In Triplicate

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It is nice to be mouthless.  Something I could never have reckoned with as a girl who wanted Hello Kitty to be free to speak her Hello Kitty thoughts.  But it is nice not to have to tell you stories of distemper and distaste, not to have to show up and look weak, not to have to…

Sometimes I sit still and I feel as though I have got the whole nation, the whole world’s despair not only over their choice (willing or otherwise) of leader, but of every last little discomfort in their lives.  Every last thing going wrong shuffling about in your head, oh cripes, it’s here in mine. It’s not right.  It’s killing us.  It’s too much.

It’s not yours, something like the Faithful Light will remind me, you only have that slag heap over there.  That’s it.  All the rest of it is not yours.  But, I think, I see it.  I know that it exists – hungry babies, pissed-off fathers, the snow in the morning, this grinding in my skull, that any day something horrible will happen – it will, it’s unavoidable – the inevitable brokenness of every last thing. I have just been ignoring it for a while, but it’s true.  It’s true how terrible it is.

But.  I sit longer and it is also true that I have ice in the freezer which makes the water better to drink and which makes me feel full.  I have a mentor who texts me to come in later, to feel better, to get my spunk back.  I have a mind that reads spunk and still laughs.  I have a mother sleeping soundly in her bed surrounded by my father who loves her and a dog that believes she is the closest thing there is to God.  I have kind friends who multiply the thin wisps of kindness I deign to blow hither and thither.  I have a dear maniac and a dear brick of a cat.  I am not so terribly sick as I might be.

I also had my card today so I was able to buy gas and lunch.  That felt entirely luxurious.  That and despite the panic attacks, the ones that keep ramping up because I feel so down about my ability to quash them and the insurance shit and the money shit and the other shit, I was able to get home before the snow fell.   That’s good.

I did a few things today.  I did what I was asked and a sliver more.

…..

So I am going to run off and try and write a few things before this computer crumbles beneath my fingertips.  There’s always Fallen London and some DAI to chase around.  I am okay.  A few hours here and I feel better even if I’m having the neck/shoulders/teeth grinding thing which upsets everything terribly.  I am alright.  Eventually, maybe we’ll stretch our legs and try and climb up to that next rung on the ladder.  But tonight, alright’s alright, alright?

Before You Say No

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I have felt what I would call depressed this past week.  Low-energy, depleted, deflated, self-abnegating, overwhelmed, trapped, thwarted, so thwarted, and scared out of my wits.  I am not sure that many people who have interacted with me would be able to tell, but I have.

It is this wet, heavy coat.  I have not taken it off, but I have let it fall off my shoulders for a bit.

I was surprised today.

It is a curious thing how as negative as you care to be, the world will sometimes extend an arm around you and gather you up if only for a moment in a gesture of warmth and caring.   Sometimes this happens just as you are realizing that there is a life beyond your panic, that you’re a sunny-side up girl at your core, that okay, eventually, you will get your teeth handled and eventually your neck won’t hurt and as spazzy as you are in this instant, you will be alright.

Sometimes this happens when your boss and mentor decides that the necklace you’ve put on layaway (the one you secretly think bears your soul in the facets of its vintage glass that can turn five colors when you hold it towards the light) should be yours.  Your boss/mentor and her husband who you adore and respect up and decide that you are doing a good job and you just deserve it.   You just get to have it.

I don’t know, precisely, how to deal with things like this.  My dad giving me money (which in turn lets me give money back to my sister that I owe her).   My other sister saying Let’s go to this show you love.  My mother making me lunch.  People doing these kind things that say that you have been on their minds.  You exist, if only as an idea, to them.  When you are away, they think about how to make you happy or happier.  This is odd to me.  The people I have love me, they just love me.  And that just is, but this is an act of love and support.  Makes me want to be a better person.  To be thoughtful for others.

In that vein, I put my writers group on hiatus.  It’s just not fair to show up there without really having shown up – without really doing the work that I’m asking everyone else to do.  To not be interested, to be around people who are less interested, it just becomes a drain.  I will see if the new year will find me in a better position to do it, but right now…I look at things like that in terms of gas money and just driving that far to hear one person’s fanfic is not something I am into right now.

It’s not in service of building me up.

I am thinking too big right now as far as that goes.  Right now, getting myself into the bath is as big as the dream is stretched.  That’s okay.

And the gnashing of teeth

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It’s a real gn sort of day.  Everything feels like it has this GN sound at the front of it.  GNUUUUUGH.

I don’t want to commemorate it.  I want to forget it. I want to be free of the memory and safe in the fact that I am safe and home and in the darkness I know and trust.

But here we are, gnawing at this bone of shame.  So I’ve put on Beautiful Midnight and am getting ready to excavate this hard place I was not expecting to go.  GNAR.

So my car got impounded this morning and while that is important, what is most important is that for a brief, bowel-liquifying moment, I was sure it had been stolen.  I had no idea why it would be, only that it was not in the spot we’d left it last night.  It was the most surreal instance I can remember in a year of surreal living.  It had to be there, but it wasn’t.

So after calling the police, I learned that it wasn’t stolen.  Just absconded by people who apparently have the right to abscond it whenever they feel they care to.  So I have called the impound lot a few miles away and my sister went with me and we walked down the dark corridors of the sketchy but entirely toward sort of office rathole where they keep cars that have been towed away from home and paid my excessive and debilitating fee and went to work in the middle of the day.

Now, having paid that bill, I am not entirely sure how I am going to get everything handled through the end of the month, including keeping myself fed.  It’s just a charming sequence of events I didn’t need.  I just feel like Queen of the doormats and the run-down, stepped-on, shit-eating idiots.

I have to remember that as awful as it was…I still got through it.  I am not disintegrated.  I am alive.

I am glad the work venue changes tomorrow.  I am glad that I am not going to starve even if things get really tough and I have to go and siphon food from the parents.  I am glad that everyone’s kind about it. I’m glad that I have people who want to know why I am upset.  I am glad that I can just say I am upset in front of them.

In other news, I am less glad about dudes who do not get it.  I am working at being better at making them get it.  It being the fact I do not want to talk to anyone who addresses me with wat sup? I don’t.  I have a boundary and that’s what’s written on it.

Also, n.b., waiting for something to appear out of the blue, to arrive when it is least expected, is still waiting.  It’s still hoping.  It’s still training your mind to look for signals, it’s still taking up room in your head.

You are still taking up space in my head.  You oughta pay rent.

 

 

 

 

 

The Waiting

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I feel off.   Off in the sort of way that ebbs and flows out of my life.  It has a real quality of a tradewind, a current, a pull rather than some inherent quality of me.  And right now the wind is blowing a might bit panicky and depressed.   I want to do what I can to correct it or at least throw up a sail.

This is food.  This is money.  This is stuff put in pots and set to boil over in the back of my mind.  Nebulous chattering, dumb and distracting insinuations that frighten me into believing asinine statements as true.  We can’t make it to the next stoplight.  I am going to fall down.  I can’t absorb that.  I can’t answer the phone.  I know the truth, I know what’s going to happen and it is AWFUL.  It is terrible and it can be easily avoided just by avoiding this trigger.

It’s bullshit.  It’s not the place or time of day or the thought that denies me my senses, it is my regular capitulation to the unquestioned mind.

Earlier this morning, when I first woke up – woke up an hour before I needed to be up, I lingered there with the fan on the single sheet, just breathing.  I read a few things, including Sara Benincasa’s brilliant essay on how she, and how we, live our lives and (if you’re an asshole jerk that needs to fixate on this), sometimes gain weight along the way.  Then I fell back asleep and dreamed about a freakish suburban cannibal.

The bad mojo: I am drafting off the energy voids and vacuums of others.  I am absorbing their anguish and uncertainty.  Or, perhaps, I am seeing anguished and uncertain faces surrounding me because I need to address my crap.

This is a hard place.  This is a place to work and I am already smiling a bit and already thinking about how much more helpful it will be to try and flub and fail than to

My mother mentioned that someone she knew who applied for a job at the post office before I applied for that Fed job I was looking at just now heard.  I’d essentially written off the exercise and was trying to adjust myself to the lay of the land as it currently stands so I was worrying about what would happen if I got an email right now about it.  It would throw everything into tumult.  My boss who is so angry at the position she’s been left in with the recent departures at work would only have more to deal with.  It would be hard and everyone would think there was something wrong with us  – regardless of whether or not there actually is – and, and, and.

There is no email one way or the other.  But I have felt panicked and upset all day, not entirely about that, but it’s fed the sense that I am not okay.  I also went without caffeine today.  Day one of the zero soda challenge I have suddenly embarked upon as of yesterday.  Tomorrow – whether or not it’s better – I’m excited to see it.  I’m excited to try and excavate a bit more.  It will be okay.

 

reachart38!

Bonsoir Lune

it-s-a-happy-world-1194421-639x852It is quite a thing for a girl in my position to overdose on the taffeta and organza orgiastic nightmare that is Say Yes to the Dress.  Its delusion and its wastefulness and its unbearable brides insisting that a 10,000 dress rather than a 1000 dress or a 100 dress is going to ultimately make a difference beyond the comfort level of an ego on a single day of a single life.

And perhaps, in this unknown world onto which I peer, the difference exists and is palpable.  From the screen, though, it is just Veruca after Veruca, even the modest ones are Verucas demanding spotlights for no other reason than to insist that the world kowtow to the fact that they have committed to a relationship.

Is that raw bitterness spewing onto the page tonight?  I feel like I have spent hour upon hour with women who can’t shop where I work until they lose twenty lbs and announce that fact when they leave as if to make sure we know that they know that we know. Women who can’t wear things their husbands don’t like.  Women who can’t walk around in a piece of fabric because they’re a certain age.  Women who hate the fuck out of themselves in a public, pleasant, social sort of way.

All the time at the shop, I walk around in an ill-fitting costume, tits akimbo, blobbo-arms bare to the shoulder, feeling alright about it.  Or mostly alright until I get two or three of slender, stylish ladies in a row who savage themselves and suddenly, I pass by one of our countless full-length mirrors (I don’t keep such a weapon of mass destruction in my house) and yeah, okay, I need to lose twenty pounds to work at this store.  To live my life.  To not die alone.  To breathe another breath.  But then I breathe another breath and I look at myself and I say, okay.  Maybe you need that, but you have to finish this shift.  And I finish the shift and come here thinking about how penny-ante and asinine my worries are with what’s going on with my mom, my country, my world.

But still.  In my country, the thought is not obliterated.  The endless ache of less than remains. And I do, tonight, in this hot, dark space, feel the absence of a thing I desire.  A hope I want to cling to.  What I have to cling to is letting me slide down into places I don’t care to be.

You have not replied, you have not restarted our…liaison. This is okay.  This is not okay.  This is what is.  This could be the thing that saves my bacon.  Saves me from refreshing a webpage every two minutes for the rest of my life.  Eventually.  It is fine.  I like the tenterhooks, except, of course, when I want to throw the whole laptop through a wall and let me go with it.

I have therapy in a few days, therapy that I can hardly afford anymore, but by law have to keep paying the insurance for (I love you, Obama and having this insurance will be important when they discover all the sicknesses I am surely riddled with) and I am already half-deciding not to mention all of this.  It’s not real and I know that.  That it’s already a giant leap over a chasm I may or may not be able to ford seems less important than the fact that I have no say or agency or actual embodied experience of you.

Really, what I want and need to say is that I am ready to do the work.  All of the work in all of the ways that it is.

Amongst the Zinnias (Eiffel Tower Upskirt)

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Here we are.

I feel quite a bit after a quiet day at the shop.  After thinking about how it is possible that I am dancing towards depression again.  I’m kicking around the edge of my friendly neighborhood abyss.  I can’t make myself do so much as fix the sheets on my bed, and am barely taking a shower, not wearing makeup again, I’m…seeing all the signs.  I’m wigged out and numb at the same time. I am thinking about my future, of course, what we will learn tomorrow regarding my mother, and what will happen at the other job.

I have found a job I want to apply for.  I’m getting myself together, but it’s a federal government job.   This is not a flexible, oooshy-smooshy, feel-good job.  This is not a wiggly job.  But, right now, this is also something that it has going for it in my mind.   It is permanent, insofar as anything is permanent, it is bonafide.  It is a girl clocks in, a girl clocks out.  And a girl builds up her nest egg so that she could open her own little shop someday.  Or be one of these ladies who works in a shop and buys what she pleases.   Things are locked into place and you have to bend to fit them, but they don’t bend back out of the blue and snap your neck.

I can type as quickly as they require, I could make as much as I am now.  I can do what they ask.  They have benefits.  They have time off.  It would just be steady.  My creativity could build and exist outside of that.  Of course, it would be draining, of course the location is not perfection and is further away than my little lady-legs would like me to have to consider going on a daily basis, and of course, there are assholes and struggles that would have to be contended with, but right now, steady, secure, just do what you’re asked and make the amount of money you need to make to buy the outfits they pick out for you at the shop is what I want so much.   To be able to have savings again.  To be able to have the big monstrous machine and its rules back me up.  To be able to buy the food and have the bandwidth I need to get back on weight loss track.  That’s big for me right now.

Obviously, there’s no guarantee that my wanting it in anyway impacts my potential for getting it.  That and it’s still almost 2 months until I could start work if I could progress through the interview process.  Still, I am feeling so anxiety-ridden and my brain is compacted and freaked out about so many things and I feel…right now…like I want to be doing the right thing for me in totality.  I want to be looking out on the horizon and realizing how much what is doesn’t work for me.  And like the viral picture and quote goes…don’t hang onto a mistake just because you’ve spent a long time making it.

So, yeah, tomorrow, I’m sending my resume in.

Battle Hymn of the Republic

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This day is an object lesson in the relief to be found in facing things head-on.  I went to see my mother who is exactly as one might imagine one would be when learning they need to have a bone biopsy as the pet scan did not reveal anything, and they’re a 21-year breast cancer survivor.  Wary, upset, frustrated, perpetually tense.  Trying to suss out what the doctors could mean without having spoken to them. And yet.  And yet, it was a nice afternoon watching Who Do You Think You Are episodes.  Talking about cucumbers.  Cheering on Elizabeth Warren as she takes Donald Trump to task. Laughing and I spending half a second to think at how the laughter wasn’t strained, wasn’t colored by anything, it was just laughter. There was no talk of personal transformation.  There was no talk of working yourself up to okay.  We were all as okay as we could ever possibly be.  I thought somehow that being there or not being there were equal, but there were hugs that even now make me shiver with the intention in them.  Regardless of anything, it will always be important to me to be there, to radiate out my heart.

Then, we went and bought her the surgical soap that she needed.  I listened as she listened to the nurse explain what she needed to do.  It is less eerie to just think of it in practical terms.  It is manageable steps to take.    Now, I feel, at least, as comfortable as I can with my tiny piece of it.  And then, we just deal with the results when they’re here.  That’s…something.

All this on a day when work lunacy was at its peak and I have to say, sitting here, in this hothouse, at this moment, I couldn’t honestly give one shit.  It is just not a priority in my head.  It ought to be, it ought to be another thing faced head-on and I think I’m getting closer.  All of this back and forth is pushing my head toward just fleeing.  Fleeing to a greener pasture where I can just look after my mother, myself, and not feel like I’ve got boulders crushing me in every direction.

There was a conversation, with a very awkward component including a request not to leave.  I said I hoped I didn’t have to.  And I said that it was financial, not personal, and that’s just where it’s at with me.  And it is.  So.

This, too, has made it a heck of a lot easier to deal with the fact I haven’t heard from you. This sounds pithy, but I think it’s true.  It’s so much easier to relax into the fact that I am focusing on what I need to focus on and whatever happens, will.  I mean, I can only do what I can do and I can only know what I can know.  And life goes on.  It had damn well better.

With a bowl of mango sorbet.