A Mad Diversion


It’s a rainbow and our time is almost up.  Short-term and a little bit longer.

I don’t have long to chat, I have made a secret discovery.  I am provoked.  I am curious and delighted and abeyante.  Obviously, I can give no details save from I have received a reminder of a deep, subtle pleasure within myself that has always been there, but has been shoveled below a heap of time and minutiae.  It exists, feverishly, fiendishly, and it lives as deeply as these other shades of panic and order do.  It is a pool where the single bloom of Esoterica blooms on a single night under a single star.  And I have stumbled across it just as it turns towards that heavenly light and begins to blossom.

Vaguery is our stock and trade around these parts.  I cannot say more as of yet, and may never say more, suffice it to say I have put in an application and the offer

Instead, the diurnal, the exhaustively boring, but in its own way, incredibly pleasing.

I stayed to work at the site until eight, the witching hour when the darkness muddies vision and plans.  And I faced the spot where the panic comes and waited the thirty seconds – it couldn’t have been thirty seconds – for the red to become green and endured the impulse to panic and escape.  There is no escape into a busy intersection even at 8:00p.m.  I found myself able to just flutter above the worry enough that it didn’t engage my muscles, no big spasms, no big sweaty, holy shit it’s happening, I am going to die sensations.   I was quite cheered that I made myself face it.  I can’t let this get worse, I told myself, this is my route now and if I can’t go this way, it’s going to be all the more complex and why the hell are we not allowed to drive particular ways – that’s madness.

We need to divert the madness into other areas.

Then, of course, at the secondary intersection, the one that has been fine for a while, we got the whammy.  A small, chihuahua-sized whammy.  An endurable whammy.  A sampler platter of all of the uniquely obnoxious panic behaviors I have.   It just felt like it was going to be red forever and red stopped meaning stop because oh, dear, it was time to go before my head exploded.  It would be awful and terrible not to be able to control one’s impulses.  And as awful as it was to feel as though you’re going to hyperventilate for fear of hyperventilating, it was also something to tick into your memory bean.  You survived and it takes another cut of the scoring machine to break through the muck and overgrowth that has spilt out of the can and exploded, viscera and all across the pathways we aim to take.  It will break eventually provided you and I keep hacking and slashing at it.

We must scurry and hurry.  The day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving and while I don’t feel well, I feel as though I don’t need to worry so much about the worry.





The desk has been stained.  I think if I did it again I would do it with the knowledge I have now, having done it, and it would turn out better, but I couldn’t have so I am satisfied enough with the mildly haphazard sangria-hued stain.  Even with the heavier marks that created because I am too short to reach all the way across in one go.   So, once we get some polyurethane on there, it’ll be ready for me to start being a human and using a desk rather than a lap for the business of being on a computer all the live long day.

I am appreciative of the help I got.  It is the nature of the beast that the first time you do something – you’re going to be a little bit awkward at it, but sometimes I feel like there’s two whole different things between wanting some general guidelines and guidance to start and this sense of, oh, why would you do this if you’re not going to do it right.  I just wanted this desk to have some character and if my brush marks and stain….stains in some way can provide that, well, I’m fine with it.  Whatever happens with that desk when I’m done with it – I imagine it will have water marks and scuffs and dings and it will be faded and have soaked up whatever a thing soaks up when it is useful and loved for many years – well, they’ll see that I tried to make a thing mine, for better or worse.

Day three of the four day adventure.   Feeling both necessarily divorced from the upset that has invaded my head (but is, ultimately, nothing to do with me) and a little bit more in my body than I might expect for being told that I have four consecutive days to hide away and play pretend.

I am realizing that this is the longest it’s been for a while without the gung-ho, time to diet force rolling out the red carpet for itself and marching in, taking up residence in my head (as they work on the never yet achieved descent into my heart).  I know it is coming because my body feels tired and gross and tired of all the gross things, but I don’t know.  I am so plugged up mentally.  Even writing this down feels both as a positive sign that maybe that particular bee has found its way back into my bonnet, and an equally negative sign that if I really felt a compelling interest, I would do something and I would be talking about having done it.

Of course, I remember that when you were a part of the thinking, when you were a part of the scales that needed balancing, it was far too late to correct what ended up (or not, we’ll never know) being the thing that destroyed our good shot.  If I could get my weight and body and food together, maybe when I am brave again it will be different.  These are the shitty things I’m thinking tonight, surrounded by plates and odd energies.


Limbo in the Lethe


I could easily spend five hundred words on it.  I’m thinking more than five hundred words a day about it.  Even if they’re stuttered, dancing words, edging forward, drawing back.   But, there’s an odd sense of limbo about it, a sure Limbo, a definitive one.  There’s more to come, more promised.  A call and now, a response waiting.  Even if that response was just a goodbye, I think, I’m guessing there’s one coming.  It would be a selfish thing to do, though, dangerous, in my mind to start thinking more about what is…waxing poetic, building little sugary castles in my mind.  It’s more than nothing, but not a lot more. I’ve walked away before with this size ante left on the table, and even if I’m staying here, judging my cards as worthy of play, there’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t be entirely ready to fold after whatever oddball revelations I shared this past go-round.

You don’t want to be with a person who would do things like that, but people do it all the time.

Right.  I’m not jinxing anything with a negative attitude.  I’ve sworn for Lent to give up negative assumptions.  I have honestly no idea what will happen with this or anything else next week and you can build up such steam stressing about it in either direction, that when the next update occurs, you react differently than you might if this wasn’t the end-all and be-all of everything in your little screwy head.  So.  Onward and upward.  First and foremost, I have to commit to an Amazon shopping cart. I’ve had this gift card for a month.

Tomorrow’s writing group.  I’m really going to do my best to get myself a bit organized tonight for the morning so I don’t wake up so moody and scratching for any extra minute I can stay in bed.  I want to be up at seven, not crawling into the daylight at 8:18 which is the last possible moment I can wake up and still have enough time to get myself clothed, and teeth brushed, and get something to eat for lunch in my bag.  I can do a tiny bit better, right?  The week’s already half over.   We can make this happen.

Oh, the other exciting thing is that since my half-sister is getting married, there’s a good chance (we’re living in the realm of probabilities today) that she is going to have the ceremony not just any old place, but in her favorite city in the world: Stratford-on-Avon.   Not just down the block….


And there, whoosh, comes something more.  Another stone in the wheelbarrow, another plum for the icebox.  A nervousness, an unsettled sort of delight.  A charm and a whistle and a Piper heading down the road with a tune to follow after.

No, seriously, what the fuck is this?  Is it amazing? Is it terrible?  I must stop…I must stop trying to look ahead and get ahead of it.  I am just here now.

Oddity Armada


It’s nearly eight and I haven’t eaten and I don’t give a shit.  I will in a minute.  I’m wondering if the way my teeth feel is a result of my recent decision to just grind and press them together all the time, or something else.  I don’t know the answer because my dentist’s office couldn’t get my insurance called in before the hygienist had to go or some nonsense, despite leaving work early to get there early and worry about it so it’s the 3rd time I’ve had to reschedule and frankly, right now, I feel a bit like screaming.  Like fighting.  Like arguing.  Like crying.  Like this itch inside of me to act up and out and be a willful, aggressive bitch is not going to be pacified.

It will, of course, because there’s no where to go but other people who don’t deserve my vitriol, but fuck if I don’t have some…in these irritated, throbbing gums, in these efforts that fritter into nothingness, in these days of stress and worry. Things are better, things are good, and I’m motivated, and I’m working on more and better.  I did my twenty minutes of cleaning. I ate what I needed to eat.  I did what was on the agenda.


I’ve eaten.  I’ve read.  I’ve relaxed a bit, though I think I’m going to be agitated for a while.  However long your standard while lasts for.

I don’t know how to do this without leaving my body and watching it happen to some other person.  I honestly don’t know how to stay and lean into the discomfort.   There’s motion in my legs even while I sit still.

More, I guess, on tomorrow’s broadcast.

Of course, this is about vulnerability.  I’m hanging here, waiting, frustrated, unsure, wanting two very different yet somehow equally inaccessible things.  I finally get to the point of risk, of dealing, of saying, so fucking what and the big sign comes down, contest over, we’re taking our situation back and going home.  Of course, vulnerability means you run out in the snow and you yell into the heavens that this is your own situation and these are your own rules and you’re going to stand there until something remarkable happens and the bodies celestial concur that you were willing.  You were out there, irrespective of the fact that nobody gives one earthly shit about what you do or don’t do.

They have their head down, they have their heart down, they have their row to hoe.  Unless you’re standing in there way, what are you to them?  And in this great vast forest of solitude where I have been Walden-ing for a thousand years….

And in the space of an ellipses, the chance to be more vulnerable slams itself down in front of me, a bull in my china shop and I have a few moments to avert my eyes and decide if I wish to make a scene and save the pretty delicacies or just be gored.  Mauled, moved to bits, cast into the void of space.  Well, perhaps the last is a bit hyperbolic.

In Case of Cases


I am trying to settle my stomach and get myself ready to hunker down and work on my story, but I don’t know if I can get you the full five hundred that way so I’m shimmy-ing and shaking and making the ends meet.

It was writing group tonight which means it’s my bi-monthly turn behind the wheel.  Seriously, I have to do something that gets me out driving, but lately, with the snow and cold, we ride home and there is no desire or sense to go rambling around in the dark for no reason.  This was my reason and as much as I fretted and fussed and didn’t want to go at all, I managed to read what I needed to read and drive to our meeting place without falling into any brand of raw despair.  No panic attacks, though it feels rusty, and as though one could emerge at any time.  I have these inexplicable conversations in my head about needing to pull over, even if I’m in the left lane, to just get off the road, now, now, now.  It takes a lot to tell this root of pure anxiety, that I still have to get home, and this will not calm me or change any of that so I might as well stay in the lane where I am and turn where I’m meant to turn.

It sounds insane.  It probably is, but I’m between shrinks, and I didn’t stop – this time – so I have to consider that a victory and just get ready for tomorrow.

Tomorrow is my birthday, tura-lura-lura! I am on the path towards a decent-er self.  A Self Less Surrounded By Crap. I don’t know about the scale still, no more than I know what restaurant.  I get so hung up on these things, work them over in my mind and make these arbitrary, lunging decisions.   The years go by in single steps so I have to stay on this path and not fuck it up for anyone else’s pleasure but my own and my long-term, human wish, is to stop fucking it up.

I don’t give a shit about anything else.  I want to talk a long walk around the lake after my Saturday’s Planned Deviation.  I want to make a low-carb smorgasbord for dinner.  I want to stop doing things with rough edges.


Whenever I don’t know how to write or begin with this white square blinking at me, I am relieved that I could easily start writing five hundred words about you and your good behavior.  The speed at which you’ve settled into my heart.  The boxes you tick.  The gifts you possess.  One would have to imagine that you are one of my better presents, a presence that is warm and good and not mine at all.  Just another painting on the wall that I can design a daydream around.  I am harmless, despite the harm I would do us both in my head, a harm of love and sweeping, confounding change.  A harm of petrifying force.

Classic Mode: Day Two Hundred Twenty-Eight

613587_37183081Oh, god, classic mode is back! I can type in this screen and not have to copy and paste it in.


If I were crafty I could probably handwrite five hundred words on the back of these extra directional signs I printed.  I used to hand-write in composition books all the time.  Tonight, though, my mind is racing far faster than I can force this hand to write.  I will be here for a good long while, though, and I have plenty of time to hand-write here and plenty of time for handwriting analysis.  this is, of course, about all there is to do – contemplate life at yet another reception.  If I were at the computer, typing this out, I probably would leap through this preface and tell you about my multiple encounters with different, aggressive homeless guys – neither of which were petrifying,  but both certainly left me unnerved.  I think I have only time to write about one, though.

One man who I thought partially deranged originally only because of his insanely (heavy on the damn adverbs tonight) strong moral couth.  Okay, I wrote that on the paper, but I have to edit it now.  He just was incredibly solicitous is what he was.  So polite it was suspect.  That and the unfortunate telltale smell of alcoholism – a stink that permeates the hoodie we would only ever see him wear.  He wanted to volunteer – that, it seemed then, was all he wanted in the universe.  But as the news trickled in, as it always does, we heard things.  We learned he was spotted on the side of the road drinking a six-pack.  Then, we heard he was doing some for of off-the-charts crazy kung-fu in the park, with sticks stuck to his arms, kung-fu so extreme it caught the attention of police and after other businesses reported him for trespassing, they were looking for the dude.  And this is the man, my cheerful new boss (who did not know any of this) invited onto our volunteer team.   Once we told her, we uninvited him.

Whether it was this or something else, something set him off.  And this morning, he strode down the hallway of our office – a short, compact frame.  A bit like a rat-faced Sawyer from Lost with longer, stringier hair.  He put his index finger on the one clear spot on my desk and looked me straight in the eyes and said “Thank you for your lies.”  He enunciated with contempt you could cut with a knife.  I made a face like I was about to speak, like maybe I was unnerved, like something and he mocked it with even further disdain.  The moment was so fraught  – me with makeup-less face caught so off-guard by the violence in his.  The enmity that somehow I had caused.  I became keenly aware how close violence is to carnality is to desire and as I wondered in a moment between half moments if he would kiss me.  And then I wondered if he would hit me and by he time that wonder passed, he picked himself up and turned back down the hallway.


Shake It Up: Day One Hundred Three


Yeah, I’m going to do better tomorrow.  Or at least, I will not be so caffeinated, sugared-up, and yet near slipping into a coma.  It’s just awful, really.  This is the kind of behavior that makes me go, oh, let’s lose weight and become fitness nuts and never touch anything with sugar or salt again.  At least until tomorrow.  At least, at least.

Point blank, the thing I need to remember and I never seem to be able to is this: it wreaks havoc with me.

I have zero focus, feel pretty numb, and pretty lame and it is 100% food related.  I have done good work today and got in the car and drove (admittedly to get said food, but it was against the agoraphobish grain that turned up in a big way).   I also got my hair cut, my brows waxed to the benefit of all concerned (the hairstylist certainly seemed relieved) and I left early despite having a ton to do, because I said I’d be in tomorrow.   I’m fine with that because the new boss was a bit of a tornado today.  And I was a bit of a water spout myself.    Something we spent a ton on because old boss believed in it, and I went along because I didn’t think I had a voice in these kinds of decisions is suddenly on the chopping block.   We spent a ton with a particular business and I am…finding myself advocating that it gets cut.  Despite knowing the business, caring about the people, it’s my paycheck, my peace of mind, and I think I’ve given up a ton of that for others.  The new boss is just boggled at some of the old financial priorities, and I know that those priorities were because old boss didn’t want to have to cut the cord, in part, and hurt the livelihood of friends, but also because he thought that was the best allocation of the money.  And new boss says, no, the right priority is to have the money to pay staff and to cover our operating expenses.  And that vision sounds much better to me.   So, even though I assuaged and allayed the concerns of my friends that this transition would be smooth at least for a year, I’m not planning to do anything except be sure that they meet with new boss and hash it out.  If they can convince her, then, I guess they can do that, but I think I’m not up to advocating for a borked system that has given me sleepless nights for years.

There’s that and now I’ve volunteered to redesign the market logo which I think is pushing the edges of my capabilities.   There’s just a lot going on.  In work life and if I want anything for myself, I have to put a thumbnail in something personal.  Just getting myself mildly taken care of today is only the beginning.

I don’t know if I’m enjoying this or not.  But I do know it’s not stopping anytime soon.