Wednesdays are the days when I kinda, sorta, only half-entirely disappear. I go to the shop and I do not think about anything other than are the dresses lined up straight and do I need to ask one of these women if they want me to start a dressing room for them for eight hours. I go to lunch and I don’t talk to anyone or think about anything, except, maybe about boys. Which, continues to be a radiantly laughable and bizarre topic to think about, but nothing that requires external acknowledgment. I can happily sit at the coffee shop that makes great coffee, but less than great food and blank out for an hour before returning back to this cloud of short-term work ethic and short-term faked extroversion.
Yet, today, I saw two people who knew me from my old life and there was a moment of genuine surprise. A sense of seeing and being seen. There was a sigh as they tried to tell me what I already know – the organization has been deeply fucked over the past few years.
For me, of course, my thought…though it is a thought I question is, that my leaving left everything a mess if only because I left a mess behind. I never got my shit together. So, of course, ironically, one of these old cohorts is working for a rival organization and she wants me to email her about a part-time job essentially doing the same sort of thing I was doing before. That way, my friends, leads only to Madness. Not planning on writing that email even if I’m no closer to knowing what to do about anything.
My mother was okay this morning when I dashed out to see her. I want not to dash. But, she was wearing the shirt I bought her and was in a good mood. You keep waiting to see Cancer, to see a turn, to see a neon-lit sign and it doesn’t work that way or look like that.
I also found out that a dear, dear, wonderful friend is going through a similar sort of suffering with her dad. I hate that there is such a sisterhood amongst us. I hate that it has touched so many lives and wish that it didn’t feel so everywhere, so…inevitable.
The unspoken truth that my mind keeps brushing up against is that I need to acknowledge is how much I need to take care of myself as a result of this familial health history and the bare-bones facts that I don’t – at all – is out there, waiting for me to try and get my arms around it. I’m not there yet, but I am at least willing to say that truth exists.
No writing group. We didn’t have a quorum. That whole thing needs a revitalization of investment and I am not sure I am the one to do it. I’m not sure the group as it stands is going to get me where I need to be, but it is forcing me to write and that’s…its own form of magic.
What else? Thursday, Thursday, Thursday. Come and get me.