A Cambric Shirt

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OK.

I hate when I don’t feel well because I freak myself out about it so much.  I try and not feel well and I try and talk myself out of it and so anything that is off feels like evidence of imminent death.  Every story I’ve heard, every recent dental struggle, suddenly has become my own. It is not excessively painful.  It is just painful.  I am just aware that it is not right.

I know it is important to take care of.  This was exactly what happened the first time.  Sort of.  And sort of what happened the time before except that time I got it checked and then it went away on its own.  But now it’s in my head, so to speak, the worry.  And I’m starting to find myself willing to go even if they’re going to talk about the wisdom tooth/teeth extraction and that’s spinning me into a bit of a whirlwind conceptually even if it doesn’t remotely hurt on that side right now at all.  So.  Okay.  I’m just starting to find myself capable of being an adult about the issue and dealing with it, but then I’m deflated about the work dental insurance and if I can’t use that, it’s a huge financial deal and I can’t just hi-dilly-ho to the dentist and rack up a bill that I can’t easily pay.

Maybe part of that is just a delaying tactic on the whole “deal with the hard places” wherein I have to go to the boss and say, hey, I don’t think I have insurance…can you check?  And then if I don’t, then, figure out about getting some and then deal with this idle thought that hell is going to break loose if I get myself taken care of.

And I’m now on vacation.  Sort of.  So I don’t know.

I’m pushing a lot these days and suddenly, I find it hard as fuck to push.  I gotta call my mom.  I texted before the test and heard nothing and I have this idea in my head, that fits so neatly into the drama of everything going wrong now, that it’s because something is so bad that nobody’s talking about it.

My sister made biscuits.  Cheddar biscuits and I am wanting to sink into the sheets and fight my way through these short-term blues.  Just loll my head around and moan and twitch and eventually crash into a sleep laden with dream.  The hypochondria is the worst.  It’s the worst.  If you can sleep, you can at least stop wondering if it’s the last sleep and you are just idly typing away your last post, laughing to yourself at how silly you are when Death and his unforgiving scythe is hanging out in the periphery of your view.

I know that it’s just an aggregation of aggravation.  It is not my life or me or a new paradigm.  It’s just asking me for more than to watch it happen and that’s okay.  Sometimes I like to be engaged in the business of being.

 

And the gnashing of teeth

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It’s a real gn sort of day.  Everything feels like it has this GN sound at the front of it.  GNUUUUUGH.

I don’t want to commemorate it.  I want to forget it. I want to be free of the memory and safe in the fact that I am safe and home and in the darkness I know and trust.

But here we are, gnawing at this bone of shame.  So I’ve put on Beautiful Midnight and am getting ready to excavate this hard place I was not expecting to go.  GNAR.

So my car got impounded this morning and while that is important, what is most important is that for a brief, bowel-liquifying moment, I was sure it had been stolen.  I had no idea why it would be, only that it was not in the spot we’d left it last night.  It was the most surreal instance I can remember in a year of surreal living.  It had to be there, but it wasn’t.

So after calling the police, I learned that it wasn’t stolen.  Just absconded by people who apparently have the right to abscond it whenever they feel they care to.  So I have called the impound lot a few miles away and my sister went with me and we walked down the dark corridors of the sketchy but entirely toward sort of office rathole where they keep cars that have been towed away from home and paid my excessive and debilitating fee and went to work in the middle of the day.

Now, having paid that bill, I am not entirely sure how I am going to get everything handled through the end of the month, including keeping myself fed.  It’s just a charming sequence of events I didn’t need.  I just feel like Queen of the doormats and the run-down, stepped-on, shit-eating idiots.

I have to remember that as awful as it was…I still got through it.  I am not disintegrated.  I am alive.

I am glad the work venue changes tomorrow.  I am glad that I am not going to starve even if things get really tough and I have to go and siphon food from the parents.  I am glad that everyone’s kind about it. I’m glad that I have people who want to know why I am upset.  I am glad that I can just say I am upset in front of them.

In other news, I am less glad about dudes who do not get it.  I am working at being better at making them get it.  It being the fact I do not want to talk to anyone who addresses me with wat sup? I don’t.  I have a boundary and that’s what’s written on it.

Also, n.b., waiting for something to appear out of the blue, to arrive when it is least expected, is still waiting.  It’s still hoping.  It’s still training your mind to look for signals, it’s still taking up room in your head.

You are still taking up space in my head.  You oughta pay rent.

 

 

 

 

 

100 Proof

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It’s getting to the point where I need a food change.  Where the food that is supposed to get me through is tasting gross and slowing my system.  It’s adding to my stress.  I’ve got a few plans cooking that start on Sunday afternoon, but I don’t know if that should also be one of them.  Maybe it would just be okay to force down a salad.  Fake it until you make it?

As I was pulling into the parking lot, we got a text about the cat.  She had gone missing.  She’s a cat that was found on the railroad tracks, a ball of fur and vinegar who by some good grace was put in our path, we of a cat-loving nature.  I can’t say that she’d have had an easier life with anyone else in charge of her comings and goings.  Chessie, the railroad kitten, was at my parents’ house and my father was the one texting.  Then came the sister’s facebook message.  Okay, I said to myself after reading it, okay.  I don’t know if I meant it, but I said okay.   She’s not my cat, but the idea of her lost out there on the mean streets of idyllic, sunset suburbia isn’t great to have to ponder.

It has been a long day of striving again, of being relieved and then sucker punched, relieved, sucker punched.  I’ve heard about Nice, but only tangentially, only in headlines.  I feel like I’m only capable of processing headlines, even if they’re the most stringent and dangerous part of the news.  A distillation, 100 proof.  And I’ve been so drunk on it lately, bashed about with the ceiling for the floor and the floor for the ceiling with fucking shitty news.  Every generation has its paranoia, every generation peering down on the next thinks it’s the end of civilization as we know it, but the truth of it is that eventually one of them will be right. You can read that a crazy fanatic person filled with hate drove into a crowd of celebrating people and your eyes can slowly close to let the picture come in, fuzzy and without sound effects, only a soundtrack that is just this song.

The song ends and you can open your eyes, feel your own body against the familiar air, the familiar ground, the familiar impulse to live.  Say Okay.  Nobody thinks you mean it.

Tomorrow is my mom’s next appointment.  An appointment where they are to explain options and status and treatment.  Okay, I say, without meaning it at all.  Okay. Let me know.

Not an hour later, the message comes through on all fronts.  The cat’s been found.  Was just hiding from the dog, her enemy and was just biding her time and sleeping.  Was surprised that there was a hubbub and secretly pleased.  She looks at you, a ball of fur and Okay.  She wouldn’t know to be otherwise.

Do have my good wishes.

Williwaw

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A word lives two days in a row! For me, this is as if it lives two lives in quick succession.  I have not forgotten you, williwaw, despite my brain floating in a a cocktail engineered to keep things hazy and short-term.

Today, only more lyrically embossed: we did not drive to IKEA, this may have been because neither of us was mobile much before noon.  Myself, I had made the intelligent plan of staying up to 3a.m, convinced I was not tired.  Or convinced that it didn’t matter.  Or convinced that I could just take a nap at some point today regardless of the fact that I never take a nap.  I am always too keyed-up from caffeine to sleep, or maybe just the power of my massive brain as it works to plot out all the exhaustive ways it can both destroy and be utterly shamed by my waking behavior.  I am frankly astonished that a bath and some aspirin did bring me back to life.  At least enough that I didn’t want to commit hara-kari before receiving my delicious lunch at Hacienda Colorado.  It was delicious, and from there, more happy minutiae.  Shopping at Target for a chair that isn’t a black behemoth office chair – not finding one but being offered a free black behemoth to use by my parents while I shop around for something that makes a bit more design sense with the room.  It is important to give a shit about these issues, because otherwise, you find yourself in the terrible and familiar position of struggling to give a shit about anything.  Then, we walked two dogs further than I would have initially suggested we walk.

And now, back home where I am sitting at this desk…a dream of six months ago, when the first thoughts of bigger change was first dancing through my head. I am here rather than laying in my bed with the laptop atop my lap, slowly cooking my internal organs until they are gray and non-functioning.  It feels like a healthier choice just to be sitting here, rather than half-supine.  It is not perfect.  The desk probably could use a sanding in a few spots.  The chair I was given by my parents, an extra they were looking to get rid of, gets me close enough for comfort.   However, crossing my legs, as I am wont to do, seems not likely.  Maybe it does just need to be broken in as my sister suggests.  We’ll find another one, but for now, I am not sunk into myself.

I was…and am…not sure how to convert Sunday energy into something better for Monday.  Some sort of radical ferocity, an eight-hour magic bullet I can load tonight.  But I have a few ideas after reading this Wil Wheaton article: http://wilwheaton.net/2015/10/seven-things-i-did-to-reboot-my-life/…and I wonder what this could look like for me.  How much of that is exactly what I am looking for, how much of it is what I need.  Reading, sleeping, giving a few things up.

You might see some struggle here soon.

A Fearful Symmetry

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I don’t want to go there.  It’s useless there.  It’s all set on land where the dirt is so barren that it back draws away from the seed and leaves it to harden in the open sunlight.  Better to keep busy, keep the hands a’typing away.  Just create the sort of tinfoil of distraction that will keep all those alien radio waves bouncing off your sharp edges.

When you do have a spare moment of quiet and reflection, those sorts of thoughts come crawling, moving from cover to cover, sidling up alongside you as though there were present every minute of the day.  I was sitting in the car today while we were driving to and from a location for some of our autumn and winter events while the boss was taking care of an errand and I thought, I know, I know, I emphatically and logically and sincerely get that he’s not going to email me back.  Whatever I did that precipitated his choice to not email me back is unknowable unless I make the inadvisable move to email to find out.  To shout down the line, hey, did you know it’s been a month?  Did you fall down a well or something?  And I’m not going to do that.  He knows it’s been a month and if his arms aren’t broken and he’s not in such terrible shape that communication even to acknowledge the failure to communicate isn’t possible, then, this is a choice.  And I am not going to put this parrot on the pet shop counter and ask why the bird isn’t so perky lately.  It’s dead, Jim, it’s dead.

But in that car with the buzz of NPR in the background and a thousand business concerns and worries about my aunt on one side of the family and my uncle on the other, I just had the single, sincere wish that despite the logic and the death and the icy chill that frosted over something that seemed ready for life, I wish he’d just write me back.  That I could be back inside that warm and hopeful place rather than trying to destigmatize and recontextualize his absence.  That I could have that frightening build-up I was trying to back off of, and maybe that’s the thing…it doesn’t live where it isn’t wanted.  Maybe my reticence is the thing…oh, hindsight.

I saw my aunt and I realized I wanted to write something to give to her about how much she matters to me, some memories, some times and I don’t want to drop it as a rough draft here, it’s too personal for that.  She held my hand and I told her that I wasn’t worried again, that there was no reason to be, feeling suddenly as though the only reason I might say that is if there were some reason to worry.  But she told me she’d been angry at first, sad, but now, she feels as though perhaps she’s come to terms.

I don’t know.  Everything I feel right now is selfish.  Maybe a night on the mattress on the floor will make me as grateful as I ought to be.

A Wilderness

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I remember a Rilo Kiley song that my friend sent me a thousand years ago (I’m old enough to throw such phrases around).  I always loved Portions for Foxes (I know there’s a post titled that somewhere along the line).  And now, I should be getting to see Jenny Lewis in Salida with my best beloved Mumford and Sons for a Colorado Stopover! It’s pretty exciting and I’m very grateful for the early heads up that gave me one of the very few hotel rooms in town.  Little sister’s going again.  I am ready for some pie at the little restaurant outside of town that is delicious and precious and ready for just the whole thing all over again.  So that’s the big news.  Aside from the fact that they also have a new album coming out in May and a new single here shortly. I’m very giddy, still have to get the actual tickets, though.

It’s not all sunshine and buttercups right now.

Apparently, my grandfather fell and had to be taken to the ER.  We learn these things through email chains and Facebook messages.  But he’s also okay and going to go back from the hospital tomorrow.  So.  Yeah, there’s another little worry to flicker around in my head.  I just have to go with the fact that he’s okay now.

I got up and got on the bike again, but I think it’s making me ravenous and I have to take the time to work out what I’m going to eat at work tomorrow, because I have a bar left and even after eating a giant box of chicken wings, I feel completely starving. I’m not giving up, because I think about him and reasons and that I will get to have some sort of fancy dinner out this month.  It might be this weekend, I don’t know.  I need to get more food in me and right now I’m at that stage where I’ve got so much else going on that it becomes lunch time or dinner time and there’s nothing prepared and I just go for whatever standby isn’t a diet-killer.  Sigh.  Not good.

Yeah, there hasn’t been a letter yet and while I didn’t have a feeling like there wouldn’t be one, I kinda wonder now if there won’t be.  It does feel sort of illogical given, you know, how full-on interested we’ve seemed to be, but I know how this goes, I’ve done this, just dropping off the face of the earth because the room had started to feel warm or cramped or too yellow and it could just be karma kicking my ass.  By giving me someone who can write the sort of letter you haphazardly answer without measuring your tone out in teaspoons because you feel the feeling of needing something other than this sangfroid, this reserve, and now, I wonder if that very delirious transmission triggered something I was unaware of, and he’s decided to fuck off.  Or, y’know, if this is just life in the big city, kid.  I mean, if I think about it carefully and minimally, I may come away completely unscathed and with no adjustment to my worldview and ego whatsoever.

Mostly, I think he has a life whereas I have a gummy worm in the shape of a life and he’s out doing things and will get back to me in the order I was received.