It has come again, a beginning to an end, and I must say goodbye. I do not know how.
I've left many things and people behind in my quest for growth and maturity. Looking around, I am forced to realize how much I've carried forward with me. Some things have been so constant in this mixed up world. One of those constant forces is Simon the dog.
Not just a dog, but a companion. He who is happy to see me when I come home, who misses me when I am gone, who settles for a good ear rub late at night. Simon, who wants nothing much more, who doesn't judge or hold a grudge.
And he is dieing.
Stupid cancer, again, reaching in and taking a constant force in my life and morphing it into a source of pain. He's not just a dog, and he hasn't had a "long" life at 10 years, and I'm not ready to move forward without him. But once again, I don't seem to have much choice.
Now, most days I come home, heart in my throat as I unlock the door, afraid that he has left me while I was away.
He's a good dog. He was fearfully ill as a puppy, got hit by a car on a sunny afternoon, and late one night stayed in the woods for nearly 30 frantic minutes looking for his ball.
He loved me when I hated myself.
My soul despairs for this loss.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Trying, trying
I'm not happy with much of anything I write these days but I'm throwing it out there anyway to try to work through to something decent. Bear with me through this slump, and let us all hope it ends soon.
I'm frustrated with myself right now and too much of that feeling is getting in the way of everything else, including any writing I'm doing. Life is pretty good these days, but I can't seem to help but feel depressed. Or melancholy, perhaps.
I'm tired of such weighty responsibility and I wish I could hand it off for awhile. I need a rest. Such earth-shattering decisions to be made with such constant demand. It's more than needing a few more hours of sleep. It's needing time to walk away from all of this. Where's vacation when you need it?
With all this frustration and chaos going on around me, I so desperately want to wrest control of something. I want to see the cause and effect. It's been years since the image of cutting/bleeding has been so prominent in my brain. I'm both ashamed and dismayed by this state, but shame and dismay won't make it go away. Quite the opposite, actually. They are driving me closer.
But I will not succumb. I will not give up on this grasp - tenuous that it may be - on reasonable, acceptable coping mechanisms.
I'm frustrated with myself right now and too much of that feeling is getting in the way of everything else, including any writing I'm doing. Life is pretty good these days, but I can't seem to help but feel depressed. Or melancholy, perhaps.
I'm tired of such weighty responsibility and I wish I could hand it off for awhile. I need a rest. Such earth-shattering decisions to be made with such constant demand. It's more than needing a few more hours of sleep. It's needing time to walk away from all of this. Where's vacation when you need it?
With all this frustration and chaos going on around me, I so desperately want to wrest control of something. I want to see the cause and effect. It's been years since the image of cutting/bleeding has been so prominent in my brain. I'm both ashamed and dismayed by this state, but shame and dismay won't make it go away. Quite the opposite, actually. They are driving me closer.
But I will not succumb. I will not give up on this grasp - tenuous that it may be - on reasonable, acceptable coping mechanisms.
Craft
I've begun to consider film-making as a hobby. Words don't seem to flow into pictures the way they once did for me:
I've neglected them too long.
Like an insecure lover they have taken my inattention to heart and hidden away their mystery and seduction.
In film-making I could recreate the images behind my eyes in some vain attempt to explain the words trapped in my head.
I went for ice cream, late, in the rain and stiff, cold breeze.
Stopped at a red light I blinked - it took seconds to close and then reopen my eyes.
The words are inadequate; I sat, staring blankly at the windshield, waiting patiently for the light to change, until my eyes closed in slow motion and had a nice long rest before finding the will to open again.
As if the long blink were not enough, the nearly constant stop action video played against my eyelids;
Addiction comes to me again and I yearn to watch blood flow up from the pale, soft flesh, until I can feel it burning away the chaos and unease.
Trapped in some poorly crafted script I reached for my ever present phone to reach out, but no one was available to take my call.
I am not unhappy but out of control. Or at least on the edge of letting go.
Again, the words seem benign -
The carefully balanced demands are skewing slightly and it seems a mere matter of time until balance is lost.
In the meantime, I've decided to try to lure the words back again. Film-making seems to distant a goal.
I've begun to consider film-making as a hobby. Words don't seem to flow into pictures the way they once did for me:
I've neglected them too long.
Like an insecure lover they have taken my inattention to heart and hidden away their mystery and seduction.
In film-making I could recreate the images behind my eyes in some vain attempt to explain the words trapped in my head.
I went for ice cream, late, in the rain and stiff, cold breeze.
Stopped at a red light I blinked - it took seconds to close and then reopen my eyes.
The words are inadequate; I sat, staring blankly at the windshield, waiting patiently for the light to change, until my eyes closed in slow motion and had a nice long rest before finding the will to open again.
As if the long blink were not enough, the nearly constant stop action video played against my eyelids;
Addiction comes to me again and I yearn to watch blood flow up from the pale, soft flesh, until I can feel it burning away the chaos and unease.
Trapped in some poorly crafted script I reached for my ever present phone to reach out, but no one was available to take my call.
I am not unhappy but out of control. Or at least on the edge of letting go.
Again, the words seem benign -
The carefully balanced demands are skewing slightly and it seems a mere matter of time until balance is lost.
In the meantime, I've decided to try to lure the words back again. Film-making seems to distant a goal.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Long time, etc...
Dear One,
I know what you're thinking; even at this distance I can see
The accusatory, frustrated, angry look in your eyes.
I've been away.
Yes, for all this time, I've been away.
I can't say where; it isn't a secret. Or it is a secret I am keeping from myself.
Yesterday morning I woke to the enthused sound of birds - the spring is here announcement.
Winter passed by. Someone was busy snapping photographs all those dark months;
I am glad.
My memories are clouded by darkness and bitter winds.
I was hiding.
Yes, I know I've left you before like this and
Yes, again it truly was necessary.
But I've come around close enough to feel the aching loneliness.
I am full of sadness and remorse.
Around and around we move, following these steps we know so well;
A dance echoing through the years.
We move because we must: to stop is to die.
Yet, each fluttering carries the tinge of betrayal, the hint of hopelessness.
I make all the same promises I have made before, choosing to ignore the hollow ring in my voice.
Spring is here, the birds sing, and I choose to believe in the hope filled cry.
Hold my hand gently while we learn to live again,
Let us go for walks in the magic twilight hour and forgive.
I know what you're thinking; even at this distance I can see
The accusatory, frustrated, angry look in your eyes.
I've been away.
Yes, for all this time, I've been away.
I can't say where; it isn't a secret. Or it is a secret I am keeping from myself.
Yesterday morning I woke to the enthused sound of birds - the spring is here announcement.
Winter passed by. Someone was busy snapping photographs all those dark months;
I am glad.
My memories are clouded by darkness and bitter winds.
I was hiding.
Yes, I know I've left you before like this and
Yes, again it truly was necessary.
But I've come around close enough to feel the aching loneliness.
I am full of sadness and remorse.
Around and around we move, following these steps we know so well;
A dance echoing through the years.
We move because we must: to stop is to die.
Yet, each fluttering carries the tinge of betrayal, the hint of hopelessness.
I make all the same promises I have made before, choosing to ignore the hollow ring in my voice.
Spring is here, the birds sing, and I choose to believe in the hope filled cry.
Hold my hand gently while we learn to live again,
Let us go for walks in the magic twilight hour and forgive.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Trying to get back to the swing of things.
Old Friends
When I was a child, my dad drove an old tan and white pickup truck.
I don't really remember it, but snapshots capture my dad standing next to it in a matching leisure suit.
Eventually the pictures change over to a brand new blue and white pickup.
Standard cab, bench seat, with air conditioning. A complimentary blue camper shell was quickly added.
We would drive to the farm for the free firewood, me, Dad and Grandma.
On the way there, I would sit in a lounging fold up lawn chair, legs still bent under, and read a book to pass the time.
For the return trip I would be squished between Dad and Grandma, the three of us sweaty of being outside all day in the sun, and my book remained hidden in the pocket of the door.
In it's old age, that pickup truck tolerated me as I learned to parallel park and then chugged me gracelessly to my part time job.
My suit never matched it, and by the time I had my licence the air conditioning had stopped working,
But we had a lot of miles together, that old truck and I.
When it stopped starting every day and started stranding me on the way to work, the pickup was replaced by a nice, reliable Buick. I was happy to see it go.
Now, I'm a little sorry for being ungrateful for all those quiet moments in the lounge chair, reading a book, covering the miles.
When I was a child, my dad drove an old tan and white pickup truck.
I don't really remember it, but snapshots capture my dad standing next to it in a matching leisure suit.
Eventually the pictures change over to a brand new blue and white pickup.
Standard cab, bench seat, with air conditioning. A complimentary blue camper shell was quickly added.
We would drive to the farm for the free firewood, me, Dad and Grandma.
On the way there, I would sit in a lounging fold up lawn chair, legs still bent under, and read a book to pass the time.
For the return trip I would be squished between Dad and Grandma, the three of us sweaty of being outside all day in the sun, and my book remained hidden in the pocket of the door.
In it's old age, that pickup truck tolerated me as I learned to parallel park and then chugged me gracelessly to my part time job.
My suit never matched it, and by the time I had my licence the air conditioning had stopped working,
But we had a lot of miles together, that old truck and I.
When it stopped starting every day and started stranding me on the way to work, the pickup was replaced by a nice, reliable Buick. I was happy to see it go.
Now, I'm a little sorry for being ungrateful for all those quiet moments in the lounge chair, reading a book, covering the miles.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
State of Mind
There is a lot of negativity building inside riding a way of despair and doubt.
When I lay in bed at night, trying to sleep, I can see it all building and I'm afraid it will blow the top of my head off, neatly,
In a way that will only be apparent to me.
As if I will be able to style my hair over the fracture marks and hide the evidence from the world.
Sleep is a gift that cannot be squandered, yet a horror full of chaotic dreams and insufficient rest.
When I close my eyes I can feel blood pulsing through my ears.
It is a side effect; the one-two punch of congestion and exhaustion turns my hearing towards the internal.
The pulse in oddly comforting in it's regularity, a gentle whoosh, whoosh, whoosh I can almost see against my eyelids.
As if the sound releases some of the pressure and I'll be spared the indignity of this blackness.
There is a lot of negativity building inside riding a way of despair and doubt.
When I lay in bed at night, trying to sleep, I can see it all building and I'm afraid it will blow the top of my head off, neatly,
In a way that will only be apparent to me.
As if I will be able to style my hair over the fracture marks and hide the evidence from the world.
Sleep is a gift that cannot be squandered, yet a horror full of chaotic dreams and insufficient rest.
When I close my eyes I can feel blood pulsing through my ears.
It is a side effect; the one-two punch of congestion and exhaustion turns my hearing towards the internal.
The pulse in oddly comforting in it's regularity, a gentle whoosh, whoosh, whoosh I can almost see against my eyelids.
As if the sound releases some of the pressure and I'll be spared the indignity of this blackness.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Yes, it's been awhile. I've been busy.
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.
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.
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