like the fact that I’m not going to spend $11.33 to have a chicken burrito bowl and chips and will turn into formaldehyde and fat around my midsection.  I like the maybe person that may be.
Back to watching the news.