The One... The Only... The Vieve

Medicine

This radical self-reliance thing is good for me, I think, but it does get kind of lonely.

Ready... steady...

OK. Commence the end of the wallowing...

Now!

Reciprocity

Telling someone you love them, and then not hearing it back, not even when you've heard it before (and have to believe they meant it), is disappointing. It's unconditional, though, and it doesn't make me mean it any less.

Little pitchers

I've learned that I pay attention more than most. I think I notice more things (though I know that sometimes I am oblivious), and care about them more, sometimes to an uncomfortable degree.

I don't think this is necessarily a bad quality, but it leads to a lot of disappointment and hurt feelings, I think because I'm forever surprised when it's not reciprocated. Even though I should know better by now.

It would be good to discard this last part of it, and sometimes I can, but it keeps coming back, like a piece of lint that keeps sticking to your shirt. Or maybe I should just try to be more selective about the things I care about.

I don't know. What seemed like a fairly simple insight is now impossibly muddled.

Awkwardnesses

Sometimes I find awkward situations amusing or interesting. Sometimes, though, they are just awkward. And tiring.

I was kind of anticipating the most recent example, and I'm not particularly upset about it, but it does raise some questions. Don't quite feel like asking them now, though.

p.s. - I am still full of snot.

Well, hell

So I guess I fell off the wagon last night, so to speak. Dinner was not eaten until far too late, I did not use my nightguard, I fell into an exciting and faintly hysterical emotional rabbit hole and tried to drag someone else down with me. (I am sorry.)

So I feel very bad about this (and no half and half for my coffee is not helping matters). But I know it's not the end of the world, or the end of better things, or the end of anything. Today is a new day, blah blah. So I'll dust myself off, try to forgive myself (and hope others do as well), and do my best today. What else can I do.

Where can we run to

There's no place to hide, sometimes. When the well of disappointment, built up over a lifetime, overflows, to the point where we can't contain it, where can it go?

People have limits, I know this. And boundaries, which I respect. They're important, and you have your own shit to deal with, always. I do, too. And sometimes I have to (and have had to) say, Enough. I'm full.

But when you are full, and everyone else is full, where can it go? I have people I pay (yes, more than one) to listen to me, or facilitate that listening. But it's not the same. They don't know you, really know you. They're sounding boards. Important, but not the same as understanding. They do, and need to, keep their distance. This is professional, not personal.

What to do then. When pain is felt but not reasonable, nor articulate. When life is shifting but the same old shit, just sparked anew and in different contexts and flavors. When it's too much to hold, too much to feel, too much to deflect. What do you do.

I really don't know. I'm just asking.

And when I'm telling, I'm not blaming, or demanding, or beseeching, or anything. I'm just spilling out the overflow. I'm communicating (which doesn't come easily). I'm trying to make sense of the insensible. Trying to clear it out and make way for something else.

I'm always trying to make way for something else, better, transcendent. I don't want to live in the shit either. Just trying to clear a path. And will help you do it, too, whenever I can.

Baby squirrels

I saw two baby squirrels in the tree outside my house, and I thought of the one you found near your car. And how you cared for it, and fed it, and worried. And how you named it Nacho and hoped it found its mama. And then I thought about how that made me start to fall in love with you, what seems like forever ago.

Liminal space

This weekend was full. Full of bugs and in-between-ness.

I was surrounded and alone. Working and not. Real conversations and those in my head and vivid dreams that had me confused between the two.

I planted so many plants, got my hands ragged with dirt and soil and rocks. Sprayed to gagging with anti-bug spray and swathed in netting, wreathed in blackflies and mosquitoes like an insectoid nightmare. Burned by the sun and chemicals, but happy to be digging and growing.

Then I ventured out for five minutes and got bit under the eye, and said eye is still swollen. Like I'd been punched but more red than purple.

There were ins and outs and what-have-yous. Elderly dogs, a how-is-this-cat-still-alive cat, a not-quite "puppy."

A pseudo parade, with Girl Scouts riding a tank down the main street.

Not enough sleep and not enough talk, except inside my head. Disappointments and arguments I mostly imagined, but fear will come to be real.

I hope I'll sort it out tomorrow, but I'm not confident I will.

If you can't make sense of this, don't worry -- neither can I. Yet.

I have no words

I went to get coffee this morning, to the Sherm, and a man with a beautiful and sweet German Shepherd was in front of me. After I got my coffee, I went over to the bank, to get enough cash to buy the Sunday paper. (Which I have to admit, I buy only for the crossword puzzle. Which I managed to finish today.) As I got there, the same man was leaving the bank, and asked, "Are you following me or am I following you?" I laughed, and said, "I'm following the dog!" Which I thought was cute and funny, but thinking about it, maybe it was rude? Maybe he was flirting with me, or just being friendly, and I shut him down, this seemingly nice man with his lovely dog. I don't know, but I'm still thinking about it.

Still thinking about it, this fleeting thing, and I wonder if this is emblematic of why I get so stuck. I think and think: I don't ask, I don't tell, I don't act. I think and ruminate, and get stuck in a self-contained loop of memory and supposition. I want to stop thinking and start doing, but things get in the way. There are other things, but I think this might be fundamental. And I wonder why and wonder whether this is really a problem, or if I just make it one.

Think think think. I think I'm thinking about this too much.

Intro/Extro

Lately I wonder whether I'm an introvert or an extrovert. I've read lots about both, and grasp the basic principles, but I still can't figure it out. Sometimes I like to be alone, but often I'm angry about it, or feel guilty, or feel like my alone-ness relates more to crankiness and irritation than true desire. I like being with people, but sometimes find it difficult. I feel shy and nervous. I feel tired. I feel drained by others' needs and demands. I feel self-conscious and out of place, and unsure whether I really want time alone or just want to escape the intricacies and confusion of interaction.

I suppose it might be one of those things that's neither this or that, but sometimes one or the other. Which is muddled, and sometimes annoying, but often the most interesting things (and people) aren't so easily determined.

MIA

I had a dream last night about an old friend. She was someone I went to high school with and then to college with for the first year, and for the first couple of months of that year, we were the best of friends. We hung out, we gossiped, we shared a video rental card. Then she got a girlfriend (who was also her roommate, which... bad move; but I digress) and a whole host of new friends, and I was dropped like the proverbial hot potato. I think I only saw her in passing after that, after maybe a month of trying to salvage at least an acquaintanceship, which only made me feel worse, because it was like driving the thorn of friend-rejection even deeper and faster into my tender 18-year-old heart.

God, that hurt, and it still does when I think about it. And I still don't understand what happened.

But in my dream last night there was no rancor, and barely any of the usual dream-weirdness. Just chatting and catching up and pleasantries. And when I woke up, I thought about all the other people I miss, people who have left my life for various reasons, particularly those who have left in confusing ways. I imagine the leaving might be my fault, but I don't know. And maybe I don't want to know -- maybe they think I am annoying or mean or boring or a huge pain in the ass or not worth the effort of knowing -- but maybe a hard dose of the truth would be better than wondering. It wouldn't linger as shapelessly in my subconscious, and would sting for a while like a hard slap and then fade and dissipate. And maybe it wouldn't take almost 15 years for me to dream of a bland and pleasant reconciliation.

I think this sounds a little angry, like an accusation, but I know I've been on the other end of this too, and really it just makes me sad, and it made me cry for a bit this morning before the clock radio clicked on and drowned out my small sorrows with the sounds of bigger ones.

Suzy F. Homemaker

I finished a project on Monday, spent most of yesterday thinking and moping, and today I have turned into Suzy fucking homemaker. Folding laundry, doing more laundry, cleaning, washing dishes, and making rice pudding. Really, rice pudding (sans zombie fruits, of course). And clearing out my space in the refrigerator to make room for said rice pudding. (I threw away some truly disgusting, oozing things, and now have only bread, cheese, apples, condiments, and vitamins.) Oh, and drinking coffee. Lots of coffee. Zooooom.

These things had to be done, and I have the time now, so why not, I guess. Though I suspect I am drawn to busywork now because I am tired of thinking and silently raging and questioning my tenuously constructed reality.

Maybe later I will take a Valium and chase that with a pitcher of martinis, like homemakers of yore.

Squashed

When I was 8, maybe 10 years old, after I had experienced some kind of deep disappointment (I suspect it was when my school was going to be on Double Dare but then couldn't at the last minute, which was totally devastating after daydreaming for weeks about getting slimed and winning fabulous prizes), I remember thinking, "I am never going to get excited about anything ever again. It just makes it worse when it doesn't happen."

I was precocious that way, realizing early on that the Universe is perverse and often cruel, and sometimes seems hell-bent on quashing any feelings of euphoria. I think around this time I also developed my deep streak of magical thinking, and turned the original thought, "It just makes it worse when it doesn't happen," into "It makes it not happen." It seems a little ridiculous when I articulate it, but I do think that way sometimes, and see myself as a little feelings-trickster: by pretending not to care about something important, I can somehow make things go my way. If the Universe doesn't catch a whiff of my deep desires, it won't try to block them.

I was thinking about this last night, and it made me so fucking sad. Approaching life this way is no way to really live, buried in pessimism and suppressed hope. It's numbing and blunted. It's paranoid. It's cheating myself, not the Universe.

Acknowledging it, though, made me feel happier, lighter. I felt free, and there was some clarity, and I bounced around a little bit as I listened to The Ramones on my way home. Gabba gabba hey!

It won't be easy, but I'm going to try to replace this chunk of perverse thinking with something better. Hope for joy and feel it and and feel grateful for it and not worry so much about when it's going to end.

Fence me in

For the first time in a long time, I don't have any work. I feel relieved in a way, and I should feel happy that I can focus on other things for a bit, but really it's making me feel nervous. Cause now I'm down one more distraction, one more anchor, one more demarcating fence post, one more hurdle, one more excuse for not doing more with my life.

"Damn, I can't go to yoga / go to Six Flags / buy new pants so I have at least one pair without holes / clean my room / ride my bike / make some jewelry / write a story / cook a feast / plan a vacation / and so on, ad nauseum -- I'm too busy / sick / exhausted / stressed!"

I know this seems ridiculous and perverse, but there's a certain comfort in being limited in this way. Running out of justifications for... I know it's not failure, exactly, but it feels that way to me sometimes... yes, I suppose it is failure. Failure to be my best self. And if I have a tangible reason for this failure, that makes it OK. When I don't, I feel like a lazy piece of shit.

So, right now I feel like a lazy piece of shit who has let her life get dozy and slovenly, and I don't have the energy to whip it into shape right now, and I feel bad. And I can't relax, even though I think that's what I need most right now, because I am thinking about all of the things I should be doing.

It is totally crazy-making, and I know I'm incredibly hard on myself, and I know this isn't helpful, and I know I can't do everything, and I know I need to find balance. But it's hard. But I'll keep trying. But maybe I'll make it to yoga tonight. That would be something.

The more things change

Sometimes my life feels like it's on an endless loop. Concentric circles, spiraling, turning back to the same points. Variations on the same themes that hurt my heart and my head, over and over.

I feel like getting unstuck is my holy grail. I wonder sometimes whether I need to change myself beyond recognition if I ever hope to find it. Or maybe just some small piece has to change. Or maybe just some bit of luck needs to click into place.

I really don't know. The first seems unbearable, the third unlikely, the second obscure.

I try harder and fail better every day, though. Maybe that's progress.

Crises and confidences

I am a rescuer, a cool head in a crisis (which I think is remarkable, given that I am such a nervous nelly and that a parade yesterday, with its unrelenting ambulance and police and fire truck sirens, triggered my first panic attack in a long long time), the one you can count on to try to fix things. I like that I'm this way -- I like helping people, I like making sure they are cared-for and safe. When it comes to the many people I love, I worry about and care for them with a fierceness and depth that sometimes leaves me breathless. I think this is a good quality, ideally, but it can be a burden when I start feeling like Atlas. Like the sky will fall if I'm not holding it; like everything will collapse if I don't keep a watchful eye and mend and shore up and smooth over.

I haven't found balance in this quite yet, but I'm starting to understand why it's so.

Still, I will take you the ER for stitches and I will rescue your broken bike and I will help you out with bills if I have the cash, and I will be happy to do it, because I love you and because that's what Vieves do.

Upside-down and back-asswards

I feel like the last couple of weeks have been moving at breakneck pace, shuffling my life around in unpredictable ways. Although I've been the one doing most of the shuffling, it's been a little disconcerting.

I gave notice at the bookstore. It just got to the point where I had to turn down freelance work, I was so busy, and I decided I had to free up some time. It was unsustainable, and driving me bonkers, working 6+ days every week and also trying to have a social life and do laundry and pay bills and whatnot. I'm going to be subbing in there once in a while, but also trying to expand my freelance work -- trying to take on projects outside the realm of tech/medical books. I'm also planning to volunteer at a farm that runs educational programs focusing on sustainable agriculture and, more basically, educating people about where their food comes from. I think this is so important, and I'm excited about learning more myself.

I'm going to try to travel more, now that I can on a whim. Not sure where to, but I think a trip to California is in order in the next month or so.

I've also added new friends, with exciting possibilities. That is all I'll say here, but if you know me well, you've already heard about it ad nauseum.

So, scary and strange, but also exciting. I'm feeling good. I'm feeling in charge (as much as one can be in this world). I'm feeling UnStuck. I'm feeling pretty awesome, but also realistic.

It's a strange sort of balance. I'm not used to it. And the ease makes me a little uneasy, which of course is perverse, but as I've discovered, that's life.

Miss you

When you are feeling low, it is probably not the best idea to read the alumni newsletter from your fancypants prep school. "I just won a Pulitzer, have developed a cure for cancer, still have hott sexxx with my neurosurgeon/runway model/Olympic medalist wife of 10 years, and am expecting my fourth perfect child this summer. Drop by our villa in Tuscany if you're in the neighborhood!"

Yeah.

Also, on the back of it is a picture of a group of students in front of the Louvre. It took me a few minutes to realize, but it's from when I went to France. You can't see my face, though, because I'm standing off to the side with my head turned, hanging out with Chuck. We were both so too cool for everyone else, and I'm surprised we're even in the picture at all. Damn, we had fun in Paris.

Chuck died... 5 years ago now? 6? He was living in Boston after college, and had invited me to a couple of parties, but I was too shy to go. I hate myself a little for that. I wish I could have seen him at least once, heard his fantastic laugh and gotten a really good Chuck-hug or two.

I miss you, Chuck. "Poussez!"

Let's do the math

On the plus side:

- I finally have a relatively large sum of money in my bank account now, so I can pay rent and stuff. (Freelance = feast or famine. Exciting!)

- My computer is (supposedly) fixed, so I can pick that up tomorrow, after I fork over a chunk of cash to Apple and their cadre of Evil Geniuses.

- The sun came out today.

- I seem to have entirely lost my appetite. This is really not good, and gives me yet another thing about which to obsessively worry, but at least perhaps I will lose some of my winter chub.

- After spending the better part of 24 hours in bed, I no longer feel on the verge of physical illness. Woozy, but not nearly as assy.

On the minus side:

- I feel like I am losing my ever-loving mind. I fear this trumps all.

Six of one...

I am so tired right now. It's been A Week.

I want to cry and scream and tell half a dozen people, "I hate you so much, and this is why."

And tell a dozen other people ,"I love you so much, and this is why." Half of which overlap with the ones above.

Life is confusing. And exhausting.

A house of one's own

I am house- and dogsitting this week, which gives me an opportunity to see what it's like living by myself, without any roommates or boyfriends, which has been the standard arrangement for the past, uhh... forever.

So far, I have been eating a lot of chili and talking mostly to the dog. Which seems a little sad, but if it means not having to share a bathroom with anyone else and getting to walk around nekkid whenever I want and having enough space to put all my stuff, then I think I could get used to it.

Filter = off = bad

After a lifetime of operating within a shut-down, barricades-up mindset, I guess it's only natural to overcompensate. But I think I need to learn how to turn the filter back on, at least selectively.

No filter leaves me indiscriminately vulnerable. Makes others uncomfortable, and maybe hurts them, too.

I'm feeling bad about this now. And sorry.

Indeed

Sound of silver talk to me
Makes you want to feel like a teenager.
Until you remember the feelings of
A real live
Emotional
Teenager.
Then you think again.

When I feel old (which seems to be more and more often these days), I remind myself what it felt like to feel younger and stupider. More fucked up. Thinner skin in all the wrong places. Full of misplaced yearning and dangerous illusions. And then I feel better about being 31-going-on-32.

Heaviness

Everything is making me feel bad right now. And everyone, but don't worry; it's probably not your fault.

I just want to get in bed and pull the covers up to my eyes and watch some crappy TV until some shift in the universe makes things better. Instead, I have to go and sell books.

Things feel heavy. I feel heavy. Someone please tie helium balloons to me, great bunches of them, and lift me out of the mire.

I'll quit it with the Iron & Wine lyrics soon already, promise

Evening on the Ground (Lilith's Song)

...

garden wall of eden
full of spiderbites and all your lovers
we were

we were born to fuck each other
one way or another

...

Tired, and a little sad. Also, my feet are cold and I am hungry.

me:
surprising, contradictory people are fun
i htink i am one of them, sometimes

not me:
I think you are.
and I agree.

Promising Light

I've been listening to Iron & Wine a lot lately. I feel so emo. And I love love love this song:

time & all you gave
i was the jerk who preferred the sea
to tussling in the waves
tugging your skirt, singing please, please, please

but now i see love
tracked on the floor where you walked outside
now i seek love
looking for you in this other girl's eyes

time & all you took
only my freedom to fuck the whole world
promising not to look
promising light on the sidewalk girls

but now i see love
there in your car where i said those things
now i see love
tugging your skirt, singing please, please, please

time & all you gave
there on your cross that i never saw
well beyond the waves
dunking my head when i heard you call

but now i see love
there in the scab where you pinched my leg
now i see love
there on your side of my empty bed

Everything falls away

I held them tight in my thin-skinned palm. Smooth marbles that grew ridges and whorls, sharp edges. Cracks and gouges.

When they make you bleed, it's time to drop them. Or time to start thinking about how you have to drop them. This process can take a while.

Letting go, letting them fall away and fall on the ground, where they transform. No control, only hope. And waiting.

It's a sad thing. It's bittersweet. It's a cause for grief, no less so because you see it coming a mile away, from the first prickle in your palm.

Fantasies grow teeth. Those cuddly monsters.

Fill the void

I've been feeling a little empty lately. Unsatisfied. Bored and frustrated.

Nothing is bad. Things are rolling along fairly nicely -- I have steady work (an amazing accomplishment that I am very proud of), I have friends. I don't have any money at the moment, which worries me, but some should be arriving soon. So what's the problem?

I realized recently that, for the past 10 years or so, I've been in constant crisis. Crumbling relationships, struggling to finish school, bad living situations, illness, feeling trapped in stressful and unrewarding jobs.

But right now... no crises. Struggle and disappointments, sadness, embarrassments, big questions, yes. But there's no single point of focus, or, rather, obsession. And so I feel a little empty. A little bored. I find myself asking, "Well, now what?"

It's better this way, but a little uncomfortable and strange. And I realize I need to be careful not to manufacture any crises just because I'm looking for something to fill that void, that groove that's been worked into my soul. I need a goal, I need a plan, I need a big dream. I need something.

And I can create that something. Whatever it may be. I hope I find it soon.

Ease

Yesterday, I moved through the day with quiet energy. I felt directed, focused, purposeful. Not frenetic activity. Ease. Contentment.

I felt comfortable.

This doesn't happen often. I examined it, turning over this feeling in my mind. Noticing how my body felt, how it didn't hurt. How my mind felt, how it didn't race. It was lovely.

It evaporated later, in a room full of people talking aroud me. I kept missing the boat, I didn't say what I wanted to say, and then it was too late. So I left with too many thoughts in my head. Crowded. And I woke up this morning thinking about bills and packing. I woke up and stayed in bed, telling stories to myself.

Telling stories of past love, past pain. Telling stories of my life to phantoms.

I'd much rather tell them to you, live and in person, in the flesh-and-blood.

Lies I told myself

I've been having some very intense, open conversations with people lately. This is something I had never been able to do successfully, at least before this year. I would try. I would rehearse. I would obsess. And then the words would stick in my throat. They would retreat back into my head. I would feel like a failure. Emotionally mute. And I thought it would always be that way. I thought that's just how I was. But I was wrong.

I've told myself a lot of lies in my life. The stories we can create about ourselves, the self-deception, is so powerful. It's so easy to get stuck in that loop, that self-fulfilling prophecy of the limitations of our potential, our personalities, our essential nature.

I told myself I was just no good at talking. No good at truth.

I told myself I was shy. I told myself I was introverted, bordering on anti-social.

I told myself I was a "big girl," lumpy and fat.

I told myself I was plain.

I told myself I was not very creative.

I told myself I couldn't manage my life, that I needed someone to do it for me.

I told myself that I was stuck, that I couldn't change my mind, that I couldn't change anything.

I told myself I was less than, and would never be more.

Sometimes I still tell myself these things, but at least now I know what a liar I am, and I can brush them away gently, like I would a coating of dust on a neglected book.

Pattern recognition

A pattern is emerging regarding my insomnia. Every Sunday night (or Monday morning, really) for the past three weeks, I've woken up at 3 a.m. This week was not as bad -- I got back to sleep by 4 a.m. instead of 5 or 5:30 -- but I'm curious why this happens. I tend to catch up on sleep over the weekend, and then my body decides it doesn't need any more at 3 a.m. or so? All of the psychic bullshit that's built up over the previous week reaches its climax in my poor, addled, compulsive little brain? I really don't know. But I know this: that shit's annoying.

I'm recognizing other patterns, equally annoying but more subtle and emotional and complicated. It's hard to know whether I should break them or just live with them. Breaking them might also break a tender lovely thing that I'm not so sure I want to give up. It's hard to know. But I think I should figure it out before I break myself.

Strangeways

Strange day. Full of naps and guilt and amorphous longings. Loneliness. Consternation. Frustration. Ships passing in the night, almost-connecting. Kindnesses. Procrastination. Saying and not-saying, hoping that the message will be received but knowing it won't. On the whole, unsatisfying and confusing.

I hope sleep will get here soon. Then tomorrow, productivity. And less congestion.

Transcendent

I walked down the sidewalk, languorous, acorns crunching under my feet.

The music played in my ears. Little girls with shining hair shrieked. The wind swept along, stirring the dried leaves, and a dog ran in circles, stick in its mouth, tail wagging.

All a part of me, though I'm not a part of them.

Face serene, eyes soft, shoulders back, walking.

And you won't have to be so sad.

But I will, I know it, but knowing it doesn't make me so sad. Not anymore.

In praise of refutations of the demons

"I feel old, and crazy, and stupid," I whispered.

"You are not old. You are not crazy. You are not stupid. And I care about you very, very much," he answered.

Sometimes I need someone to flick away the demons that bite and scratch in my head. They straggle back, invariably, but at least they are a little bedraggled, claws torn.

Past

I've been spending a fair amount of time over the past couple of days looking at pictures from a handful of years ago. Parties I went to in 2001 and 2002, with pictures of Greg and the beach on the Cape and the hippie commune in New Hampshire and friends and acquaintances I hardly see anymore. It's making me feel a little sad and strange -- it wasn't all that long ago, but it feels like another lifetime.

I guess a new important person coming into my life is what has sparked it, this remembering. We moved in the same orbit around that time, but never met, at least not that I can remember. But we know so many of the same people, and have these pseudo-shared memories, and it's a strange feeling. This almost-sharing-but-not-quite. And I'm not sure why I'm thinking about it so much.

So I have this weird stuck-in-the-past haze that's surrounding me, and I'm having a hard time focusing on the present and the future right now. It makes my head hurt, but maybe it's just something I need to do right now, thinking back to the good and not so good, to shore up my plans and desires. Looking back to find my way forward.

New Hampshire, 2001

The push-pull of missing

I've been thinking lately about missing: missing people who are far away, missing things I once had, missing the ways things once were. It can hurt sometimes, and feel empty, those little missing spaces, those phantom limbs.

Ultimately, though, I'm glad I have those things to miss.

Overwrought

I don't even know what to write about, but I need to anyway.

The merry-go-round has been spinning pretty quickly this past week, and I want to get off. It was fun for a while, but now it's making me queasy. And sleepy; I've been taking a lot of naps.

I was looking forward to this time, a delicious lull between old work and new, but it has turned out to be anything but. Instead, I'm agitated, annoyed, exhausted, pissy, and anxious. The unstructured time makes me fret about what I should be doing, rather than luxuriating in what I want to do. Which makes me tired and causes me to nap instead of doing anything.

Too many people leaving this week as well, both physically and...perceptually? paradigmically? Something. Shifts that have been sad and have left me feeling adrift.

I see this as a liminal space, though, and not some deep-dark well I'll have to clamber out of. I'm moving through it, even as I grump. All is flux.

Bruised

I have bruises all over me, from taking a header off the stairs last week, knocking into things, preoccupied distraction making my body clumsy. And I have other bruises, too, from other clumsy actions. The latter hurt more and are much harder to deal with.

Topsy-turvy

I was so tired today, and this was such a crazy week, I was looking forward to spending some time alone and going to bed early. But now I feel a little lonely and sad, and wish I had some company. Someone to just eat dinner with and watch a movie with and fall asleep with. It's strange, this flux. It has me feeling a little topsy-turvy. But I think it's OK, in the long run, as long as I don't bury it. Feel it, and move on to the next day.

Rock star

Things feel so right lately, sometimes I need to pinch myself. Sometimes I cry just a little bit, when the realization, "Holy shit, things are working out so damn well," rushes through me like a gentle sparkling current. It's overwhelming, in a way I'm not at all used to.

There have been other times in my life when things felt good and right. I was happy, things were moving along in exciting and interesting and promising ways. But this time feels different, and I think I've figured out why: before, it felt like things were happening to me; now, I feel like I'm making things happen. Not that I have control over everything that comes my way, but I'm doing a better job of recognizing opportunities and grabbing them. Figuring out what I want and who I want to spend time with and making choices that reflect those desires. Making plans and putting them into action. Formulating a future goal and figuring out how to get there as I go along.

It's made such a difference, and other people notice it too. I talked to the poopyhead the other night, who has known me since I was 15, and she said, "You sound so happy!" I've had people tell me things like, "Wow, you have balls!" and "You rock!" and other sincere flatteries. People, well, they really like me, the real me, not some persona I'm putting on, and they're excited to spend time with me. And everything fun and good and positive feeds on itself and generates more of the same, and it is a great and wonderful thing, especially during this year of so many lessons about loss and love and loneliness.

Maybe it sounds silly, but I feel a little like a rock star.

Rough trade

Today is a hiccup in the recent flow. A road bump in my happy streak. I feel tired and a little sad, and I can't really talk about all of it with anyone, which makes it more difficult to process. I'll just let it run its course, and try to focus on work for a while, and it will resolve in some way. Or not, and I will learn to live with it in some way. Either is OK.

Snuggling up in bed with some tea and...hmm, a buttered crumpet with blueberry jam, and maybe a nice person would be good, though. Soothing. And then maybe a little Wonder Woman and a little nap. Nothing fancy, nothing exciting. Just some simple goodness. Ah well.

Vieve 2.0

I've been reading past entries lately, going back to almost exactly a year ago when I started writing again. I wrote about how I didn't know what I wanted, how my desires and dreams felt snuffed out. I had been denying them for so long, I forgot what they were. What a terrible thing. It made me feel dead inside, and I was scared of everything. I guess it was partly forgetting and partly fear -- if I knew what I wanted, I would feel obligated to try to get it, and I didn't have any confidence that I would be able to achieve it. Failure seemed certain. I wasn't strong enough or good enough or worthy enough.

I'm amazed how far I've come in a year. I feel powerful, and free, and unafraid. I'm honest about what I want, and I try my best to get it. I worry less about what I "should" want or "should" get. What does that even mean, anyway, and who the hell defines those shoulds, and, maybe more importantly, why do I let them?

So I'm finally doing things to make me happy. I gave notice at work yesterday. I'm riding my bike and facing my fears about crazy Boston traffic. I'm exploring all sorts of things about myself and my relationships with other people. I'm planning to make a big move soon. I don't know how it's going to end up, but it's going to be pretty damn exciting finding out.

Chumbawumba

My head is very full today. Jumblywumbly. It's uncomfortable, and the resurgence of allergies and perhaps one too many beers last night are both adding to the effect.

I always have lots of things in my head, but only sometimes does the pressure build to where it's irritating and utterly distracting. Today is one of those days. There are things that are bothering me, things I want to know, things I just want to talk about, but I can't talk about them with the right person. Haven't really ever been able to, come to think of it. I've tried, but it's like talking to a tilty brick wall, both blank and inscrutable and threatening to topple over and smoosh me. A precarious position. It's frustrating, and it adds to the pressure. But there's nothing to be done about it. Sometimes these things just are what they are. Very bothersome.

So I have all of this kinetic energy whizzing around in my head, little bits pinging around. Trapped with no place to go.

Flip flop

What do you do when you keep doing something you know is A Very Bad Idea, but you can't stop doing it, because not doing it seems worse? Because you can't quite give up that illusion that "if only..." something. If only things were slightly different, or if only you could numb yourself to the sting. If only needs and feelings would shift a bit to the left or right or center. If only you weren't such a tenderhearted ninny. If only you could choose more things: who you love, who loves you back, who came before, who comes after. And because you know that, despite these imperfections, there is a kernel of something so right and important it just can't be discarded. And because you're old enough to know that all things go and shift and mutate and change in the strangest ways.

And actually, maybe it's less of A Very Bad Idea and more just a tricky piece of navigation. Strange, unpredictable waters.

It's a puzzle. And it ties my tummy in knots sometimes.

Tinkerbell

I'm turning 31 soon, which seems like a big number to me. It sounds kind of, well, old. Mature. Grown up. I don't really feel that way, though. Sometimes that's a not-so-good feeling: I wonder why I'm not more settled, why I have 3 roommates instead of my own house, why I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, why I'm not where I thought I would be by this ripe old age. (What that "where" is, I'm not quite sure. Just that it was different in my 21-year-old imagination.)

But usually it's kind of glorious and fun. I get carded at the liquor store and at bars (and sometimes they do a little double-take when they see the 1975 there on my license; one time last summer, the bartender almost turned me away because she looked at it quickly and thought it must have read 1985). I have a pretty carefree life, comparatively -- I can stay out late, or sit on my porch for hours reading, or eat popcorn for dinner, without worrying about what kind of example I'm setting or being pulled away by someone else's need for my time and energy. 14-year-olds check out my ass (hee). I'm not stuck -- in a rut, in a career path, in a shitty marriage.

I don't want to get old, and I don't think I ever will. Even if I eventually have that mortgage, that husband, those kids, I don't ever want to be stuck or beaten down by life or soured by existence. I want to wear pigtails, and keep makeup-y gook off my face so you can see my freckles, and wear fairy wings when I go to the circus, and go to Six Flags and scream on the rollercoaster, and have sudden cravings for chicken fingers and ice cream and just grab a friend and go, and dance until 2AM, and run through sprinklers, and play skeeball, and never ever wear pantyhose or a suit. Live with joy, and mistakes, and ridiculous situations, and spontaneous adventures, and gut-busting laughter, and wriggly victory dances.

I'm not old, and I'm old enough to know that. But boy, am I going to embarrass my hypothetical future kids some day.

Connect

I want to connect. I want to form ties. I want bonds and bridges. Pretty relationships (of all kinds) wrapped up in neat packages with cute bows have appeal. But connections are always tenuous, and they make me vulnerable, and I fuck up and they fuck up. And neat packages are only just for show -- they aren't real. Real is messy and chaotic, unpredictable and strange. Scary sometimes. But god, so exciting.

I've been trying to forge ahead through the currents. Maybe it's time to yield a bit. Float. Glide. It doesn't have to be such a struggle.

This Is The Me Me (Not The You You)

If I like you, I will give you the shirt off my back. I will bake you cookies, bring you soup and juice when you're sick, give you a ride to Target when you need toilet paper, help you move your couch up 3 flights of stairs, rush you to the ER for stitches, hold your hair back when you're puking, rewrite your cover letter for your dream job, let you crash on my couch for a week, sew the buttons back on your shirt, lend you money when you're broke, use my Google-fu to find information for you about overseas divorce lawyers, give you a hug when you need it (or a kick in the ass or both), and on and on.

I love this about myself, and I wouldn't change it. (This isn't to say I'm a goddamn perfect saint-- I can be a bitch, too. I push buttons, I'm an idiot sometimes, I flake out.) But sometimes I overdo the niceness and it turns into martyrdom, and I turn into a doormat, a punching bag. I'll take on all your shit so you don't have to, and then what am I left with? When I get busy and overwhelmed, what resources do I have to help myself if I'm giving them all away? If I'm focused on making sure you're happy? I mean, I want you to be happy, but sometimes I don't have the energy or the ability to do that for you. And if you try to call me on it, and try to make me feel guilty for not doing something or doing something or whatever else, some passive-agressive bullshit, when I'm having a hell of a time keeping my head above water? Watch the fuck out. I don't have time for that, and I'll let you know. Because I am the most important person in my life, and I've finally realized that's not selfish. I've finally realized that life's too short to spend it always pleasing other people.

But I'll still catsit for you, and go grocery shopping for you when you break your arm, and plan a kickass brunch to celebrate your new promotion. But because I want to, not because I have to.

Magpie

I get distracted so easily sometimes. Focused attention is one of my strengths, but when there's so much going on, my attentions flitter like a hummingbird, searching for a new source of nectar every few seconds. Prioritization goes out the window. Everything is shiny and exciting and, like a magpie, I want to hoard it all. Leaner times always come back around, and so now I want to soak it in. I have no time for the mundane, though I need to pay attention to that too. Probably even moreso right now. But...shiny things...beckon....

It all makes my brain go a little mushy.

Wheee! Oh. Guh.

I should be used to this right now, but it always catches me off guard. Feeling so right, giddy even, one minute, and then WHAM. Sinking feeling. Yuck yuck yucky.

I guess knowing why makes it a little better, but just barely. And I suppose the giddiness might come back soon. Who knows. And maybe I needed a little reality check anyway.

All things go

I went out tonight with my friend Colleen, to see her friend Camilla play bluegrass at the Lizard Lounge. (They're fantastic, by the way, and will be playing every Sunday night at The Druid, so you should go. Maybe with me.)

Then we went across the street and had some fancy drinks, and talked about life and love and mistakes and things that suck but aren't your fault. And I was walking back to my house, after seeing her safely to the T, and I plugged my earphones into my ears, and listened to some Sufjan Stevens, and he sang

"I fell in love again
All things go
All things go

I make a lot of mistakes
In my mind
In my mind

I've made a lot of mistakes..."

I have, and I will, and that's life. I'm living my life and I'm trying my best, and that's all I can do. That's all any of us can do.

Scared

Sometimes I'm scared to ask questions because I'm scared of the answer. The wrong answer is worse than not knowing. Or so I imagine.

I'm thinking I need to give some people a break from me. It hurts too much to be ignored, whatever the reason. But I understand people not wanting to get the least bit involved in me and my sorrowful nonsense. I don't blame them -- if I could be someone else, just for a little while, at this moment, I think I would.

I'm also so scared of being forgotten. If I stop pestering you, please don't forget me. Please.

Querying and/or querulous

I've had a rough week. A lot of crying and feeling desperately...lots of things. Desperate and grasping. I've been upset with people, with particular people and with humanity in general, I guess. I don't know what to do with it. How do I confront it? How do I resolve it? Do I confront them? Do I swallow it? I've spent so much of my life not even acknowledging these things. Brushing them aside and pretending, convincing myself so thoroughly, that they don't matter. Now that I can't do that anymore (which I think is positive, at least in the abstract), what do I do with it?

Maybe I can't do anything. That doesn't seem right. Certainly not fair. But maybe that's just how it goes.

I feel like I'm losing my optimism. It comes back in fits and starts, but fades so quickly. I feel like I need a little bit of luck, some good timing. Maybe someone to give me a little lift, a boost up over the fence. But when you ask for it, over and over in different ways, and don't get it, I guess it's safe to say that it won't happen.

Tick-tick

I realize I spend a lot of time trying to figure out the motivation for other people's behavior. This is difficult to do, because there are so many variables, and you never have access to all of them. Sometimes, with the disengaged and reticent, you don't have access to any of them. This frustrates and confounds me. I always want to know Why? Why why why?

I don't expect people to be completely open books; lord knows that would be a fucking mess. Some insight would be nice, though. But maybe it's there, and I just don't want to see it. I guess that's the case sometimes. But I also think sometimes it's just a big mystery. It makes me a little crazy.

Maybe I should just ignore it and try to go about my merry (or not-so-merry) way. Maybe I should just stop trying to figure it out. But I don't think I can. I live in this world, with other people and their emotions and mine, and they are inextricable and unavoidable, even when we try to push them away, and the whys are an important part of that. Curiosity killed the vieve.

Hard to tell

Don't think this off-the-grid thing is working so well. Not how I'd hoped. I end up trying to reach out anyway, when I most need it, and sound grasping and foolish. No one will come to me, though. No one can read my mind. But I've also learned not to say what's on it. Fucked seven ways from Sunday.

Realizing I'm upset about Tuesday. I felt so alone, and crazy. Untied and unhinged. I realize now I wanted someone to call and say, "Hi. I know today sucks for you. What can I do?" I'm not sure I knew then, but I know now that I just wanted someone to come over and sit with me for a little while. Just sit, and maybe hold my hand. Let me cry, but unalone.

It's hard to tell when you've asked too much, or whether what you ask for just can't be given. Or if I don't ask the right way, or the right people. I suppose it's all the same in the end. But it makes a difference. It's hard to know when you're met with silence.

Superhero

I guess I've been hoping someone would swoop in and...something. Not fix things. Just help. Shoulder a little bit of what I'm carrying. I have. I would.

Stupid

Or insane. Trying the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I don't know why I bother.

This too

I don't know what to do with myself right now. I want the right kind of distraction, at the very least. A temporary fix, some comfort, at best. But both seem unavailable. What I really want is most likely beyond what can be given, and probably not a good idea anyway. (Though I don't really care about good or bad ideas at the moment.)

I guess what I have to do is simply sit with my sadness and grief, alone. I don't like this very much, though. I'm tired of hurting.

Hole in my heart

I feel like there's a hole in my heart, and I want to fill it so badly. But the piece that's missing doesn't fit anymore. I guess I just have to wait for the hole to close. I thought poking at the wound would toughen things up, but I'm too tenderhearted for my own good.

Spin cycle

Too many things are going on right now in my head, making it swim and freak out. Like an overloaded washer on the spin cycle, ka-CHUNK ka-CHUNK. I feel like I need a little comfort and familiarity in the midst of it all, but there's very little of that on tap at the moment.

Discomfort

I think I might have to pull back on the blogging reins a little. I'm starting to feel like I reveal a little too much when I write, and I'm starting to feel uncomfortable about it. I wonder if I'm making other people uncomfortable too. I'm not sure. (If I am, please let me know.) I need to think about this some more.

Lonely

I just got back from my sister's engagement dinner. It made me happy -- I am happy for them, completely -- but also kind of jealous and lonely. It's also nice to be old enough to get a little drunk in front of my parents, but still young enough to drink and eat on their dime. (Or hundred-dollar bill, or whatever it might be.)

I guess I should go to sleep now, but I am too full of...too many things. I want company and compliments and cuddles. And sex. With someone trusted and loved (OK, maybe just liked) by me, yet someone who doesn't want attachment and complications. I don't want anyone who will cling to me, or vice versa, or hold me here. Yet I want to want them, at least a little bit, in every way. Emotionally, intellectually, bodily. It's a complicated situation. A difficult balance. I don't think I'll find it (and it won't find me), and that makes me unhappy. I'd just like someone I think is pretty great to make me a little happy, throw caution to the wind for a little pleasure, just for a little while.

I don't know

Like I told someone earlier today, I think I'm past the stage where I'm like, I must be a horrible, unlovable, ugly person. I know I'm not. But I'm not sure why other people don't see that too.

I hate it. I need to get out of here. The land of tears. And idiots. I don't understand. Not at all.

Not quite there

I thought I could match that cool, blase, whatever, I'm-totally-fine-with-everything attitude. I guess I can outwardly, but I'm realizing I can't inwardly, not yet. I hate that I can't. I feel stupid, and like something's wrong with me. I know there isn't, but I still feel like a nutjob. When someone tells me I'm overreacting, even if it was a month ago, I tend to believe it for a while. My skin isn't made of teflon, unlike others'. I wish it were sometimes.

I have a date with some tequila. I guess I'll keep it.

Zigzag

I feel all over the place. Happy one minute, crying the next. It's a little ridiculous, and difficult to manage. I'm so happy to be here, with all of the newness and food (mm, food) and gorgeous weather, and a good friend to stay with and show me around and keep me laughing. But he's leaving today for a camping trip, and so I feel sad about that. He'll be in Boston next month sometime, but that doesn't fill up the hole or make me feel any better at this moment.

So I'm on my own today, I don't know anyone else here who's in town and/or not busy with wedding stuff, and that scares me a little bit. Especially lately, I've been no good on my own. There are lots of things I'd like to do and see, and I can certainly keep myself busy, but I'm a little scared of...I'm not exactly sure what. Sadness, I guess. Bad feelings tailing me all day.

This city is a reminder, both of my recent past and potential nearby future. It's so full of meaning, it's been making the tears well since last night. I want to hold them back -- I don't want them to take over my vacation -- but I guess it's out of my control for the moment. All I can do is cry for a bit out on the couch while John and Bob sleep off last night's martinis, and then go forth for coffee and maybe morning buns from Tartine if I can find Guererro... And then I'll decide if I'd rather go to Berkeley or the Japanese Tea Garden, rather have pizza or Pakistani to eat, and so on.

I have a lot of choices to make, today and in the next couple of months. Not knowing makes me incredibly nervous. But it's also exciting.

Limitless

I'm up and starting my day, starting to pack, in my usual flitting, circular way. Decide I should drink some Emergen-C, go to the pantry, decide I should pack some Emergen-C, get my toiletries bag, start going through that, unpack that Target bag that has some toiletery items in it, see my new headphones and DVD in there, fight with the packaging on those, put the DVD away, plug the new headphones into my iPod, semi-pack my gym bag, go back to my toiletries bag, catch sight of the Emergen-C, decide I should drink some Emergen-C.

Oy.

What was I talking about? I'm a little distracted. Oh, right.

As I was making these perambulations, my head spinning off in a million different directions, I stopped for a minute and read a card I just wrote to someone. Which made me think about love, and how there are so many different people I do love. And I just keep adding more as I go along. More love, and more different kinds of love. And I have to imagine that I'll keep doing this, adding even more, until I die. I think there's plenty of room in my heart for everyone. It feels limitless. And there's something pretty amazing and beautiful about that.

Bliss

I was talking to my mother on the phone yesterday, and then got an email from my dad this morning, and they both told me the same thing: follow your bliss. (Yes, my parents, still hippies at heart.)

I said I would do that if I knew what it was. I think I do know, somewhere within me. But I can't quite access it yet. Or maybe I have accessed it, but I'm afraid to admit it to myself, because then what if I try and it doesn't work out? What if I fail? How crushing that would be. I think (I know) this is the wrong way to look at things, but that's the hitch. The snag. Like a cat's claw stuck fast on a tiny, stubborn thread in my favorite sweater.

I need some space to think about this. I need a break. I'm leaving for San Francisco and LA on Wednesday, and I'm planning to do things that make me happy. Laugh with friends. Stroll about. Eat eat eat. Explore. I'm hoping this break will help me see things more clearly. I won't push it, though. It'll come when it comes.

Rescue

This morning, I went on a search and rescue mission for my car, which I left a ways up Mass Ave. last night. It is a gorgeous, unbelievable morning. Coolish, sunny, breezy, beautiful. So I had a really nice walk. I meandered, and took a bunch of pictures, and bought a donut from Verna's, and smiled.

I got coffee after I rescued my car, and chatted a bit with the coffee guy. He said something about the weather, about how it's supposed to turn cloudy and rainy, but he thinks the sun is going to hold out. And as he was saying this, I realized I didn't care. It didn't matter.

I said, "It's beautiful right now." And I walked back to my car, feeling happier than I have in a really long time, giggling and grinning and eyes welling with grateful tears.

Symbols

I've been thinking about my wayward bike this week. Besides the fact that getting something stolen sucks, regardless, especially something that's expensive to replace, I've been thinking about why it upset me so much. Riding my bike around the city is something that I've been wanting to do for a while now. It scares the bejeezus out of me, even thinking about it. All those cars whooshing past me, obviously ready (and eager) to run me down the second I slip up, make some newbie biking mistake. It feels incredibly risky and scary, and that's partly why I wanted to do it. To prove to myself that I could face a fear like that, and overcome it. So biking was something bigger than fun exercise and a better, non-gas-guzzling mode of transportation. It was a way to prove something to myself. To overcome a fear. To succeed at something. And now the mechanism for that triumph has been taken away from me, damnit.

I did manage to go on one bike ride, though, a really fantastic one. I rode a little bit on the street, and over 20 miles on the bike path. I went with someone important to me, and I think it might have been the last time we felt so easy and natural together. (Well, I did, anyway.) It was exhilerating and joyous, and I felt a sense of triumph and calm, something I don't feel very often. It's a great memory. So I guess I did prove something to myself already. I can do it. My bike disappearing didn't make that disappear.

I've been thinking about another symbol today. Something cah-razy. Not really crazy, but something my mother would be very upset with (sorry, Mom). And I'll have to take my pants off for it. And that's all I'm gonna say.

Paralyzed

The list of things to do is so long, I can't get any of it done.

Trying to work, trying to stay calm, trying not to get sucked into a crazy spiral.

I keep getting distracted though. Wanting to connect, but not knowing how. Realizing that past connections I thought I had were never really made. Realizing that I knew so little. Realizing that I didn't really register. And that hurts, but I know it doesn't help to talk about it anymore. I don't think it was my fault, or anything to do with me. (But maybe I'm wrong, and it was, and that sharp little part keeps jabbing me and drawing blood.)

The sun is so beautiful, but I'm having a hard time enjoying it.

Vampiric

I've been in a good mood all morning. I was in a pretty good mood last night, too, eventually. But then I get to my office, and the building smells like cat pee because the roof leaks whenever it rains, and the damp soaks into the carpet, releasing malodorous fumes. And I had to send a bitchy email to someone who promised me something would be ready a week ago but so didn't deliver. And I have a crappy copyedit to work on, where on almost every page I've had to write a comment like "I don't understand what is meant by this" or "Does this make sense?" It's giving me fits, but I really need to finish it in the next couple of days.

So I feel the strangely giddy good cheer ebbing out of me. And then I start thinking about a very vievish email I sent last night but never got a reply to, and so I start questioning how it was taken and whether I do actually have those excellent qualities I proclaimed to have. So I'm feeling a little bit like a lonely freakish dumbass right now, even though I know I shouldn't, because it's probably due to the usual reticence, and not anything to do with me. But then I start thinking about the errands and other tasks I need to attend to, which I've put off and felt OK about ignoring, because I've felt so awful lately, so, you know, I'd given myself permission to take a break. But now that I feel kind of better, I should take care of them, but I still don't want to, and now I feel guilty.

I'm my own worst enemy. Well, that and my cat pee office. But I'm still feeling better than I did yesterday.

Dumping ground

I've been dumping a lot of shit on people lately. They don't want it, and I don't blame them. I don't want it either. And I wonder what I expect or what I want to get out of it. Partly just to unload it from my mind a bit. Partly to get some words of reassurance in return. To know people care that my life feels like a shit cake with poo frosting right now. But I'm not really getting what I want. Seems like I don't handle this stuff the right way. I'm not sure what to do about this.

Sometimes I wish that I could just ignore stuff like this, like I did before. Don't talk about it, don't think about it. Pretend everything's just fine. But I don't really want to get to the point where I can't do anything but sleep and watch TV and don't leave the house for two weeks. So I guess this is better.

Darkness

I was just out walking in the rain, listening to Will Oldham, "I See a Darkness."

And then I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness
Do you know how much I love you
Cause I'm hoping some day soon
You'll save me from this darkness

Lordy.

Dumb

I wish someone kind and comforting would show up at my door with hot soup and a movie, and snuggle up with me for a few hours. Damn it.

Relax, it isn't fair

Seems like everything's making me cry this morning. Not sure whether it's the unceasingly grey, Chinese water torture weather; the expansive, confusing dream I had last night, featuring people and themes I'd rather not think about at all right now; the holiday, which is poignant to a degree that I didn't expect. I spent time at the gym, ran, biked, crunched, stretched, had some alone time in the sauna, and fought back tears every 5 minutes. My head feels heavy, my heart feels heavy. Everything's heavy, and grey, and I feel like I'm being slowly smothered. I feel faded, almost invisible. Fighting with myself about whether I should just give into it, or try to do something to cheer myself up.

Indignant

I just soaked in the tub for a while, and was composing a long treatise about giving. Giving too much, how I do it joyfully and without reserve. How there's a limit to giving and giving more without receiving something you need in return. Not a tit for tat thing, but, you know, basic stuff you need to justify the giving. The bare minimum. And how I tend not to get what I need. Why that is, and what I should do about it.

But I feel tired now, and hungry. And kind of indignant. So I think I should just eat some salad and crackers and soup and snuggle into bed. Give myself what I need.

Holding on, letting go

I just reread a blog post that someone sent me the link to exactly a month ago. I was feeling sad that day when she sent it. Looking back on past bullshit and regrets, and I think my intuitive antennae were quivering quite a bit, knowing that some bad times were coming. Preparing for what was ahead by looking back.

I didn't really absorb it at the time, and I think I still haven't, this idea of letting go. Surrender. Feeling the fullness of feeling, even when current feelings are the exact opposite of what you want in your life (at this moment, or ever). It feels self-indulgent, self-pitying. I feel like, instead, I need to keep busy, count my blessings, try to focus on the positive. I feel like if I surrender, the feelings will take over and I'll drown in them. Isn't surrender the same thing as giving up? Accepting that life sucks and always will and there's fuck-all you can do about it?

But I think it's different (subtly) from giving up. It's accepting things as they are now. And the now sucks. But it won't always suck. I guess it's a matter of accepting and being OK with (or at least resigned to) the now, but not losing hope for a better something, somehow, down the road. That by feeling what I feel, doing what I do, being who I am, I'll eventually get somewhere good. And trying to be flexible about what that place looks like. I can't control the outcome, and I need to be open to different flavors and faces of "good."

This is a little jumbled, and I still don't quite get how to do this. But I'm trying.

Neglectful

I'm neglecting too many things. I just got an email from my mom, which made me realize that I haven't called my parents since Easter. I guess because I haven't had anything good to talk about, but that's not really a good reason. Also, it's my father's birthday today (58!), and I completely forgot about that. And it's Mother's Day on Sunday, and I didn't send a card or a gift or anything. I feel like a bad person right now.

I also need to clean my room. It's an awful mess, crap everywhere. It's always cluttered, but things are getting out of control. And I need to figure out the cable bill, and get my car inspected. And find a new credit card that has a 0% APR, so I can transfer my mega-balance to that so I don't have to pay $80 per month in interest. At least I finished a load of laundry this morning. That was way overdue, too. And I bought stamps this morning, which I've also been meaning to do all week. I guess that's progress?

I've been in my head so much, alternately wallowing in and trying to distract myself from all the hurt, I haven't been paying attention to those banal little details of life that need tending to. It's hard to muster the energy. But I guess I have to somehow.

Broken

I'm broken into a million pieces. Sometimes I manage to pull them all together, with bits of tape and string and glue. But I've fallen apart again. A goddamn Humpty Dumpty.

Cult of personality

For a while when I was younger, maybe 10 or 11, my favorite book was Please Understand Me, an exhaustive discourse on personality types, based on The Keirsey Temperament Sorter. You know, INFJ, ENTP, etc. I was entranced, I think at least partially because of the title -- its pleading pronouncement of my most basic desire at the time (which it is still, I think, which maybe is just part of the human condition, but which also might mean that I'm destined to be perpetually 10 years old, emotionally). I pored over every word about "me," the "most rare of all types," INFJ. (Though, reading more recently, I might be closer to INFP. This is not an exact science, people.)

I still read about this stuff, I still find it kind of fascinating, but I don't know that it brings me any closer to understanding. Lately I've been trying to talk myself out of this need to understand things (and my need for others to understand), particularly feelings and motivations. Most of the time, they don't make sense. But you still have to deal with them in the real world, nonsensical or no. Maybe I should focus my attention on that, on just accepting and dealing. Maybe trying to understand is just a way of diverting myself from the reality of stupid, disappointing truths that make me feel sad and angry. Maybe trying to understand these things, the whys behind them, even a tiny little bit, is just an exercise in futility.

I don't really want to believe that, but I sure wish I did. It would make some things so much easier.

Withheld

I was also just reading this, and thinking about how I once said I didn't really know what it was about. I lied. I just couldn't say it. Explain it. Because I was afraid that my clumsy words would break some tenuous spell. Maybe I shouldn't have been so reticent. I wasn't about much of anything else. Maybe it would have broken something, but maybe maybe...I don't know. I'm really tired of maybes.

Seams

I'm not sure how I keep myself from falling apart at the seams. It feels like my skin is stretched so tight, the sutures that close all the fissures and cracks are threatening to pop. Ping, poppety, ping, in a million directions. And everything that's tied up tight will go slack and spill out over the ground.

So I hold very still and clench my jaw and close my eyes and close my mind. And it seems to work, but it hurts a lot. I'm looking for another way, one that doesn't give me headaches and stomach aches and back aches and aches of sadness, but I haven't found it yet.

n-1

I can't help feeling like I'm a perpetual precursor. Like the person who can't open the salsa jar, but loosens it up just enough so that the next person who tries opens it without a whit of trouble. Like the person who primes the pump. Like the understudy who performs during the dress rehearsal so everything goes smoothly for the real performance.

This is annoying. A lot of effort for little return. But maybe this is a faulty interpretation, based on too little data. More study is needed.

Bait

I feel like a juicy worm on a hook. Wiggle or no?

Fatigue

I'm a little tired of baring my soul here. I have a feeling others are too. Empathy fatigue. (Or maybe I write my sorrows in a private language that only I can feel.) So maybe I'll take a page out of someone else's book and stop for a while. If you want to know, ask. Otherwise, I'll shut up about it already.

(Who am I kidding. I'll probably change my mind tomorrow. Whiplash.)

Reminder

Thinking about my dream this morning reminded me of this. And so I've been thinking about how touch is so important. The contact and warmth; its sensual nature and the reassurance it provides. A reminder that you're not alone. That you're touchable.

I miss this a lot when I don't have it.

Catchup

I managed to stay in bed until 9 this morning, drifting in and out of sleep for a few hours. I think the fan helped, with its soothing white noise, and also that I was so tired by 10 last night that I couldn't see straight and literally stumbled between my room and the bathroom while preparing for bed.

During one of my drifting-out moments, I thought how when bed is a lonely place, it makes me want to leap out of it as soon as I'm semi-conscious. Maybe that's part of the problem. And then I had a dream (or maybe I had a dream before this) that there were two other people in bed with me. Nothing sexual, just comforting company and soothing warmth. Skin to touch and words to share.

This morning the Gesticulatron made me smile, and my stripey socks made me smile, and I strutted a bit in the sunshine on my way to get my coffee.

And thank you

I really was losing my shit. More than I care to confess. So, thank you. I know I need to look elsewhere for what I need, though. Disappointed I can't get it from a convenient source. (And "it" means a lot of different things.) But that's life, I guess.

Please

I'm exhausted. Another 5-hour night. I just can't seem to sleep long enough. Something jerks me awake too early, and my mind won't let me drift off again. So I get up, dazed, and try to find some coffee too early on a Sunday morning.

It's been a rough week. The no sleep, the too much time alone, brooding. The self-doubt that keeps multiplying, creeping like mold. The fears and hard truths I can't shoo away.

I've shown a side that I try so hard to conceal. I'm embarassed. Don't want to show that crazy, obsessive, self-hating (I could go on) part of me. It's not the image I want to project (or what I want to feel inside). But it leaks out when I can't contain it anymore. It finds its target, locks on, fires. Messy.

It hurts. I strike out. I'm jealous, not just of cute pets I can't have, but also of experience. A reserve of evidence I can fall back on. Certainty. Coolness. Not-needing. I'm desperate to not-need, but I'm pretty certain I won't be able to let go successfully until something else comes along to fill the vacuum. Sad. And unlikely to happen anytime soon.

I need some patience. Some companionship. Distraction. Reassurance. Understanding. Hope. I wish I could give these things to myself. The well's pretty dry, though.

Peach

Had 10+ miles of sweating and thinking. No music, even--just the stuff inside my head. (I was so dazed this morning, I had to turn back twice to get keys and wallet. Not surprising I forgot my iPod.)

I need to turn that jealousy into admiration, at the very least. Aspiration at best. I feel so tired, though. So ugly and tender with bruises, like a roughly handled peach.

I'm holding a lot of whats. I sure could use some hows.

Jealous

I've been feeling keenly jealous of other people recently. Jealous of their cute cats, their hair cuts/colors, clothes, bodies, lifestyles, lack of inhibition, their self-awareness, healthy attitudes, cities, jobs. So many things, tangible and not. Even the fact that I'm fascinated by certain people makes me feel jealous (because I want that fascinated gaze turned toward me). The fact that I'm jealous of them makes me jealous.

It's all very perverse.

Evidence

I don't see any evidence to the contrary right now, but thank you for trying.

I see 10+ years of bad choices. Unhappiness, loneliness. Illness. Unrequited love and kindnesses. Failures. Heartbreak. Denial. Disillusionment. Poor treatment. Excuses.

And it must be all my fault. I must be doing something wrong. Everything wrong. Even when I think I'm doing things right, they turn out badly. And I don't know how to fix it.

Back

I was at lunch, and someone was telling a story involving the RMV. That reminded me that I need to get a new driver's license in July. And that in turn made me think about how old I was when I got my last license: 25, I think, or maybe 24. A lifetime ago, though it's passed so quickly.

And I started thinking about my 25-year-old self. What I would tell her if I could go back in time. The advice I would give. The cautions and forewarnings. There are too many to list; it would be a mile long.

If only I could go back--to 10 years ago, to 5 years ago, to 5 months ago. To have the benefit of hindsight. So many things could be better, could have been avoided.

But you know, I have a feeling that none of my younger selves would listen to a damn word I said.

Wondering

Whether I helped make any good memories that are worth remembering

Whether that openness is fleeting, less about growth and more about alchemy

Whether I give too much, unasked and unwanted, and that's the real problem

Whether I expect too much in return, and that's really the real problem

Whether I can ever live my life for me, which I have a feeling is the key to so many locked doors

Tuckered out and tame

I questioned whether waking up at 6am, after 6 hours of fitful sleep punctuated by two pee breaks and the same number of trips for more juice from the fridge and preceded by a very late dinner of leftover pizza and potato chips and chocolate, and then going to the gym to do 15 minutes of crunches and 3 miles on the treadmill was such a good idea. Maybe it wasn't ideal, but, like so many other things, I did it anyway.

I had some good sweating and thinking time. I had an epiphany while I was running. One of those "Oh. Well, then" moments. Something I knew but couldn't quite put into words before. What to do with it now, that's the question.

When I stepped outside this morning, a small shock of joy flooded through me. A perfect May day. The kind I want to bottle up and save for February. The air smells green. Perfect blue skies and gentle warmth, and just the right amount of moisture to make my hair spring into messy waves and my skin feel relaxed and right. Alive, growing weather full of contentment and promise.

I want to hold onto these feelings, but maybe the thing to do instead is just be in them. Appreciate them and be open to what comes next. Easier said than done, but I can try.

I'm more than just a little bit insecure

I still can't help feeling that I'm missing some crucial piece. Like I'm lacking a certain element that would have made things click. Made things work. Made me worth it. It's a hard feeling to shake.

Talking was both good and bad, like I knew it would be. I expected most of it, but not the raised voice. It startled me. I guess I didn't know the potential even existed. I'm kind of glad it does, in a strange way. It's a little reassuring, that I can provoke that reaction. Not sure what I mean by that exactly, but there you go.

And all the things I said I wanted, I still want them. Though maybe the priorities are shifting a bit. The tenor and volume of the voices, what I can pick out of the cacophony--that's changing.

I still don't get it. It's outside of my experience, the feelings and reasons. I have no frame of reference. And I don't know if I'll ever quite understand, but maybe that's not a goal anymore. Maybe what I really need most is reassurance. A band-aid for my insecurities and fears and self-doubt. An antidote for the self-pity and self-loathing. A little booster shot to set me back on track. And maybe that's something I can get. Maybe.

Me me me

I've been thinking today about how I need a lot of attention. OK, I crave a lot of attention. I want people to find me endlessly fascinating, hang on my every word, think about me ceaselessly, want me around all the time, compliment me extravagantly...etc. Me me me. (I'm also a fairly shy person, which sometimes bumps up against this other side of me and causes consternation. But that's something else entirely.)

Does everyone feel this way? Or am I more like a three-year-old than I like to believe?

Puppies and unicorns

In the past when I've felt down and depressed and torn up inside, I've gotten "advice" along the lines of, "Cheer up! Life is beautiful! It's all in the way you look at things!" (Thankfully not recently, because I'd give you a verbal bitchslap that would send you reeling into next week.) This kind of simplistic nonsense bugs the shit out of me, honestly. Life is more nuanced than that. "Let a smile be your umbrella" is something you tell to a three-year-old, not a grown-ass woman who knows better.

Sometimes bad stuff is just...bad. There's no bright or good side to it. It can be instructive, which is good in its own way, but it's a struggle-filled, in-the-long-term kind of good.

In my mind, the trick is being able to hold the fullness of life, the good and the bad and the in-between, all at the same time. This is ridiculously difficult, and I'm only just starting to get the hang of it. Bad feelings are unpleasant, but you can't just sweep them under the rug. You have to feel them, and if that means wallowing for a couple of weeks, then that's that. Feel what you need to feel. Scream at whomever you need to scream. But try to accept the kindnesses and small triumphs that also happen when you're feeling lousy. Putting blinders on, to keep out either extreme, isn't going to get you anywhere good.

It's hard to see the shiny goodness when you're wading through shit, and it's unfair to criticize someone for only seeing the shit. The key is to keep wading, I think, and try to hold onto the belief that you'll eventually get out of it.

Well, then. Never mind.

I was all set to write about how much I hate today. How my umbrella turned inside-out three times today, how I got an extra 5 hours of work dumped in my lap as soon as I walked in the door. How I burned my mouth on my "lunch" that I couldn't find time to eat until 4:30. How the weather sucks. How I totally forgot to do something kind of important on Friday and how I felt terribly guilty about it. How I spent 50 minutes sobbing and feeling more pissed off and frustrated than I thought it was humanly possible to ever feel.

But then I got word that my book, which I thought had to go to the printer the first week of June, actually doesn't have to go until July. Which is a huge relief, and means that I can absolutely take the last week of May off and go to California. (There's still a window for invitation retraction, but it's closing fast, just so you know.) I don't really have the money for it, but I have a shitload of credit, and I need to get out of this town for a while.

And then I started thinking about the other good things about today. My Cute Overload and Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaan! t-shirts arrived. I saw this picture today (scroll down). The thing I forgot to do Friday wasn't the end of the world (or my job), so whatever. It's May, and soon the weather will be fine, and I'll be able to plant my Morning Glories and nasturtiums and whatever else.

I give myself whiplash sometimes. It's really exhausting being me.

De-, dis-, un-

I feel disembodied today. Not quite all here. Disengaged. Like I've taken some Dayquil and my head is floating, bobbing above the earth. Like if I stand too long in the cold rain, my body will melt and disappear into the earth I'm so high above.

I drove to an appointment this morning and realized, after I'd gotten there and was circling the block for parking, that it had been changed to this afternoon. So I turned around and drove back the way I had come.

Disengaged, disappointed. Uninspired, unclear. De facto depersonalized.

It feels neither good nor bad. Neutral, but worth noticing. Noting.

I'd like to sleep it off instead of floating through the day. But I don't have much choice in the matter.

Self-determination, and the desire to exercise it, are such slippery things.

Process

I ask myself what I want to get out of it. I think I know, and I think I know I won't get what I want. But I'm not sure that's a reason not to try. What's the path. What's the process. What's right. I still need a map. Or a checklist. A decision tree. Something.

Regrets

Sometimes even relatively small regrets are hard to place in proper perspective, and apparently are sometimes difficult to undo. Impetuousness never turns out well.

Reminder

I just read something I wrote yesterday, where I said, "I'm right back to where I was a year ago."

And I realize that's not true. Sometimes it feels like I am, and I understood why I wrote it. I still have some stuck places. Some patterns I'm not happy with. But I'm not in the same place. Things are so much better, in so many ways. I'm much better. And I need to keep reminding myself of that.

Gift

I got a really great email yesterday, and I wanted to share it. It was a nice gift to get on a mopey, mostly-alone Saturday.

"yes, im aware of your blog
hesitant to say so
i feel i know you much more than you do me
and have no desire to make you feel uncomfortable
or myself awkward

i can relate to your words with all too much familiarity
as im sure many people could if they only allow themselves to think
at least you do and express your ideas and concerns
(and you are a very good writer as well)
im sure it helps to work these issues through

but for all you thoughts
where do you want them to lead?
its a process
the experience of your life
it takes time
its writing for attention or pity or confirmation
crying and laughing and screaming and smiling
questioning our own sanity and that of others
seeking the validation we fail to see in ourselves

its a friend of friends waxing psuedo-sagaciously with the best of intentions
(dont panic... grab a towel and think 42!)

youre not the only one, genevieve
maybe the one and only with your particular dna pattern
(that you know of...)
we all go through this life wading in the detrius of regret
the cesspools of doubt and fear

but we just need to keep moving
there are sandbars
there are undertows
we swim
we sink
sometimes we get a ride from a passing ship
other times they are not going where we wish
and the shore isnt always in sight
but its there
a place to rest and smile in the sun
to shed our skins and take a bath

to dream about
to hope for
wish
maybe
someday

i feel really silly and shy at this precise moment
(like i just wrote something anonymously about raisins... eek!)
suppose its what ive been wanting to hear myself
i hope you can take something away from all that
like i think i just did
and call it your own
or delete it
its up to you... only

be well"

Ladies' night

Last night I got a really lovely massage. (Made even lovelier by the fact that I didn't have to pay for it, though I would have.) I really needed someone to soothe my body in that way, to give it some attention. To help me relax a bit. Help take me out of my head. Of course, some tears came anyway, but I tried to keep them in check. They came from an image of the last night I saw you, and the feelings from that night. Meeting an old friend of yours, and feeling like we all connected. You took my hand under the table once or twice. And when we walked home, and you had your arm around my waist and held me close. Wouldn't let me go. Even when we had to part for some sidewalk obstacle, you pulled me back again. And I thought everything was all right. Everything was all right in that moment. And I thought about that and wondered what happened, and why you couldn't just be present in that moment, and all the moments. Preoccupation with moments reaching into the past and the future stole them, I think. But I don't know.

So I had been thinking of that, and I was feeling pretty sad. Plans were made for all of us (the four massaged ladies and the almost-done-with-school massage-student massager) to go out to dinner. I hung back, not sure what to do. Everyone else had known each other for a while, and I wasn't feeling social or talkative. I tentatively decided to decline politely, head home, drink a beer, get into bed. But somehow outside on the sidewalk, after helping to stow her table and other gear in the car, I got swept along in the conversation and the cooing over neighborhood dogs and cats, and ended up walking toward Central Square. And I did have dinner, and I had a lot of fun. I don't remember the last time I had dinner, or hung out at all really, with all women. (I've always had a lot of male friends. I think because I see men as less complicated to deal with in some ways. Less intimidating, maybe? If I don't know what to say to a man I'm getting to know, I can always fall back on a little flirting? Something like that. I'm not quite sure about this. Something to think about.)

And it felt really good, to feel like I was making some new friends. New women friends, which I'm realizing are important. It didn't push away the earlier feelings of confusion and sadness and wistfulness, but it helped ease them a bit. I felt good, for a little bit. What else can you do.

Wondering

I'm wondering
what you're doing right now.
if you slept OK last night.
what's going on in that inky, black-hole head.
whether there are ever any good answers.
if next week will be easier than this one.
whether I should call.
how I'm going to pay all these bills and overdue parking tickets.
how its possible for my left side to be both numb and ouchy simultaneously.
if a massage this afternoon will help.
what my next step should be.
whether I will call, regardless of whether I should or not.
why stuff from over a year ago still pisses me off.
if I can/should go to LA and San Francisco next month.
when I should plant my Morning Glory seeds.
whether I drank too much coffee.
where all this is going.

My head's pretty crowded right now.

Huggles

but the same way you let yourself fall in love
let yourself take another leap
you know you've got it in ya
you should have so much.
i really wish it for you.

Thank you, again. It really helped. YOU are the awesomest.

I am a mighty oak that's rotten at its core

I've been giving a lot of advice this week, it seems like. (Some of it unsolicited, which I felt bad about and apologized for. Though maybe it was welcome and useful; I really have no idea.) Not really telling people what to do (except for the aforementioned unsolicited incident--again, sorry), but sharing my experiences in ways that help illuminate (hopefully) the crux of a current dilemma. Offering a turn of phrase or different angle that helps them see things a little differently, maybe a little more positively. This makes me feel useful and important and warm inside, and I think I'm pretty good at it.

It's also so fucking ironic, it makes me want to scream.

I hate that my skin is so thin

But it is. And I can't keep ripping off the scab. It's a bloody mess. Drastic measures. Clean(ish) breaks. Exactly the opposite of what I want. But my heart is so shattered. It won't heal if I keep smashing it with a hammer. Exacty the opposite of what I want, but it's clear that what I want isn't reciprocated. Or isn't possible. Or wasn't important enough to work for. Same difference.

I'll probably change my mind tomorrow, and then change it again, and again. I know myself. But I need to at least try to look out for me and figure out what's best. No one else will.

I guess I'm being petulant. That doesn't feel good. I feel cold and hard. A little like stone. I don't like it, but I can't keep feeling wholely composed of hot salty tears and pounding heart and swimming head. Freeze it, block it. At least for a little while, until I can forget a little bit.

I'm sorry. I hate this. I'm starting to melt and change my mind already.

Connect

I write here for myself, as I like to say. But I also do it to get a reaction. To connect. It feels a little manipulative sometimes. Because wh