Butterflies? Or Maggots???

I figured I'd better document how I feel.

Today was my first day of work.  Meetings and such. 

I am exhausted.  My head is swimming.  I feel overwhelmed and underprepared.

I also feel nauseated.  I felt nauseated last night and also this morning.  My body is trying to tell me something.  It could be that the stress is making me nauseated--though that has never happened before.  Usually stress causes... other intestinal issues.  But not nausea.

Maybe my body is telling me that something is up with my medication.  I'm not sure why now.

Maybe my body is telling me there's a serious medical condition.

MAybe I contracted triple E!! 

Maybe my body is trying to show me just how not-right I am for this career?

Maybe it is nothing more than a summer bug.

Maybe I have a tooth coming in. . . wait... that only works for babies, right?

So I'm exhausted.  I have a ton of shit to get done tonight that I don't have time or energy to do.

Fun way to start the year.  I am never kind to myself, am I?

Can I have another month? Please?

 No, Vaguely threatening and suspiciously militant pencils, no I surely am not.

not ready.

Absolutely losing my mind here.

Feel like running away.

When you're a grown up there's another name for that, i think.

The proverbial clock is ticking like a mother fucker and I want out of this nightmare!

When is Closure not Closure?

When it's ajar!

No.  Seriously.

I've never had a real breakup. Not really.  I met Aaron when I was 13.  We started dating when I was 14.  We broke up once.  That was real.  But the thing is-- we got back together and it all worked out.  Happily the fuck ever fucking after. 

So when I fell in love this time--and fell really fucking hard--and it really truly really honestly couldn't work?  Whoosh.  Rough. 

Ok.  I won't use euphemisms.  It was brutal.  Talk about broken heart.  Ripped out, wrung out, and then left for vultures.

My fault.  I own it.  I accept all the blame. 

But.  Sheesh.

The self-doubt that accompanies it.  The miserable self-loathing.  The vitriol and the what if.  The weeping and the wondering. 

So.  I had my very first break-up.  No matter how we swore we'd still be friends.  It just couldn't happen.  Not right away.  I waded in too far, nearly drown myself, and so, naturally, needed to stay out of those dark, murky waters for a while. 

So how does one find closure if they're too chicken-shit to go back and look for it?  They don't.  They live with lingering questions and they cling to the mistakes and the good times both.  They exist in this toxic, miasmic sort of limbo where everything is distrorted, very little is real, and it makes healing a slow, torturous process.

But how in heaven's name can there be closure when no one really closes a door?  No one really says final words, goodbyes, fare-thee-wells and puts the whole debacle in the past?

I don't know, but I guess I'm going to find out :)

Because the roads of communication are open once more. 

And I didn't crumple.  And I didn't make a complete ass of myself.  And honestly?  It felt pretty good.  I can say I was breathing easier after than I was before.

So.  In tumblr fashion, a pictorial representation of my reunion:

Walked 4 miles through Borderland!

A lot of catching up to do! I talked her ear off about my issues!

Healthy Fruit Picnic

Confession Time. 

Spirituality and Souls.

This painting is entitled "Leap of Faith"

Friends.  Warm Feelings.  Plans for next time.

So healing begins?  Feels like a bandaid on a compound fracture, lol, but its a start!

My Tumblr

School is starting soon.  My new Job.  A new school year.  I barely survived my first year, and everyone kept telling me 'the first year is the hardest'.  But, really, essentially, this is a first year all over again.  First time in a new school district.  First time teaching this grade.  New curriculum. 

Last time I posted I lamented that I was not a visual artist.  A friend of mine was recently called to visual expression--and how freeing and healthy that must feel. 

I have been called to further self destruction. 

So.  behold.  The pictographic representation of my thoughts, feelings, and whatever, on the upcoming school year, my life, my future, and my every living moment.

**Disclaimer: none of the pictures are of my own creation.  They are all stolen from other sources--from people who actually have talent and ability, and drive enough to post their work on the internets.  You should know by now that I have no know-how, ability, talent, or drive for such things.  I am merely ripping off the work and art of other people.

In no particular order... the state of my being:

Only you'll never catch me in tights!

Tumblr?

My husband turned thirty today!  I did everything I could to make the day easy, relaxed, and enjoyable.

We worked on painting our tetris shelves; we went to breakfast at Persy's (DEfuckingLICIOUS); we chillaxed; we watched MONK; We cuddled; we got fine cheeses and bread to eat for dinner; we were very kind and pleasant and loving.

In a bit we will be more romantic...  I mean, we already did that this morning too, but we'll do more of it...

But the thing I wanted to write about was the fact that he started a Tumblr page.  Account?  I'm not even sure what Tumblr is/does, other than have the best fucking pornographic images on the net. 

So I went and checked it out.  And it made me sad.  Sad because I am not and never will be a VISUAL ARTIST.  I'm not a photographer, a sculptor, a painter.  I don't draw or sketch.  I can't do much more than open photoshop before I'm hopelessly lost. 

So it loooks like I won't have a tumblr. 

I don't usually let the fact that I am not a VISUAL artist bother me.  It irks me sometimes when working on a show, but usually I accept the things I cannot change and move on.  But I've always kinda wished I could express myself like that. 

Instead my art lies in how I ...what?  Interpret a role someone else has written?  Perform a song someone else has composed?  Direct people to stand and move in a play someone else has created?

Yeck.

Or, dare I fantasize that my art lies in how I string words together?  That I am an artist of a writer? 

No.  Not even remotely. 

I'm pretty great at sex, but I'm not sure that's a visual art, as I am in the worst shape of my life.

So what would I do on my tumblr?

Sigh.

I'll just have to press my nose to the window of visual genius.  Shivering out in the cold I'll wistfully gaze at the pictoral party.

but I'm happy to have had a lovely day with my tri-decade man!

Quotes, Lists, and Stars

"But I'm getting ahead of myself..."

That's me.  That's what I do.  I get ahead of myself.  I always have.  Mountains out of molehills and whatnot.  Where normal folks see a situation for what it is and what it could be, I take a situation, read WAYYYYYYY too much into it and begin constructing castles on clouds.

"Don't get your hopes up" is what people have always had to caution me.  Because I do.  I don't just get my hopes up a bit, my hopes, my hopes go sky high.  They go intergalactic.  You might be able to imagine, then, just how very steep a fall it inevitably is when my hopes are dashed.

Unreasonable expectations. 

Unreasonable delusions, really.

I move too fast, get too excited, jump in with both feet and all the rest of me.  Sopping wet and too often drowning because I never thought to pause long enough to construct a life preserver.  Or an anchor.  Or a pier.  Or a way out.

Just plunge right in.

"Everything will be OK" is what Aaron continually assures me.  I think probably my mother has said that too.  She's an optimist to the point of pure delusion as well. 

But will it be ok?  Really?  I go back and forth (what a surprise, right?). 

To some extent I expect that it will be OK.  As long as I have the love of my best friend and partner, I imagine I can face anything.

But OK?  Really?  What's the metric on that?  Is there a standard by which we're measuring the OK-ness?

Things I'm grateful for:

Health (physical.  we're working on mental and spiritual...it's a process, I'm told...)
Love; of my husband, my friends, my family, my pets (hey, they are always there to cuddle.)
Roof over my head, and a place to call my own (incredibly grateful for this).
Job (very blessed.  very.)
Food (we hardly ever struggle with not having enough to eat.  Thank you, universe, family, and friends.)
Freedom (I live in a democracy and am not incarcerated.  I am free)
The Internet (freedom of information, access to the world at my fingertips...incredible)
Games (board, card, word, video.  They engage my mind and often engage me with others)


OK.  Not so bad.  I guess everything will be OK.  Maybe even a bit better than OK.  I have alot.  Maybe I need to remind myself of that more often.

Things I am afraid of/burdened by/worried about/stressing over

MONEY (not having nearly enough, never mind any extra)
BILLS (they never stop and I just can't pay them all)
TIME (I can't slow it down, nor speed it up.  It keeps going, and I feel shackled by it, to it.)
My Parents.  (They are deteriorating.  They need help that I can't give.)
My Job.  (Will I be any good?  Will I be able to keep this one?  How can I succeed at this one where I failed at the last one?)
Career.  (Am I even in the right profession? What's my real calling?  Will I ever find it, or be content?)
MOTHERHOOD (everyone expects it--but do I want it?  When?  How?  If?!)
Marriage.  (Am I doing it right?  I keep fucking up.  When will I be worthy of this person?)
HEALTH (Mental.)
HEALTH (Spiritual)
HEALTH (Weight)
HOUSE (will we?  when?  How?  If?  WHEN?  Where?  HOW???????????)
Cleaning (because it is loathsome)
Responsibilities (because I suck at them)
Rent (because it is always due.)
Confusion (because it lingers, it plagues me and won't let me live in peace)
Time.
Money.
 The will to live.  It comes and goes. And that's not a good thing.

So, as you can see, there's the flip-side.

How to focus on the positive.  That's the objective.  Sometimes the effort it takes to simply focus on the positive and work toward healthy, sometimes that exhausts me so completely that I can't seem to muster the energy to do everything else I'm supposed to do.

A friend asked if I was still writing.  And for whatever reason, the question keeps popping up in my head.  I answered truthfully, I told her 'no'.  Because I'm not.  I mean, jesus, when she asked I hadn't even made a blog entry in over a month.  I answered truthfully.  So why does the question haunt me?

I think about writing.  Daily.  But don't do it.  I even stopped re-reading and tweaking my old writing.  I let everything go.

But now.

Aaron and I went out in the wee hours to watch the Perseid meteor shower the other night.  It was overcast and we didn't see much action.  But we saw one glorious, blazing, breathtaking shooting star.  It made me giddy and I opened my mouth and exclaimed just like a little kid. It was brilliant, burnt right through the haze and lit up the sky.

And I was so in awe that I forgot to think of a wish.  Couldn't even formulate one.  I tried to slap one on it after-the-fact, but I don't know how much it will count.  Is it like the 5-second rule for dropped food items?  I used an old stand-by wish.  The kind you fervently wish whenever you can.  A good one, but, you know, not very original.  Not a wish worthy of this amazing celestial gift, I don't think.

 

 

Once Brazen and Electric

I learned the hard way that just taking the requisite pills isn't enough to fix me.

That darkness lurks around every bend; waiting; ready; hungry.

My struggle isn't something that I can simply medicate away. 

And mortality looms... finality teases and taunts and tortures me.

And I'm forced to move forward.  To keep breathing.  To keep ... subsisting... to continue on into the unknown, and to do so exposed, vulnerable, frightened.

What choices are there, really?

Agreements made in desperation, promises signed in need--now come to collect.  Would that I could simply give them a pound of flesh!  How gladly I'd part with that.  But it isn't something so trivial as flesh they want.

It's my soul they're after.  My life-that-might-have-been.  My dreams they dismantle and repossess. 

And I'm forced to move forward.  I keep breathing, despite.  I keep functioning, an automaton, a shell.

I wake up every day.  I find some joy, some warmth, some laughs and some love.  A great deal of love, for which I am continually grateful and constantly humbled.

And escape is ever on my mind.  In my bones.  My pulse.

Escape.  Not solutions.  Because solutions seem to me at this point, as futile and far-fetched as the winning ticket in a lottery.  Solutions are for other people--and look how well they're managing! 

But me?  I want out.  Away.  New Beginnings.  Fresh, clean, unburdened. 

I guess I want to hope again.  To dream without fear of watching those dreams torn down before my eyes.  Dismantled piecemeal, to give way to expenses and banal realities and crushing responsibilities.

I want to be brazen and electric again-- if ever I was... surprising and spontaneous and bold.

Wellness seems such a far way off at this point.  And I'm already so thoroughly exhausted and disillusioned by this journey.

Wellness.

Wholeness.