It’s Sunday night, nearly Monday morning so we can afford some big ten dollar words if it suits us.
Here’s the state of affairs.
The man, for I could hardly call him a boy, is a lot. It’s a lot to deal with. His pains and anxieties and my own aside (and that’s no small burden to stop attending to), even his affection is this full cup every time. And I, with thoughts and fears that have nothing to do with him, find myself hunting for moments where I can work on those jitters and big plans and not be the perpetual sounding board.
That we can talk for two hours as though it’s a few minutes is promising, but it’s also, at times…oppressive, is not the word. Demanding? I just find myself unable to say, hey, hello, I have things that I need to do. But I do say that, eventually, just not mid-stream. And those streams and threads of thought are long, indeed. Long and covering worlds in spastic leaps of loose, ungathered thought matter. Listening and empathizing and enjoying and participating where I may means I am quite tired in advance of a new week.
I think I sound ungrateful which I never mean to be. Not having waited for such a long time for someone willing and happy to be so intimate with me. But I don’t know protocol. I know I can do whatever I want, I can ask for whatever I want. That it’s not a hostage negotiation. That he doesn’t want me to feel bound or constricted at all. I just am learning for myself what the boundaries are and what my tools are when I feel sort of emotionally spent, how to get him to follow-through and hear that in me without feeling like awkward about expressing that I am just not…in cheerleader mode or Florence Nightingale mode or bro mode. But exhausted, anxious girl who just wants to silently be in her own head. Mode.
We’ll get there. It’s just a lot.
Meanwhile, I reckon with the first year that taxes are not easy. This is because of all the fucking around that happened moneywise last year so that I made choices about health insurance – choices mostly by failing to choose – and that means that the refund I always receive is likely to be a relatively small charge. But nevertheless, still a lot cheaper than actually paying for that insurance which I could have used but could only afford technically. So that’s frustrating. Compounded by the fact that as soon as I walk in the door to do the taxes, the sister pulls my arm and says, you’re going to take over your student loans, aren’t you. It’s like $22,000, but that’s only like $115 a month.
I mean, yes. It will not be a big hardship in a couple of months to do that. But her adjudicating what is financially right for my parents (of course they’re fine with me paying it, but they’re not making any demands for it this hot second), is really frustrating. This idea of being forthright and upstanding is great – but I, right now, am on loose change while I wait for my owed money to magically appear. That’s frustrating that I am made to feel like a derelict jerk. I know what my mother’s chemo pills cost. I know that they’ve helped me out and it’s time to repay these lengthy favors. I just can’t until I can
While over there, and huffing over these bits of reality, my mother decided to rub my shoulders and it was terribly painful. That, and the fact that I am grinding my teeth and suffering mightily for it (I have a mouth guard situation, but I don’t like it, and don’t feel comfortable sleeping with it in so it’s hardly helping. I wish I could relax. I had a bit of a caffeine-induced panic at the office the other day. I am thinking salt, sugar, fat and caffeine have their role to play in all of this so I’m striving to find a way out of using them as life preservers. They’re utterly the opposite.
I want to enjoy these new things in my life. I want to not sit for hours worrying about how to do what I did yesterday. I want to feel trust and comfort in my mind and body. I want to not be damaging myself and pretending that I am not aware I’m doing it.
Okay. Enough. I shall carry on. I am missing this. It feels like an odd shadow to me to not be here. I think maybe it was the wrong choice. Ah, well. 2017!