Tonight I have just enough sense to think I should determine the dividing line between frustrated melancholy and outright laziness and just enough further sense to be still and stop thinking entirely. I woke up this morning, with little sleep (the same story that I’ve been running of late), and feeling like a Monday zombie. Feeling despair and regret and impotence. Mostly the lady version of emotional business impotence. Worried about little things. Feeling incompetent and unimportant and wanting to write but knowing that my writing sucks metaphoric balls and spinning, basically, as Mildred wrestled in her bonds.
I have to remember a few things.
It was this month a year ago, I left the old job and began planning and packing to go to Italy. Going to Italy meant
The travel experiences I’ve had in my life – getting Rocky Horror de-virginized at the Nuart in L.A. with the show that wasn’t over until four A.M. and I had to keep punching my leg to stay awake. The bizarre story of rooming with the Jersey girl who lied about everything to my friend and I, everything, and we spent a weekend with her feeling completely sorry for her as she drove us around the Jersey shore and remembering the tall pine trees. Flying over Siberia! Eating a prepackaged airplane reheated hamburger over the nothingness and thinking it was delicious, having zero sense of time or space, feeling as though perhaps I had accidentally turned both factors off and I just was. Wearing an actual tinfoil hat and listening to a woman read a bad fanfiction where a star of a CW show had turned into a leopard in a room with a hundred other ladies (and a couple guys). Waking up in a hotel room next to a naked, extraordinarily fat woman eating Wendy’s french fries in the bed next to me. Watching my friends send glow sticks down 20 or 30 hotel floors and into a lobby where they possibly killed a man. Traipsing down the street, secondhand-high and alive to all the world after a concert at the Ogden. Getting stuck with my friend when her radiator died outside the airport when she was picking me up before the show we were going to see. Running around downtown Chicago at midnight, learning about the World’s Fair and Murder Castles and falling in love with actors who became the impetus for the most important friendships in my life.
I did all that and so, so much more I cannot think of.
I do find myself at this particular moment at the same level of woe and upset and exhaustion that I was before, but at a greater distance having survived it (more or less left it behind) once before. So I am pushing myself to not be at such a dangerous distance, but to engage more deeply with the things that are making me incredibly anxious and remaining utterly unresolved, and that is leading me to just feel quasi-depressed.
It’s both under control and not at the moment.
So, I think I have to turn myself in another direction and find a new topic of conversation. I have to remember that I am capable of so much more than nothing.