Strain: Day Two Hundred and Eighty


Oh, the words!

I am trying…because it differs day by day…to reconcile my need to worry (because I think it’s logical in the light of what needs doing) and being joyful because my life is changing.  Yesterday I felt free, today I feel exposed and overwhelmed (mostly because I try to conquer the work that needs doing and I realize that eight hours at work doesn’t begin to help.  I thought about going in and spending another eight tomorrow, but instead, I decided that as much as there is to do, I need to not be there.  I need to lose the control I am clinging so hard to.  To end upon a preposition.   I just need to be elsewhere.

Today has felt awfully lonely.  That creeping feeling of embarking on everything because you think it’s best, not because you got the high-sign from someone who is older and wiser or someone who has invested themselves in your decisions and is impacted by them and therefore, has a say.  Of being called to move by your own brain and not the dictates of time and place and what is socially acceptable.  There’s a certain amount of risk in thinking you know something about something.  And damn, if I don’t hate any sort of risk.

I say that and I am going to put myself in a metal case and fling my body thousands of miles across the ocean (twice) because I have said I desire an adventure.  I was thinking today that I would feel so much better if someone were coming with me to grouse at and who could worry with me if not allay my simple fears.  I will have my friend, but friends should be happy, carefree company and not burdened with my desire for the comforts of shared neuroses.  She is already offering me shelter and tours about the country while we talk about musicians and I guess as close as we are, I’m not willing to decompensate in the corner and tell her all my problems.  As kind as she is, there’s nothing she can do about it anyway.

I want to have had.  I want to have gone through and found someone and have them pull me back awright instead of the old, exhausting work, of stumbling and reconciling yourself to the fact that you’ve fallen and crawling until you can rise up again with any stability.  I feel like the value of love, more than touch, more than sex, more than desire,is in helping you get back to center.

So many other little moments deserve delineation they will never get.  Old Boss’ words and opinions, Old volunteer friend’s arrival and the wake of gossip she drags with her.  The anxieties over things barely begun.  Sitting, overlooking the creek, as the sunlight fell in a way that inspired both nostalgia and disconnection from everyone else in the party as I communed so, so briefly with the part of me that wants to exist outside of anything to do with the past eight and a half years.

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