Hybrid

I love that I dropped everything (seriously - I just fixed a bookshelf and was in a good organizational groove) to write.


I hate that I stopped my progress and ended up spending a half hour dealing with stupid computer crap.  (A cheapie.  It was a Groupon.  I've probably come close to getting my money's worth out of it, but I'd like it to hang in there awhile longer, anyway.)

I get scared in those moments when I start to believe in "god" again. 

I feel oddly correct in those shitty moments when I agree that "God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards” ( that was Walt Whitman, kids).

(Regarding that... I think if I seek "him," I will likely find something.  Maybe even something good.  I cannot imagine I'll find it in the Bible, though.  I mean, really.)

(Lots of parentheses, as usual.  Used to be semicolons.  One of these ol' days, I need to dig into my use of parentheses.  I think it's part of the "Squirrel!" thing.)

I hate the thought that a tree frog has stolen under my door and into my house.

It's kind of cool that there's a tree frog hanging out in my house.  Nice to know that things can live here.

I love my son.

My son drives me batshit.

I really, really like U2.  They're still on my concert list.

Part  of me is embarrassed to like U2.  I shouldn't be.

I like this new connection that's happening.

I can't help but think going forward could be the second-biggest mistake I've ever made (the biggest being the first time it happened).

Feet are both beautiful and disgusting.

Everything is.

I could go for a big plate of sliced tomatoes right now, slightly salty.

I'll settle for the last of the coffee.

I could go on and on about dicots and dichotomies, but I need to get back into that groove.

It's good to be back.

Green heart,
Amy

Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet - Earth Water Fire Air

Some darkness found me lately.  Or perhaps I found it, or even sought it out somehow.

I've determined some factors that contributed to it (I won't list them here) and am cautiously grateful to be feeling sort of "right" again.

I'm trying to also recognize factors that have helped me out of it.  One, for sure, is that I'm taking a grad class.

I need to say that again.

I'm taking a graduate course.  So far, I've spent three days around other teachers, plus two very cool instructors and one professor/Ph.D/empress from the university through which I'm taking the class.  I have four more days next week, then we'll meet monthly over the next school year.

I had forgotten how well I do when I'm taking classes.

Of course, I'm struggling with the paperwork/minutiae that comes with it.  In fact, that was one of my goals for the course (we were asked by the instructor to set three goals for ourselves for the course).  My goals were kind of squishy, and I added a fourth because one of them ("Have at least one meaningful conversation with another teacher") was met within the first hour, and has been met several times since.

Wow. I met a goal.  And I have had meaningful conversations with other teachers.

It's so normal, but it feels huge to me.

I've been in the mud, under the ground, in this crazy hell of mine for weeks.  To open my eyes and realize that I can still function - not only function but contribute and maybe even flourish - has felt almost miraculous.  I'm so grateful to have this opportunity.  It feels so good.

I also have to say this.

I'm grateful I'm safe.  I'm grateful my son is safe.

In the past two weeks, hundreds of people have been shot and killed, including  49 innocent souls in one night in Orlando.  Parents have had their worst nightmares broadcast around the world and have been publicly shamed for being human and for life happening in the blink of an eye.  The good people of my beautiful state have lost their homes, their belongings, and, some of them, their lives to floods, and their needs seem endless.  In the past four days, I have learned of two young people I know personally - one, a former student only twelve years old, and the other, a friend's daughter, fifteen - who took someone else's prescription medication on purpose and both are now in psychiatric facilities.

Life.

This world.

I don't know what to say or do about these tragedies.  I have struggled with trying to find a way to be useful, to somehow do my part to help all the pain and need.

After the shooting in Orlando, I reached out online, asking, "What do we do?"  I was speaking about gun culture, and how I feel helpless to even speak about it, much less contribute something positive, but I feel the same helplessness in regards to the emergency in West Virginia, the young people who are so full of pain, just everything...  I feel paralyzed by all the sadness and suffering.

My friends online offered great advice - educate, keep speaking out, continue to reach out to others.  One friend, though, said this: "Choose to believe you live in a peaceful world."

Eh?

How will that change the gun culture?  How will that help the flood victims?  How will that help desperate young people?  Or parents who lose their children?

I asked, in a roundabout way, and she clarified her meaning, which was "It's the concept that what you think about expands.  If your focus is one of fear and hatred, more things for you to fear and hate will be part of your reality."

It took me awhile.  I mean, even if I focus on love and peace, both of which I truly believe in, the bad stuff of the world doesn't go away, right?  My focusing on the good still hasn't helped anyone.

Except... myself.

And there, I realized, was the crux of the biscuit she was serving up.

Maybe right now I can't help others.

But I can help myself.

It's that damn simple.

Not always easy.  But simple.

MY focus needs to be what will help me.  That, in turn, will help my son, who is the most important person to me.  When I'm okay, he's more likely to be okay.  He's my mirror.  He does what I do.  It's the truth.

And when I'm okay, and my son's okay, I'm more likely to be able to help the situations that aren't okay.

It's that damn simple.

So I continue to brush away the dirt, bit by bit.

Until I'm okay.

Until I'm better.

Until I'm good.  So good that I have enough for others and am able to give it to them.

Crushed

I usually know where to begin.  Today, I don't.

I thought things would be better by now.  Not great, but steadily improving.

They aren't.  I'm not.

I know it all comes down to me.  I have to do the work.

I've said that so often, it's starting to leave a mark.

There is work all around me, in the clutter, in the boxes I'm afraid to open, in the piano I never play anymore.  There is work all within me, in the "official illness," in the emotional brokenness.  I am crushed under the weight of it all.

Do one thing every day, she says (I need a clever moniker for my therapist).

Except no one would ask you to do one thing if there were a refrigerator laying on you.  Surely, instead, someone would say, "Oh, my god, let me help you get that refrigerator off of you."  Or, "Are you all right?  That looks heavy and painful."  Or even just notice it.  "Wow, that chick has a refrigerator laying on her."

I've told people about the refrigerator.  Some people have even seen it.  No one helps me, though.

I guess here is where I have to admit that I don't receive help well and I have been known, often, to push people away as I crawl farther under the refrigerator.  I'm trying to think of the people who are close enough to me in my life who could and maybe should try to help, and trying to think if they have and if I made them leave...

Yeah, maybe.  Probably.

There were also a few whom I did try to let help, and they really hurt me instead.  

Stuff crushes me.  Big stuff, medium stuff... sometimes even the small stuff.  It pushes me down.  I don't know how to stop it from happening.

P (new moniker?) says, "Say, 'Fuck off.'  They don't matter."  I'd LIKE to do that...  Maybe I'll just do it here.  I think I will.  One thought I had when I sat down was to write open letters to some of the assholes.  Ha.  So here we go.

Dear RayTay's daughter, You were every bit as down as I was.  How dare you diss me for having the very same problems you had?  Fuck off.

Dear SmittyB, I tried to forgive you for all the shit at work.  When you're right there, it's easy to try to let the past be in the past.  Now that you're not there, though, well... I'm kind of glad.  I wish you the best, but kind of hope our paths don't cross again.  You don't have to fuck off.  Just stay the fuck off.

Dear Emotional Cripple, My friend gave you that nickname only knowing that you are emotionally unavailable.  The rest is total coincidence.  You're angry and bitter and alone and you have nothing to offer me.  That's a bummer, but it's no longer my concern.  Fuck off.

Dear Bottom-of-the-Barrell, What a dick.  "Take the weekend and mull it over, but I won't mention that during that time, I'll sleep with someone else..."  It blows my mind that you, an unemployed high-school dropout who lives with his mother and has no driver's license, are now with a beautiful, intelligent, activist woman.  It blows my mind even more that I discovered this because I was thisclose to contacting you to make myself feel better.  I take responsibility for the hurt I suffered because of you.  It feels great to tell you to fuck the fuck off.

Dear local S.O.B., The phrase, "You're not ugly" is NOT a compliment.  Fuck off.

Dear gun-nut S.O.B., You are scary and mean.  Fuck off.

Dear Midwest S.O.B., Your "I care about you"s and your "emotional connection"s... they're all part of your act as a player.  You do better at the shallow end of the pool.  Fuck off.

Sigh.

That was a lot of "fuck off."  I have no idea if I feel better or not.

And even if I did, the world is still there.  The guns and death, the politics and this horrid election season, the world and its pain...  Can I tell all those things to fuck off, too?  Just float the fuck away because I want to be happy?  Because that's what I want.  I want to be able to live in this world and be the amazing person I'm supposed to be, and NOT be crushed by the pain and hurt.

I have things to do, for fuck's sake.  I have a beautiful kid to raise and teach and have fun with.  I'm a glorious catch and I need to let someone catch me.

So how the hell do I get out from under the refrigerator?

I don't know.

Ask for help, maybe...?

Maybe.

I'm going to leave with a song of hope, which is not what I really wanted.  I had another song in mind.  But I'll be honest, I feel like I'm at a tipping point right now.  I feel like if I choose the other song, the song that speaks to and of the crushing darkness I've been feeling, it would push me in a direction I shouldn't go.  It's the direction I sort of FEEL like going - underneath a heavier fridge, if you will - but I think it might crush parts of me for good if I go too much further that way.

I don't want to be crushed for good.

So here's to hope.

Buried

Initially, when I sat down and poured out some words a few hours ago, the first line was, "Jesus, what a fucking mess."

It's good that I no longer feel that needs to be the first line of today's post.  It was certainly how I felt when I wrote it, and I was hoping it would also offer sufficient explanation as to why I haven't posted in awhile (not that anyone's counting, but whatever).  

But I worked on some of the fucking mess and it  no longer feels necessary to begin with it.

Don't get me wrong, though.  The mess is still there.  And here.  And over here, some.  And in here.

But, anyway.  As I was saying...

Apparently, it’s normal to have it within yourself to be fulfilled and happy.  

I don’t have that.  I need (or have myself convinced that I need) it from the outside.  From someone else.  From something else. 

But I guess it’s supposed to come from me.

How do you get that?

How do you find that contentment, that feeling that even though things might sometimes be bad or sad or whatever else, that when it comes down to it, you’re all right?  How do you find that?

I don’t mean I want to be happy and feel perfect all the time.  I’m just tired of feeling empty.

Nothing fills it.

I’ve tried.  Trust me, I’ve tried.

(This quote comes to mind: "All you want is to be filled up and whether it's by a man or by tons of disgusting slop makes no difference.  None of it can make up for your ridiculous, egotistical self-loathing."  It's from a movie I'm somewhat embarrassed to have watched, but parts of it hit home, like this line.  Is my self-loathing really egotistical?  That's something to ponder.  I also liked the part about the soul trees.)

But anyway, again.

I’m sick of the mess.  I’m sick of believing and acting as if I don’t have it within me to fix it.

I’m so fucking stuck.

I read once that action begets motivation, not the other way around.  I can truly dig it.  I believe it.  

But when you don’t act.  When you feel you can’t… then what?

This is where I am.  I’m stuck.

I buried myself.

..........................................more digressions...............................................

There were some hours, this evening, during which I brushed the dirt  off of my face.  Like the time I woke up in snow and believed I would drown and was so relieved when my arms could move and my face found the air.  Maybe... maybe that's where I am at this moment.

"Knocked flat out on the ground, she could see the sky clearly..." 

Could I...?

Dirt

I haven't written in awhile.  I haven't done anything in awhile, at least not anything I can write about here.  Not so much because it's too awful for your delicate sensibilities, but because I don't want to tell anyone.  Not even my pen and paper self.

Just feelin' like dirt of late.  Dead, dull dirt.

Salad (with seeds) on Saturday

It's almost 1:00.  I should probably put on my glasses.  And pants.

Dance-cleaning.  Coffee.  Goddamn Facebook, of course, because lonely and attention.

I think my Liz Phair Pandora station makes me cool and hip, when, in fact, no song on there so far is fewer than ten years old, and I wouldn't know if it was.  This cracks me up.  I am cool and hip!

Lots of Rilo Kiley, Regina Spektor, Kate Nash.  Weezer isn't afraid to show up (their Blue album is 20+ years old.  Get out!).  Hey, it's the Pixies!  The presence of their songs makes me feel cool and hip, when, in fact, there are maybe three of their songs that ever show up, and I wouldn't know if any others did.  I like them, though.  Because I am cool and hip.

More coffee, I think.  Whee!

Usually, Saturday stales around 4, when I realize time's a'tickin' toward Monday, but I get J at 4 today.  I was so worried about him spending time with the ex-husb, but I find  I love the time to myself (my music! no pants!), and being away from J makes him drive me somewhat less bonkers with his crazy teenage shit.  Damn, I luh dat kid.  We're getting Chinese then doing a mega grocery trip when I get him.

Currently in my fridge?  Milk, coffee creamer, yogurt, cheese (damn, that's a lot of dairy... huh), old eggs, two containers that need emptied and washed, hot dogs, and Newcastle I bought at Christmas.  A tiny bit ashamed, but it also amused.  I will have a Newcastle tonight.  Yes, bitch.

More coffee.  It holds off the appetite and there's nothing in my fridge.  Ha!

Glasses on (and Mazzy Star... that's a whoooooole other post...).  It's hours before I have to get J, though.  Hell with pants.

Will be back for seconds.

Fallow

Contemplating poetry vs just saying it.

I'm lonely.

I suppose I'm not "ready" (whatever the hell that really means) to be in a "relationship."  Doesn't mean I don't really, really want one.

Yep, no poetry here.  Just the feeling.

The music has been good lately.  And I'm getting things done around the house that I have put off for ages.  I feel less "stuck," which is just short of miraculous.  Why isn't that enough?  I think about my last post... care, write, music, be happy... Why isn't it enough?  Why can't I lie down at night and be grateful for all that's going well, rather than sad for what I don't have.  Is it just human nature?  Habit?  If I try hard enough, can I make myself non-lonely, non-longing?

Not sure who the hell I'm asking.

Oh, I miss having regular friends, too.  Everyone is at arm's length, and that's pretty damn close for me.  I miss having friends who know my shit.  I stopped letting people know my shit when I started seeing the person I would eventually marry and divorce.  That person introduced a level of crazy and sad and shame I had never had before.  It was my fault for letting him in and letting it go on.  But what he did was not my fault.  His anger, abuse, fear... I own none of that.  It wasn't my fault and I didn't deserve it.  The side effects linger, though.  I closed myself off.  I hid.  I'm still hiding.  I'm used to hiding.

I have been slowly, slowly un-hiding over the past few months.  A date.  A brief fling.  A somewhat revealing blog (which no one's reading, but whatever).  Slightly more eye contact than I used to make.  I have a lot of healing to go, though.  Which, I guess, is why I am still alone with no friends closer than arm's length.  I guess that's closer than it used to be, though.

No poetry here today.  Just release.

An empty field, waiting.  Spring grows warmer, though.  Maybe there's something to that. (I thought about trying to haiku that up, but I don't really feel like it.  Just let it lie.)

The music is good lately.  Hurts and heals.

Thirteen lucky petals

(This was actually written on 4/13... by hand, even!  So pretend for a minute that you're reading this on that date.  K, thanks.)

J and I took out the garbage tonight and played outside.  J inadvertently scared two pigeons out of their hiding spot which, in turn, scared him out of his skin ("I can feel the adrenaline in my tongue...").  He hopped to the top of a retaining wall, light as a cat.  I climbed it, graceful as an elephant.  We raced to the car and laughed.  He spent the evening in the living room with me.

We should take out the garbage more often.  We must play more often.

I have been somewhat afraid of thirteens in recent years.  I'm not sure why.  I know it's all superstition.  Still, in life's difficult or stressful or worrisome situations, when a thirteen was added to the mix, I would be hit with a small but powerful emotional "d'oh!"  Like the time I, a nervous-ish flyer, was seated in row thirteen of the airplane (d'oh!).  Or when my latest poetry club started at school and I was nervous enough, and on the first day I had thirteen students (d'oh!).  Or being in the midst of an uncertain and emotional situation, on the edge of an ending I didn't want, and the 13th of the month was looming (sigh... d'oh...).

So I approached today with trepidation.  And the difficult bit did come to pass.  Not a huge bit.  Not a bridge burned or an awful exchange or anything, but the sad choice to say goodbye to something.  It hurt.  I was disappointed.  I let a few tears fall.  It wasn't a choice I wanted to make, but I felt I needed to, so I did it.

And then my day improved.  Exponentially.  To the thirteenth power.

After goodbye and the thirteen or so tears, I felt stronger... I felt strong.  The best part is, I realized almost immediately that I had learned from what I lost.  I recently saw a quote by attributed to Confucius: "Learning without thought is labor lost; thought without learning is perilous."  I have thought long about this situation while I was in it.  I think a lot about things.  I often struggle (yeah, or don't bother) to find or adequately consider the lesson in them, though.  I learned from this one, though, and I feel real strength and happiness in that.

Here's what I got:

       When you don't take care of things, people will think you don't care

       The purpose of writing is to get rid of the garbage

       Music is not to make you feel better or worse, it's to let you know you aren't alone

       He wants me to be happy

Here's what I'll remember:

       Care          Write          Music          Be happy

And tonight, this 13th evening of the month, I learned from taking out the garbage and playing with J.  I learned to remember to take out the garbage with J.  I learned to remember to play with J.  And I think maybe I learned to stop being afraid of thirteens.

Compost

I took all the fruit and seeds and stems and leaves and put them in a bin.  It all turned into... crap.

I had step-grandparents when I was younger.  They lived on several acres and they had many animals and a huge garden.  After Grandpa passed, several people from the community and their church would come in the spring and summer and work the garden for Grandma.  I remember people would go to the goat pen and get "good rich dirt" for the garden.  That's what they called it.  But it was really just goat poop that had been there for a long time, right?

What a shitty metaphor I'm working on here (haha... shitty...).  What I was eventually hoping to get around to was that sometimes good things can come out of the bad (swung right from a bad metaphor to a cliche, there... Awesome).  Sometimes crap can turn into something that really helps things grow.

There's been a lot of crap since 2010 when I last freaking blogged.  There's been a lot of crap since YESTerday.  Quite frankly, I'm sick of the crap.

So.

It's time to turn that shit into "good rich dirt."  Time to grow for real.  Someone with an MA and a bunch of other letters recently told me that I am "really stuck" and "just so damaged."  It was sort of vindicating... "SEE?  I really AM screwed up!  No wonder I'm having such a hard time!"  But that went away pretty quickly and I thought, "Oh.  I'm really stuck.  I am just so damaged.  Crap."

And it's the truth, Ruth.  A fact, Jack.

Enough is enough.  Every day, from now until forever, I have to do the work.

There is so much work.

Sometimes waking up feels like work.

Sometimes fun feels like work.

Growing useful plants from the ground?  That has ALWAYS felt like work.  I envy those who find the pleasure and the zen in it.

Anyway.  I have work to do.  It's part of why I started writing this again (this feels like work, too).  I have to get my shit together.

And I'm hoping maybe it will stop feeling like shit, stop feeling like work, and start to feel like growth and life again.