Things just keep . . . something. I don't know what. Something. I've gone insane.
At the moment, I'm just completely enraged. It's not a big deal, in the long run, I guess, just the perfect example of the way things are these days. I thought about getting a gift for the step-nephew and niece. I think it's a little silly to exchange gifts with them just because we all have way too much stuff. Plus, it's expensive. Seriously, what's the point? It's not about how I feel towards them. But we all just use presents and money to prove how civil we are. OK, that's the rage talking.
The point is that I was a little behind in getting them a gift. Just like I'm a little behind in everything. Take, for example, the 'free' trial of Amazon Prime. Sure, I know the gimmick - get people to sign up and then renew them before they remember to cancel. I know this is the hook. And I've successfully avoided it all before. Only this time, I was one of those forgetful people. Now I've got $80 worth of free 2 day shipping. So I figure: I might as well make use of it. Yes, it's another hook. I'm forgetful, not stupid.
So I buy the previously referenced family some gifts through Amazon, and I'm sure to get the order in so that I can have them this weekend. In case you're wondering, I've already missed the Christmas deadline and have just accepted it. So I was aiming for Sunday, when I'll be seeing them again. I placed the order, dutifully supplied my credit card number, and waited expectantly for the box to arrive.
It didn't.
I called UPS. The man I spoke with made brief apologies and was generally useless, except to inflame the situation. He pointed out my responsibility for calling after 7 pm. He pointed out Amazon's failing for not getting the package to UPS sooner. In the end, I told him that their customer service was infuriating, the system was seriously flawed, and I was hanging up before I belittled myself by calling him names he's probably never heard of before.
The package is officially out for delivery. But it's not here. It's not there. Nobody knows for sure where it is. And nothing can be done until Monday. When will the package be moved again? Monday. When can I log a complaint? Monday. When I can get more information as to what has happened to the package? Monday.
Fuck Monday. Fuck the delivery guy who only dropped one of the boxes scheduled for delivery. Fuck the Alanis Morissette Irony for the box being the wrong one. Fuck the customer service guy for shifting blame everywhere else. Fuck trying to do the right thing, trying to do it by a certain date, trying to be some semblance of my old self.
I am so thoroughly pissed; the words are inadequate.
I know. It's not about the UPS package. I'm falling apart, not stupid.
It's all about the complete lack of reasonableness in my life. I'm not even sure that's a word. I've ceased to function on a reasonable, productive level. I haven't balanced the checkbook so I missed paying some bills. There are piles of laundry everywhere - clean/folded, clean/piled and dirty. I don't get a shower every day. I drove all the way home from the gas station without the gas cap on the tank. I keep forgetting to fill out the mail order prescription information that might actually save me money on my drugs.
And these are just the symptoms. The answer? More lists, I suppose, detailing the things that need to be done on certain days at certain times. But the lists just emphasize my incompetence.
I hate feeling incompetent. Fuck that, too.
I'm just boiling over. The saddest thing is that this is all just a defense mechanism against an impending mental breakdown.
And it's all just... something.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
The simple life
Tonight's topic for car talk was death. Sure, death isn't exactly a common subject for a four year old, but Ari learned long ago that it's OK to ask questions - and that we'll answer any reasonable one. I've never once responded with "Ask me again when you're older" or any other delaying tactic. [Aside from the "I'll have to look that up." That one happens a lot.] So, tonight, we talk Death.
Ari says, in the context of death, "When God calls, you have to go." This sounded like a 'lesson' to me, so I asked "Did Omi tell you that?" Apparently she has; I had no argument with the concept so I was ready to move on. Ari wasn't. We moved into a conversation about how old or young a person is when God calls.
For some explanation of the upcoming breakdown, remember that I am exhausted. I'm so tired I can't remember all the important things while the small things are tripping me up completely. My reserves are shot. Enter: Death.
Ari says "Grandma Betty wasn't very old when God called her." My stomach immediately knotted. My mother is so peripheral to our existence that Ari called her 'Betty' rather than 'Debbie'. This is probably 'Right' and 'Good' - after all, it's probably not healthy for a four year old to have anything but a peripheral relation to a grandmother gone for 6 years before she was born.
I took a nice deep breath, and corrected her. Unfortunately, Ari wasn't through yet. In her peaceful, matter of fact, uncomplicated way, she asked me if I was a grown up when my mom died. How do you explain 'teenager' to a four year old? I said "I wasn't little, like you are, but I wasn't all grown up either."
For my fantastically thorough girl, this wasn't enough. How old was I, really? "Eighteen."
And again, in her peaceful, matter of fact, uncomplicated way, Ari says "Oh, well you were a grown up then. So you didn't need your mom anymore. So it's OK that God called her."
By this time, tears rolled freely down my face. I had missed my turn. And I was all out of answers. So I cried silently and let my mind wail "God! I needed her...."
It was part prayer, part resignation, part childishness, part desperation, part emptiness. It was love and hate and loneliness and frailty. It was grief, and rejoicing.
A few minutes later I hurriedly wiped my face off before Ari could see it. I prefer that her life remain a little less complicated for a little bit longer.
Ari says, in the context of death, "When God calls, you have to go." This sounded like a 'lesson' to me, so I asked "Did Omi tell you that?" Apparently she has; I had no argument with the concept so I was ready to move on. Ari wasn't. We moved into a conversation about how old or young a person is when God calls.
For some explanation of the upcoming breakdown, remember that I am exhausted. I'm so tired I can't remember all the important things while the small things are tripping me up completely. My reserves are shot. Enter: Death.
Ari says "Grandma Betty wasn't very old when God called her." My stomach immediately knotted. My mother is so peripheral to our existence that Ari called her 'Betty' rather than 'Debbie'. This is probably 'Right' and 'Good' - after all, it's probably not healthy for a four year old to have anything but a peripheral relation to a grandmother gone for 6 years before she was born.
I took a nice deep breath, and corrected her. Unfortunately, Ari wasn't through yet. In her peaceful, matter of fact, uncomplicated way, she asked me if I was a grown up when my mom died. How do you explain 'teenager' to a four year old? I said "I wasn't little, like you are, but I wasn't all grown up either."
For my fantastically thorough girl, this wasn't enough. How old was I, really? "Eighteen."
And again, in her peaceful, matter of fact, uncomplicated way, Ari says "Oh, well you were a grown up then. So you didn't need your mom anymore. So it's OK that God called her."
By this time, tears rolled freely down my face. I had missed my turn. And I was all out of answers. So I cried silently and let my mind wail "God! I needed her...."
It was part prayer, part resignation, part childishness, part desperation, part emptiness. It was love and hate and loneliness and frailty. It was grief, and rejoicing.
A few minutes later I hurriedly wiped my face off before Ari could see it. I prefer that her life remain a little less complicated for a little bit longer.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Spinning my wheels, or something
I'm not sure where to start. On anything. Everything is so disorganized and scattered that I find it incredibly difficult to find a beginning. The idea is personified in the living room, where stacks of things are laying around waiting to find their new home. Yet nothing can be put away yet. My thoughts feel like the dining room.
I still haven't figures out how to type on my new keyboard, but I think that longer fingernails are impeding my progress. And to think I worked so hard to stop biting my nails. That bad habit would come in handy these days.
The craving to smoke is back. No lectures needed, I won't light up. But oh how the feeling is there...
A Bright Red Roar
When I was a child, our home was heated by a giant wood burning furnace.
It was red, with a heavy black door, and took up almost the entire room.
We weren't supposed to open the door, but I could see the dancing flames as I watched the adults stoke the fire.
The heat caressed your face until it was so hot you had to blink - and then the door was closed again.
When I was 10, it did not seem unusual. Chopping, hauling, stacking wood was a matter of course. Part of
Winter.
I always knew Autumn was upon us; the days were shorter and the colors changed but the real test were the long drives to "the farm."
Some acreage, mostly wooded, with a few ponds and a ravine full of our large trash.
Refrigerators, tires, worn out furniture.
One year: our white dog who had grown deaf in old age and too aggressive with children.
Some days at the farm I managed to sneak away from the buzz of chainsaws to walk around with little purpose.
Once, I found a long black snake sunning itself along the shoreline.
Once, I walked until I came to a fence where I was greeted by a white and tan horse.
He blinked slowly at me until I wandered away again.
Autumn trips to the farm packed the truck full of wood to heat the house.
We packed until sunset and drove home in the dark, tired and sticky with tree sap.
The pickup would sit to the side, waiting for daylight, and then we would drive through the yard and begin unloading.
Cords of wood lined the fence and by the time we moved the bottom layers were sinking, rotting, into the ground.
The stacks were always crooked; the yard flooded with every heavy rain.
I still haven't figures out how to type on my new keyboard, but I think that longer fingernails are impeding my progress. And to think I worked so hard to stop biting my nails. That bad habit would come in handy these days.
The craving to smoke is back. No lectures needed, I won't light up. But oh how the feeling is there...
A Bright Red Roar
When I was a child, our home was heated by a giant wood burning furnace.
It was red, with a heavy black door, and took up almost the entire room.
We weren't supposed to open the door, but I could see the dancing flames as I watched the adults stoke the fire.
The heat caressed your face until it was so hot you had to blink - and then the door was closed again.
When I was 10, it did not seem unusual. Chopping, hauling, stacking wood was a matter of course. Part of
Winter.
I always knew Autumn was upon us; the days were shorter and the colors changed but the real test were the long drives to "the farm."
Some acreage, mostly wooded, with a few ponds and a ravine full of our large trash.
Refrigerators, tires, worn out furniture.
One year: our white dog who had grown deaf in old age and too aggressive with children.
Some days at the farm I managed to sneak away from the buzz of chainsaws to walk around with little purpose.
Once, I found a long black snake sunning itself along the shoreline.
Once, I walked until I came to a fence where I was greeted by a white and tan horse.
He blinked slowly at me until I wandered away again.
Autumn trips to the farm packed the truck full of wood to heat the house.
We packed until sunset and drove home in the dark, tired and sticky with tree sap.
The pickup would sit to the side, waiting for daylight, and then we would drive through the yard and begin unloading.
Cords of wood lined the fence and by the time we moved the bottom layers were sinking, rotting, into the ground.
The stacks were always crooked; the yard flooded with every heavy rain.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Polarized
The weather has been a bit harsh the last season and so the
Usual beautiful trees are dropping their leaves all at once,
Shrugging off the changes with a distinct air of self preservation.
I have pity for the trees; the people I know with a similar approach never
Know when to stop.
I currently err towards self sacrifice; my religious upbringing left me with
Such an appreciation for the martyr.
At the back of my mind lies the need to be adored.
Recognized.
I went walking the other evening, casually, hands
Tucked into my jacket pockets
While I shuffled through the crackling green/brown leaves.
A lesson lies there, on the sidewalk, but I can only hear the whisper of meaning
Over the sound of my passage.
The weather has been a bit harsh the last season and so the
Usual beautiful trees are dropping their leaves all at once,
Shrugging off the changes with a distinct air of self preservation.
I have pity for the trees; the people I know with a similar approach never
Know when to stop.
I currently err towards self sacrifice; my religious upbringing left me with
Such an appreciation for the martyr.
At the back of my mind lies the need to be adored.
Recognized.
I went walking the other evening, casually, hands
Tucked into my jacket pockets
While I shuffled through the crackling green/brown leaves.
A lesson lies there, on the sidewalk, but I can only hear the whisper of meaning
Over the sound of my passage.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Birthday to me.
It's officially official: I've turned 30. It doesn't feel any different and I don't think I really care about the big 3-0. It was a great excuse to go out to dinner, though.
Things are moving along no matter how I feel about them. I suppose that's he very nature of things. I realize this doesn't make much sense. Perhaps I'm only typing in an effort to acclimate to my new keyboard.
Appearances
I stood before the mirror today and carefully brushed my hair straight.
The gray dulls the shine I was hoping for but I've
Long become accustomed to the sight.
My body feels all used up these days. My brain
Assures me that this feeling will fade over time.
I am not convinced.
I do not believe my own lies.
I cannot discern the truth, either. The confusion deftly weaves through
Certainty.
I am still shocked by the sight of it.
I find myself craving water but eating chocolate instead. One of these days, I might be able to make sense of that. Or this post. Who knows?
I hate my birthday. Reminds me of all those who have gone away. This is the best part; the end of the day when I am the furthest possible from the next birthday.
But thanks anyway to all of you for your thoughts and cool stuff. :)
Things are moving along no matter how I feel about them. I suppose that's he very nature of things. I realize this doesn't make much sense. Perhaps I'm only typing in an effort to acclimate to my new keyboard.
Appearances
I stood before the mirror today and carefully brushed my hair straight.
The gray dulls the shine I was hoping for but I've
Long become accustomed to the sight.
My body feels all used up these days. My brain
Assures me that this feeling will fade over time.
I am not convinced.
I do not believe my own lies.
I cannot discern the truth, either. The confusion deftly weaves through
Certainty.
I am still shocked by the sight of it.
I find myself craving water but eating chocolate instead. One of these days, I might be able to make sense of that. Or this post. Who knows?
I hate my birthday. Reminds me of all those who have gone away. This is the best part; the end of the day when I am the furthest possible from the next birthday.
But thanks anyway to all of you for your thoughts and cool stuff. :)
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Slogging through the crap.
I'm tired.
It's a ridiculous little sentence that doesn't come close to expressing the true depth of my feeling. Exhausted. Drained. Depleted. Fatigued. Empty. Maybe those help paint a picture. But in the end, what of it? This is life as we know it. For now. It will change, it will get better.
The thing is, I'm not just tired. I'm all kinds of things. Tired is just the easiest one. I have this intense urge to cry but no energy to expend in that kind of emotional outburst. I don't particularly care of the feeling.
It was not a good week. Discouraging on too many fronts. Flare ups of temper. Fits of desperation. Flights of... well, something. My point is that I don't feel like things are going well and I hate the idea of it all. I'm too tired to pick myself up and keep going.
Odd Hours
When I woke up his morning, it was because the baby was crying from his bed
Though it might as well have been in my ear
So I dragged myself down the hallway and settled in to see to his Need.
As I sat there, half despairing, the room gradually lightened with the sunrise.
I wanted to appreciate the moment, to feel excited about a new day and all that
Over hyped crap,
But I never really got along with the sunrise.
Sunset, now there is were my heart lies.
The colors slowly fade away, leaving you wrapped in a gentle darkness, and at that moment I have the most faith in tomorrow.
I find myself awake at 4 am often these days, and discovered that the hour fosters strange thoughts.
The last few mornings I have forgiven a number of people I don't speak with anymore.
I offered the apology to the predawn light
Seeking solace in the diffuse glow.
At sunset, I was sure they all heard.
OK. So it's not terribly good. But what can I say? I'm too tired to think straight.
It's a ridiculous little sentence that doesn't come close to expressing the true depth of my feeling. Exhausted. Drained. Depleted. Fatigued. Empty. Maybe those help paint a picture. But in the end, what of it? This is life as we know it. For now. It will change, it will get better.
The thing is, I'm not just tired. I'm all kinds of things. Tired is just the easiest one. I have this intense urge to cry but no energy to expend in that kind of emotional outburst. I don't particularly care of the feeling.
It was not a good week. Discouraging on too many fronts. Flare ups of temper. Fits of desperation. Flights of... well, something. My point is that I don't feel like things are going well and I hate the idea of it all. I'm too tired to pick myself up and keep going.
Odd Hours
When I woke up his morning, it was because the baby was crying from his bed
Though it might as well have been in my ear
So I dragged myself down the hallway and settled in to see to his Need.
As I sat there, half despairing, the room gradually lightened with the sunrise.
I wanted to appreciate the moment, to feel excited about a new day and all that
Over hyped crap,
But I never really got along with the sunrise.
Sunset, now there is were my heart lies.
The colors slowly fade away, leaving you wrapped in a gentle darkness, and at that moment I have the most faith in tomorrow.
I find myself awake at 4 am often these days, and discovered that the hour fosters strange thoughts.
The last few mornings I have forgiven a number of people I don't speak with anymore.
I offered the apology to the predawn light
Seeking solace in the diffuse glow.
At sunset, I was sure they all heard.
OK. So it's not terribly good. But what can I say? I'm too tired to think straight.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Ah, the joy of infants and other stuff
Xavier is 13 days old now, and I stand in awe of this... well, all of this amazingly complicated messy joy. I'm unbelievably emotional, suffering tsunami category hormonal waves. I'm also exhausted by the critically short periods of sleep. The surgery incision is slowly healing, and I hope to actually sleep in my own bed sometime in the next week or so. I have reached a point where I'm seriously considering buying a new couch; I'm so sick of looking at/sitting on/sleeping on this one. [It won't happen, though, because I'm too cheap to replace a perfectly good couch just because I've been using it as a bed for over a month.]
In the midst of all of that insanity, Xavier's just plain cool. He looks at me with his old man wrinkles and I just have to smile back at him. I'm frankly astonished by how very small he his, and how distilled basic human need is in that little body. I'm looking forward to finding out how he will express himself, how we will all fit together.
On top of it all, I'm being constantly reminded how awesome people are. Marc has been running all over the place to take care of us. Ari has demonstrated amazing patience and sheer excitement about the whole thing. We've received kind words, gifts, food, and prayers - all equally appreciated and welcomed. I'm incredibly thankful to all of you, for everything.
The exhaustion and challenges in this process have made other things a lot harder for me. The bad things are always worse under stress. Sure, I can admit that the hormonal roller coaster is kicking my butt all over. Aside from that, though, I've begun to feel like I'm going to fall apart at any given moment. Or explode spectacularly. Once again, it's time to circle the wagons and guard against the darkness.
I'm doing the usual things; I'm off to therapy on Friday, I'm being careful to remain in touch with friends, I'm trying to take a little time for myself every day. Today, though, I tried something new. I talked a little about this with our church small group, and they prayed for me. I didn't stand up and say "The darkness is yawning and I'm about to be swallowed whole." I did tell them about the loud nagging voice in my head that constantly pulls me down and sucks away my energy/will to stand firm. This is not something I usually talk about.
The fact is that I prefer pretty euphemisms to the ugly truth. I can smile wryly while uttering some pointed reference. The ugly truth just makes me cry.
Years ago, my therapist urged me to come clean with some of the people in my life about the various problems I've faced or challenges I have. When I finally followed through and reported back to her she raised her eyebrow at me and asked "So? Did the world end? Or the sky fall?" I got her point. It's just one that's hard to put into practice every day.
Have you ever heard/read/found something that struck you so profoundly you could remember it years later? Over 5 years ago, Marc and I were talking about my cycle of depression. And he described it as a circular staircase. As I move along, I keep coming back to the same points over and over, only each time the perspective is very different. At least once a week I think about this idea and try to breathe it in. It's harder than it sounds but as important as you'd think.
I used to walk along bridges/overpasses and be unable to look over the side. I would blame it on a fear of heights. In fact, I really don't like heights but I can usually deal with them. Once a long time ago, I stood on an overpass and seriously consider jumping off of it. It's not the height that makes me dizzy, but the memory of that horrible, despairing moment.
I've decided to start remembering that I walked away. It's a subtle point.
In the midst of all of that insanity, Xavier's just plain cool. He looks at me with his old man wrinkles and I just have to smile back at him. I'm frankly astonished by how very small he his, and how distilled basic human need is in that little body. I'm looking forward to finding out how he will express himself, how we will all fit together.
On top of it all, I'm being constantly reminded how awesome people are. Marc has been running all over the place to take care of us. Ari has demonstrated amazing patience and sheer excitement about the whole thing. We've received kind words, gifts, food, and prayers - all equally appreciated and welcomed. I'm incredibly thankful to all of you, for everything.
The exhaustion and challenges in this process have made other things a lot harder for me. The bad things are always worse under stress. Sure, I can admit that the hormonal roller coaster is kicking my butt all over. Aside from that, though, I've begun to feel like I'm going to fall apart at any given moment. Or explode spectacularly. Once again, it's time to circle the wagons and guard against the darkness.
I'm doing the usual things; I'm off to therapy on Friday, I'm being careful to remain in touch with friends, I'm trying to take a little time for myself every day. Today, though, I tried something new. I talked a little about this with our church small group, and they prayed for me. I didn't stand up and say "The darkness is yawning and I'm about to be swallowed whole." I did tell them about the loud nagging voice in my head that constantly pulls me down and sucks away my energy/will to stand firm. This is not something I usually talk about.
The fact is that I prefer pretty euphemisms to the ugly truth. I can smile wryly while uttering some pointed reference. The ugly truth just makes me cry.
Years ago, my therapist urged me to come clean with some of the people in my life about the various problems I've faced or challenges I have. When I finally followed through and reported back to her she raised her eyebrow at me and asked "So? Did the world end? Or the sky fall?" I got her point. It's just one that's hard to put into practice every day.
Have you ever heard/read/found something that struck you so profoundly you could remember it years later? Over 5 years ago, Marc and I were talking about my cycle of depression. And he described it as a circular staircase. As I move along, I keep coming back to the same points over and over, only each time the perspective is very different. At least once a week I think about this idea and try to breathe it in. It's harder than it sounds but as important as you'd think.
I used to walk along bridges/overpasses and be unable to look over the side. I would blame it on a fear of heights. In fact, I really don't like heights but I can usually deal with them. Once a long time ago, I stood on an overpass and seriously consider jumping off of it. It's not the height that makes me dizzy, but the memory of that horrible, despairing moment.
I've decided to start remembering that I walked away. It's a subtle point.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I've acquired a very sore spot just below my rib cage on the right side. Sometimes I hardly notice it while at other times it aches so badly it brings tears to my eyes. I'm sure it will go away soon. In the meantime, it acts as a reminder to the thought: we carry our grief in our lungs.
I used to watch the TV show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." I liked it - except for a season/episode here and there - and often miss the silly complacency it could evoke. But in a more serious moment, Xander says "Why blood?" Spike replies: "Blood is life, lackbrain. Why do you think we eat it? It's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead." Ok, so it's probably pretty lame that I looked around for the actual quote (isn't the internet an amazing source of meaningless stuff?) but that's not the point. Blood, air, life, death; it's all tied together.
I'm thinking (as you probably are) "Of course it's all tied together." But seriously ponder the point. How often do you think about the simple connection? I don't think I consider it often enough. Consider this, as well: we are all tied to each other through these things. Setting aside the possibility of the undead being part of your private circle, no matter how different we all are we share this fundamental basis.
No, I suppose I don't really have a point. Today I feel a little like breathing out some of this... stuff inside and being a little more human. A little less complicated. It feels a little like the first drag of a cigarette after a long abstention - satisfying and a little dizzying.
I miss people today. Not in a depressed, sad kind of a way. More of a sweet meloncholia that doesn't hurt too much to hold on to or let go of.
I used to watch the TV show "Buffy the Vampire Slayer." I liked it - except for a season/episode here and there - and often miss the silly complacency it could evoke. But in a more serious moment, Xander says "Why blood?" Spike replies: "Blood is life, lackbrain. Why do you think we eat it? It's what keeps you going. Makes you warm. Makes you hard. Makes you other than dead." Ok, so it's probably pretty lame that I looked around for the actual quote (isn't the internet an amazing source of meaningless stuff?) but that's not the point. Blood, air, life, death; it's all tied together.
I'm thinking (as you probably are) "Of course it's all tied together." But seriously ponder the point. How often do you think about the simple connection? I don't think I consider it often enough. Consider this, as well: we are all tied to each other through these things. Setting aside the possibility of the undead being part of your private circle, no matter how different we all are we share this fundamental basis.
No, I suppose I don't really have a point. Today I feel a little like breathing out some of this... stuff inside and being a little more human. A little less complicated. It feels a little like the first drag of a cigarette after a long abstention - satisfying and a little dizzying.
I miss people today. Not in a depressed, sad kind of a way. More of a sweet meloncholia that doesn't hurt too much to hold on to or let go of.
Monday, September 03, 2007
The changing season gets me again...
Weather Walking
I was talking to the neighbor about the usual mundane things when the world went quiet and still.
I was dazed for a moment, then sat down on the sidewalk in desperation. I missed the full color saturation of existence in a visceral way.
Embarrassed, I clawed my way to my feet and stumbled to my own porch,
Waiting for the bend of reality to pass.
In my adult life, few things have frightened me more then that moment of dullness.
In combat readiness, I have tried to fill my mind with bright, shiny things. Mirrors surrounding sparkling pools of blue water,
As if somehow these things will hold the darkness at bay.
I stand quietly, so that the stillness cannot sneak up on me again.
I am not so naturally inclined to the bright; the effort is wearying.
My personal calendar has a beautiful page dedicated to the start of each season. If it is to be believed, Fall is coming soon.
The sophisticated celebration on the page uses the term Autumn, as if to fool me, but I am relieved to find the soothing night closer to hand.
Autumn feels safer than summer has been - I can sense a promise of change.
I was talking to the neighbor about the usual mundane things when the world went quiet and still.
I was dazed for a moment, then sat down on the sidewalk in desperation. I missed the full color saturation of existence in a visceral way.
Embarrassed, I clawed my way to my feet and stumbled to my own porch,
Waiting for the bend of reality to pass.
In my adult life, few things have frightened me more then that moment of dullness.
In combat readiness, I have tried to fill my mind with bright, shiny things. Mirrors surrounding sparkling pools of blue water,
As if somehow these things will hold the darkness at bay.
I stand quietly, so that the stillness cannot sneak up on me again.
I am not so naturally inclined to the bright; the effort is wearying.
My personal calendar has a beautiful page dedicated to the start of each season. If it is to be believed, Fall is coming soon.
The sophisticated celebration on the page uses the term Autumn, as if to fool me, but I am relieved to find the soothing night closer to hand.
Autumn feels safer than summer has been - I can sense a promise of change.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Humblest apologies
So I've been sitting around feeling sorry for myself a lot lately. I make no excuses. Rest assured, though, I'm seriously bored by the concept.
Monday, July 16, 2007
I never said I was always happy.
Today is the day. Not just any day but the day. The day that marks start of the tenth year since my mother died. Seems like an odd point to make.
I often get depressed at this concept multiple times a year. And it's not about how many years that I've lived with a dead mother but the lifetime of occurances that have, well, occurred since she died.
I adopted a dog.
I moved into my home.
I bought a new car.
I got married.
I had a daughter.
Soon, I will have a son.
These things have little to do with ten years. But I suppose that saying it like that is more dramatic. And shorter.
I don't feel all that depressed today. Mostly I feel resigned. And accepting - after all, after ten years I've begun to get used to it. I do feel guilty because I'm not more depressed. Somehow it seems that I owe her a little more heartbreak. She would probably say that it is her due.
The big secret has nothing to do with this day but everything to do with her death. About a year ago, I realized that I hold a basic belief that I contributed to her death. Screw cancer; it was my fault. Crazy thought, I know, but true. I'm (at least partially) convinced that if I had simply Believed enough in recovery, Hoped enough for remission, found enough Faith in the positive outcome that she would have lived.
I also realize that this is (at least partially) a delusion on my part to avoid accepting the complete lack of control I had over her disease.
I could have willed her to live. I didn't.
Yes. Delusional self-pity. Joy, eh? The real rub is that I no longer have faith in my own lies.
Today a friend floated the idea that we hold grief in our lungs. She said that there's a poem in there somewhere but she hasn't found it yet. I can't wait to hear if she does.
I often get depressed at this concept multiple times a year. And it's not about how many years that I've lived with a dead mother but the lifetime of occurances that have, well, occurred since she died.
I adopted a dog.
I moved into my home.
I bought a new car.
I got married.
I had a daughter.
Soon, I will have a son.
These things have little to do with ten years. But I suppose that saying it like that is more dramatic. And shorter.
I don't feel all that depressed today. Mostly I feel resigned. And accepting - after all, after ten years I've begun to get used to it. I do feel guilty because I'm not more depressed. Somehow it seems that I owe her a little more heartbreak. She would probably say that it is her due.
The big secret has nothing to do with this day but everything to do with her death. About a year ago, I realized that I hold a basic belief that I contributed to her death. Screw cancer; it was my fault. Crazy thought, I know, but true. I'm (at least partially) convinced that if I had simply Believed enough in recovery, Hoped enough for remission, found enough Faith in the positive outcome that she would have lived.
I also realize that this is (at least partially) a delusion on my part to avoid accepting the complete lack of control I had over her disease.
I could have willed her to live. I didn't.
Yes. Delusional self-pity. Joy, eh? The real rub is that I no longer have faith in my own lies.
Today a friend floated the idea that we hold grief in our lungs. She said that there's a poem in there somewhere but she hasn't found it yet. I can't wait to hear if she does.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Habits are hard to start
I have written a line of poetry in months. Ok - in the spirit of honest blog-ness, I haven't written a remotely acceptable line of poetry in months. I just can't seem to find a string of thoughts to put together.
The last time this happened to me, I got back into the groove by forcing myself to write every day. Slog through the crap, and eventually the decent stuff starts to shine through a bit. I've been meaning to get back to daily slogging, but so far I just stare at the empty page thinking about the other things I should be doing.
I'm continuously amazed at how much laundry piles up over the course of a few days. And how quickly the white shower base goes gray with soap scum. You wouldn't believe how the dirty dishes cover the kitchen counter.
These daily menial things have created some large roadblock to creativity. At this point, I'm too tired to try to climb to the other side.
I would love to say things are good but things aren't quite that nice. It's a bad time of year for me anyway and all the added bumps are throwing me around. The last few weeks have made me yearn to be a smoker again, so I take deep inhales of clean air instead.
I miss everyone.
The last time this happened to me, I got back into the groove by forcing myself to write every day. Slog through the crap, and eventually the decent stuff starts to shine through a bit. I've been meaning to get back to daily slogging, but so far I just stare at the empty page thinking about the other things I should be doing.
I'm continuously amazed at how much laundry piles up over the course of a few days. And how quickly the white shower base goes gray with soap scum. You wouldn't believe how the dirty dishes cover the kitchen counter.
These daily menial things have created some large roadblock to creativity. At this point, I'm too tired to try to climb to the other side.
I would love to say things are good but things aren't quite that nice. It's a bad time of year for me anyway and all the added bumps are throwing me around. The last few weeks have made me yearn to be a smoker again, so I take deep inhales of clean air instead.
I miss everyone.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Time for beauty?
I was pointed at this article and found it profound. You should check it out, it's worth reading. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html
Before reading on here, read the article. You don't even have to come back here. But if you went off and read it and now returned, here's my related ramble.
Halfway through this article, I began to cry. I could imagine with such clarity Evan, the little boy, looking back and wanting to stay. The more I read the more I despaired over our insulated, isolated ways.
Then I got to the end, and realized that I didn't despair for our culture, our country, our ignorance, but rather for my own ignorance. I would love to righteously say "I would have listened. I would have sat down, pulled Ari into my lap, and allowed us both to enjoy the amazing performance. I would have watched her 4 year old face appreciate." But I would probably be wrong. I would probably hustle her along thinking about the next place we needed to be or thing that absolutely needed to be done.
The article refers to the poet Billy Collins and his 'laughing' comment about how we are all born with poetry but life chokes it out of us.
I'll be keeping that idea out in front of me, let it remind me to find the time for beautiful things.
Thanks for the recommendation to the article, Marc.
Before reading on here, read the article. You don't even have to come back here. But if you went off and read it and now returned, here's my related ramble.
Halfway through this article, I began to cry. I could imagine with such clarity Evan, the little boy, looking back and wanting to stay. The more I read the more I despaired over our insulated, isolated ways.
Then I got to the end, and realized that I didn't despair for our culture, our country, our ignorance, but rather for my own ignorance. I would love to righteously say "I would have listened. I would have sat down, pulled Ari into my lap, and allowed us both to enjoy the amazing performance. I would have watched her 4 year old face appreciate." But I would probably be wrong. I would probably hustle her along thinking about the next place we needed to be or thing that absolutely needed to be done.
The article refers to the poet Billy Collins and his 'laughing' comment about how we are all born with poetry but life chokes it out of us.
I'll be keeping that idea out in front of me, let it remind me to find the time for beautiful things.
Thanks for the recommendation to the article, Marc.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Yes, it's been a long time. No, I've only been avoiding myself.
So I know where I've been, what have you been up to?
Really. Well, that's darn interesting.
Hey, keep harrassing me about my absence, and I may just disappear again.
What do you mean, I'm not making sense? I'm making perfect sense!
An Individual Galaxy
I was moving along like an undiscovered perpetual motion machine when the Universe stopped.
The sensation knocked me to the cold, wet floor.
I was wearing my last clean pair of pants when this all happened, and so I have walked around feeling slightly damp and chilled through.
I am my own self, I remember. The details are a little vague.
I stare out the window, confused. The promised snow still drops as rain from the sky;
I feel deprived of the blanket in the dark of night.
I miss the quit hush of the world under snow.
I brew hot tea and ponder this elastic existence.
A line in a book I read said something about the wonder of Faith, specifically having Faith in Heaven despite knowing it is unreachable.
When I read this I understood it and found it profound
But cold and wet it is out of context in my head and discouraging.
I cannot grasp this static fluidity of living.
Changing while staying the same.
I regret not brushing my hair before this upset, and in spite I may cut it all off.
Really. Well, that's darn interesting.
Hey, keep harrassing me about my absence, and I may just disappear again.
What do you mean, I'm not making sense? I'm making perfect sense!
An Individual Galaxy
I was moving along like an undiscovered perpetual motion machine when the Universe stopped.
The sensation knocked me to the cold, wet floor.
I was wearing my last clean pair of pants when this all happened, and so I have walked around feeling slightly damp and chilled through.
I am my own self, I remember. The details are a little vague.
I stare out the window, confused. The promised snow still drops as rain from the sky;
I feel deprived of the blanket in the dark of night.
I miss the quit hush of the world under snow.
I brew hot tea and ponder this elastic existence.
A line in a book I read said something about the wonder of Faith, specifically having Faith in Heaven despite knowing it is unreachable.
When I read this I understood it and found it profound
But cold and wet it is out of context in my head and discouraging.
I cannot grasp this static fluidity of living.
Changing while staying the same.
I regret not brushing my hair before this upset, and in spite I may cut it all off.
Monday, January 29, 2007
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