Green, Growing Things

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The Rockies will be on in a minute.  Gotta get it on the gamecast on as I can’t get it on TV.  I don’t care about their record.  I just want them to beat the Cubs.

Playing The Wolf again.  I spent ten minutes earlier this morning crafting a response to someone who felt this change in their sound came out of the blue.  I laid out all these facts that a fangirl knows.  I made a case.  Just before pressing the button to start a fresh thread unravelling on an internet argument I would never be able to win, I looked at the clock and gave it up and ran off for my appointment with the TurboTax.  As soon as you start to think you can correct someone on the internet’s opinion on anything, you’ve lost.  I haven’t allotted any more time in the budget of my life to redressing internet wrongs.

Listening again, now, I realize that I love just the hell out of this song.  I sit on my bed and feel it run through me, feel the memories it evokes, going to Bristol, jumping up and down as light and sound obliterated every last little worry in my head, going to Guthrie and the beetled hotel room and the red dirt on the little white Yaris maneuvering out of that bumpy field.  The sweaty, dark lit up by a strand of lights hung under over a tunnel and realizing how strong my little sister was.  Going to Italy and meeting my friend who only ever would have become my friend if it weren’t for those boys thinking they should start a band.  Driving with Sigh No More on repeat, and repeat, and repeat, never skipping a song.  Seeing them at the Fillmore, pressed against the wooden bar, seeing them at Red Rocks.  Always leavened, spiritualized, made into a giddy thing.  In some ways, they made the past four years of my life, if not possible…survivable.  They were a point of focus and escape and travel and even if they put out an album of themselves reading Kanye West lyrics, or performing polka classics, or whatever else would feel as profane as plugging in does to some, I’d buy it and give it a shot.  They’ve earned that from me.

I lip-sync along, unhinged: “You were all I ever lonnnnnnnnnnnged for!”  The core of what I want to hear is right there, undiminished by the electric melody bounding beneath it.

They’ll be on SNL tonight and I’ll be watching.

Apparently, my ex co-worker’s pizza party was cancelled due to “unforeseen circumstances.”  I turned up an hour into the supposed open house to see a near-empty parking lot and a posted message on the door.  I don’t know what this means.  Eventually, I will find out, but for now, I’m just relieved not to have to be back in that world.  It was an opportunity, though, to Saturday drive and I took a old, but more straight-forward route and didn’t think twice about doing it.  That was good.   The taxes are also done with the usual refund on its way and a bit more than usual from the state coming once I send off the paperwork on Monday.  Not enough to warrant giving up $25 for the convenience of not having to find a stamp.  Not when one’s father is a philatelist.

No you.  I keep the email account open.  The grail-shaped beacon.  I refuse to knock on that door, though.  I refuse to say peep.  The three men crewing the lighthouse for sanity’s sake, awaiting the crash, to see you bob up between the sheets of gasoline and scattered fuselage.  Pluck you up take you inland for a stiff drink while I make my way down from the hills.  These are things we have no say in.  These are things that are not ours to mend. The only choice to make is when to call it.  Like the last dwindling spikes on an EKG machine, beeping out: Not yet, not yet, not yet.

The Rockies are down 3 – 0, bottom of the second.  If they’re going to make it, these are the kind of situations where they have to fight.  I see the parallels.  I’m thinking.  I look again and they’ve cut the lead down to a single run.

There’s some tasks to take care of, trash to bring to the curb, beds to make.  Enough screaming into this Void.

Dancing Whiskey Jack: Day Two Hundred Seventy-Six

298068_4499The panic creep is creeping.  I think I’d really have Slenderman or whatever in the corner of my eye, because at least you could go, oh, damn, I’m murdered.  With the panic creep, you just get to watch yourself doing weird-ass nonsensical things like pulling off the side of a road with no one behind you because you don’t want to have to wait at red light and risk a panic attack, but that means turning around and waiting on the other side of the intersection for the light to change.  Suddenly, that sort of decision makes sense because expediency is lord.

I have an earth-crushing amount of work to do and I am not bringing it home and doing it.  I keep saying, well, I don’t really need to worry about the things I can’t stop worrying about it until after I get back in Italy when I have essentially four days to wrap up my job.

And every night I go home and the current boss sends me three or four emails of “could you please” and none of it is a whole journey through the desert level of difficulty, but when you add it up and even if I blow off everyone who comes to see me to keep my head focused, it’s not possible.  It is not, in my estimation, possible. I’m sorry, but it’s not.  My mentor came and saw me and I told her much the same, and she said, just focus on the important stuff and then Hooray! Italy!  This is a great plan except I think everything is important because it comes from an outside request.  And there isn’t time to do anything but whatever is closest to my hand or face.  I feel shitty and apologetic about this and so many other things, but, hell, we go to bed, we get up, we muddle and then we worry.  That is what we have to do.

I was really hoping the current garcon du jour would be there for our last and my last market.  But apparently, no.  And that is because, in reality, in the space that exists outside of my delusions, that airless realm, he’s an actual human with things going on and possibly a girlfriend and is here when he is here because he has to be and a grownup girl would know all of that well before now so that thinking at all about him would be moot and forgotten.

There’s so much to be excited about and my body, while it maintains this surface calm, I think the lower processing levels…the ones that really know what’s going on (or the ones I try and go to for rationality, while further mental depths are required for the exact leaps of faith and crazy that made all of this possible) are starting to send out little signals.  The signals say the worst case scenario is going to happen and if we don’t adjust and prepare, when the happiness of these changes leaves us, we will be hurt so terribly.  It thinks it is helping when all it is doing is stealing any joy out of my life right now and pushing me towards the self-medicating principles that fuck my shit up.

Sigh.

A morning follows.

Wild Rose: Day One Hundred Eighty-One

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Weird.

Weird and off and fine and good.  That’s today.  A Friday without a day off to follow it has an eerie sort of stretchy quality.

Our office’s accountant, someone I’d worked with monthly for the past eight years, was diagnosed with cancer maybe a month ago.  And I received a call this morning that she had passed away last night.  It makes me think of health and time and wasted opportunities.  It makes me think about habits and desires and plans.   Aside from this sense of loss I feel, loss for her family, for our community- she was such a kind woman, so willing to help and fix things and explain to me what needed to be explained – it makes me think  about my life.  Par for the course, I suppose, but I am feeling it.

I don’t know if I’ve driven “properly,” for a week, but I did it again today.  I did it even when I had my 9P.M. to eat something for dinner and that meant, if not Chipotle (and shockingly, I didn’t feel like having that sitting on me all night) so that means crossing the crazy street.  This is not anything, and at the same time, for some reason, at night, just crossing it feels very “triggery.”   I’ll stop with the quoted words now.   Just sitting there, watching the cars go by, bright lights blurring by, for some reason makes me want to drive into traffic.  Not to sit still and be safe on my side of the road, but to just press the gas.  Which is an incredibly scary response that I have to control and the worry over whether I can control that starts the panic.

But over he last week, I’ve been finding ways to confront it, and now, tonight, is really the first time since that’s begun that I’ve faced that particular issue. After feeling relatively easy-breezy about what I thought was recently rendered impossible, this felt like a bizarre two-minute Mount Everest.  And yet, and yet, here I am typing to you so, obviously, I did not murder anyone whilst collecting some fast food across the street.  Strange what is fine until it’s not and what’s out of the question, until suddenly, you find yourself doing it without a second thought.

Confessions: still haven’t rescheduled my therapy.  It’s mostly been about timing.  I don’t know.  Unless it isn’t and I’m just glossing over that fact.  I need to make a hair appointment and get the repairman (the non-metaphorical one) in.  I also need to start processing all of this Italy stuff, the fact that I’m going, the costs involved, whether or not I’m flying standby (yikes?! okay? I should be okay) or if I need to buy a ticket and have a layover in Portugal.

Time for bed.  An early post tomorrow, I expect, because I’m putting 8 hours in at the sunshine mines and then, I think, some method of mental clarity must be procured.  A body must face itself again and again and again.

Haiku: Day One Hundred Eighty

V3.10000I’m getting the signs, universe.  I’m catching the cosmic drift.  Just give me a second or a day to get up to speed.

I was telling myself I’d work on the story, but I’m thinking I can do that outside of the constraints of this place.  Because, darlings, I ate the most excellent tiramisu and I’m tired.  It was actually a really nice day at work.   I got in at 10:30, after attempting to wake up and get going early, but ending up lazing around in bed like I couldn’t tear myself out of Queen Mab’s grip.   Still, 10:30 was on time, and I drove the right way, not like it was nothing, but with a measure of four days-straight made confidence.   Then, a bit of work, and we were off to lunch for a good meeting reviewing the month ahead and how we can help one another.  I asked for help, mostly, and mostly got assurances I’d get it.  We’ll see on that.   The rest of the day flew by after that, and then a post-work event where I pasted on a just fine face and hung about for an hour, eating the aforementioned dessert.    I need to not be eating such things, a given, but if I am eating them, all things I put in my mouth should be so luxurious and wonderful.

It did, however, make me really, really, really sure that I should drive the old way home.  Just to stay relaxed in the cool air and not have to worry about panic and meltdowns and risk and trouble.  To play my music and slide beneath the radar – just once.   I’d be right back on the pattern tomorrow morning, I said to myself, as I listened to the hum and prattle that comes with these events.  The boss is off tomorrow and I have a shorter day again because I’ve elected to work on Saturday and I just wanted it to be easy.  To be shortcake.

But somehow, it didn’t seem so fucking hard to just drive home in a logical fashion.  To just do it and accept the fact that it was going to happen, yet again, another construction paper loop in the chain, and that my anxiety was based on nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  So off we went, managing it and thinking about other things than constant vigilance on how the wheel had to be held and the twitches in our muscles.   Me and Queen Victoria got it done.

So here I am, proud about that, less proud about the diet, thinking about Italy and walking and needing to train, and other sources of worry, other memories, other needs and wants, worried that if I say oh, I have this route reclaimed, I can start dieting right now, the anxiety will increase.

But I feel like the sugar I’m eating now is the problem.  That I want these big enveloping feelings that succeeding at driving without fear bring me all the time, and I keep saying to myself that I’m deserving of the treats, like that tiramisu, I’m throwing down my gullet.

What I want is the feeling and human source for that feeling to be the next test.  To leap at me and throw all of this planning and mental gymnastics out the window and all I have to do is feel what I feel.  Not hunt for distraction from the absence of feeling, of replication of feeling in chemical form.

Want, want, want in a sane world means do a damn thing about it.  Call the repairman.

 

Animi Ferox: Day Twenty-Five

I am at work, though hardly working.

I have spent much of the morning walking outside which I think is always a good idea when you’re out of your head.   Taking pictures of some of the demonic wildlife found roaming through the parks.  And that’s given me a bit of a time to have a think about the small thing that is the major concern of my life.

I think some of the panic is stemming from the fact that I am allowing myself in the slightest of degrees to relax.  I am getting the rarest of things: a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel.  My sister getting this new job takes a huge load off of me, my body is at the plateau point between perceptible change and change that makes me vulnerable  and I think, all my attendant fears that have kept me stock-still and suspicious are being told they’re no longer needed full-time.  And they’re fighting back.

Being strong in one particular way has lead to a lot of other weak muscles.

That’s my guess.   I do know, too, that the trick with these things is that they come because you don’t want them to come.  You are trying to steel yourself against their power, that’s when they become like an atomic bomb that there’s no way to bare-hand back into control.  You just have to ride it and hope that you will make it out on the other side.  So I have to talk about it, I’m feeling.  I have to say this happened and I’m facing the fear and knowing that it’ll probably happen again.  Even this morning, driving in, bright daylight, I feel just fine, I stop at a stoplight and my arms start to feel weird and weak and I tense up five hundred percent, down to my very lungs. But the light changes, I keep breathing, and I get here.  Bottling this up and saying I’m not dealing with this isn’t helpful even if I don’t know exactly what is helpful.  Except for maybe…medication?  And since I know this is psychosomatic, I KNOW I’m doing this to myself because I’m starting to feel freer and more alive and more and more ready to get these long pent-up desires fulfilled, I don’t want to go down that road.  I want to find the reason and make it okay for me to be okay driving.

I want to investigate until I find the rot within and carve it out.  I wish it was that simple and surgical.

Because this shit has to stop.

It’s like a poltergeist that thinks it’s pulling a funny joke on me.  Again, driving home.  Laughing at me as I leave my body and lose my mind. I need an exorcism.  And a nap.

Tonight, we go and celebrate my sister’s new job.   I plan to NOT watch Oklahoma on PBS, mostly because I did that until midnight last night.  and to stop worrying and planning for anything else.

 

 

Adulterated: Day Three

Your girl is a happy girl so long as she stops with the over-thinking.  I’m working myself up into a state.  I think I needed to have eaten more today, but I’ll take care of that tomorrow.  If not, by grabbing a low-carb tortilla once I get done here.

Yes, I feel very adult today.  I called the credit union and got pre-approved for the loan for an amount I feel comfortable making payments on even if all of a sudden I think there’s kind of a small, found out I had excellent credit (I hate to think of the bots reading today’s post and glowing/vibrating/emoting in whatever way a bot could emote over the keywords  here) and am now making plans to buy both a car and a computer tomorrow because I’ve budgeted for it and now I’m looking at everything and thinking that maybe I need to get snow tires for my car, just in case, and some sort of training and maybe all of this won’t be enough to stop me panicking on the road, and also, I should get an IRA and JFC, I need to calm down on a Friday night.

Being an adult. The thing does get overwhelming.  Especially if you’re anxiety-prone and completely ridiculous like yours truly.

I just want to get everything right and appear virtuous in all of this and that’s…probably not possible.  I feel like maybe people would think that I think I’m grossly indulging myself by making these purchases right now.  Not that right now is different than any other time, but I do feel like a kid in a candy store and that while I need the car right now, I mean the computer isn’t dying. I could go without and save this money, pretend I never even got it.   Not having it would not destroy my world.

But when I think more about it, if I accidentally unplug it, the computer will shut down.  It gets pretty hot.  There’s cracks on both sides, some of the letters are completely worn away, it can handle the games I want to play on it, and it’s going on six years old.  Also, i spend the majority of my home life working and playing with it.  I feel like I can justify spending $700+ dollars on a new one.  I could also get a cheaper one.  There are plenty of laptops at half the price.  But to me, I think I’d rather pay the extra price to have one that can last me another five or six years, play most of the new games that come out that I want to play,   It’ll also give me more mobility – easier to pick up and go.

It’s just a lot of money in my mind and now that I’ve updated YNAB, even though I’ve budgeted for it (and am planning to save $1000 on the down payment from what I’ve projected), I see the other options for that money and the allure of a high balance and lots of savings is real, too.

I think mainly I want someone to swoop in and say, it’s okay, it’s okay to travel and have a new computer and a car.  What a fucking first world delirium to live in.

If you needed a new computer, I wouldn’t hesitate to be excited for you and ask you what you’d be getting.  I would assume that you’d thought about it and decided it was a good idea for you.

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Goal: Less than that

 

 

 

 

Oh Oh Oh

My bed is bare.  It should be at least half dressed, but I took all the sheets and the mattress cover over to my mother’s to get washed, and remembered to bring back the sheets but not the mattress cover.  I’ve melted too many in the dryer and thought I was being clever by pulling it out.  But my mother’s day by her choice was simple.  We had hot dogs  and fried potatoes and angel food cake and a salad of golden tomatoes and cucumber.  I gave her that periwinkle hydrangea she loves.  And we walked the dog out to the organic farm that’s a few blocks away and saw the sprouts peeping up out of the ground.  We walked back and kept working on this 2000-piece puzzle featuring the tallest buildings in the world.  It has suddenly become summer.  My body feels so weak under the punch of the heat.

So, my bed is bare and will have some thin blankets to cover it until I go back and do some more washing tomorrow before, hopefully, on Tuesday, we have the washing machine fixed and we can get this place staying on the track it needs to be.

I meant to speak yesterday about how giddy I was that I went to do some community service and help with the food collection at the post office with a group of people my own age.  I was definitely considering not going simply because it is so out of my usual way, to the point where I was sure I was going to have to be conscripted into driving the verboten highway to get there.  I wasn’t anticipating it being located where it was, but I said I would do it.  I didn’t have any compunction about doing four hours hard labor as it turned out to be, but the driving was starting to peel away my sanity once I got home.  I stared at maps.  There was a way to go.  There was a way, it seemed, that would keep me on fairly known routes, some of which became known recently when I went to that assertiveness class.

So I threw myself into my car, and breathed my way there.  The panic held itself low because the traffic wasn’t hugely aggressive.  I made it, worked hard and had a good time with the young folk, and made my way back.  The world continues to be a little bit wider.  Of course, now I feel concerned about the law of averages and I feel much more worn down and less agog about the achievement, but I am happy I did it.  A forward move amidst so much sidestepping.

I could really use one more day of weekend, though.  I could really use one more day of listening to Ben Howard, playing games, and contemplating my journey.  Now, I guess, I just have to start walking.  Facing down those last seventeen words one after the other.

Wouldn’t be a lie if I said I was missing you tonight.