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.