Tag: insane moments

Slip Sliding Away

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img_1484I have always had a touch of social somethingness. Call it anxiety, call it timidness, call it what you will, but I’ve always had it. Lately, it’s gotten worse in a weird way. I’m starting to avoid other things besides odd people. Case in point: I didn’t miss my nephew’s birthday. I was aware of his two-ness all Sunday long yet never got around to sending him anything. I didn’t forget. I just didn’t do. Same with a grandmother. It’s remembering without reaction. Three anniversaries went by and while I thought of the lovebirds, every one of them, I didn’t acknowledge them. What is wrong with me? Those well meaning phrases, “I meant to…” “I wanted to…” don’t mean a thing. And I’ve never liked “It’s the thought that counts” because it’s a copout and besides, no one’s reading my mind as of late. I can assure you that.

Maybe it’s the househunt and the inexplicable want to live just shy of gangland. Maybe it’s the fact I *just* got my car back (today!) and it still needs more work. Maybe it’s the job and the disappointment that I don’t have the most enthusiastic team. Maybe it’s the family and the guilt of not making the trek to see them for the holidays. I can’t even pat myself on the back for running 5.25 miles today.

I feel as though I am slip sliding away from my heart. Some will read this and call me over reactive. Prima-donna dramatic. I think it’s just the opposite. I don’t have the energy to care. My enthusiasm has flat lined.It’s as if I am dead to me.

When I Go

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hauntedI asked my husband why graveyards weren’t decorated for Halloween. Or Christmas, for that matter. I think my question took him by surprise. “Well…it doesn’t seem right…” he answered slowly. Cemeteries have always been my place of sanctuary so I’m sure he was afraid of offending me.

“Well,” I retorted sharply, “when I die I would like you to bring me a Jack-o-Latern. On Halloween have it lit. Leave me candy, maybe a few plastic spiders.” Kisa laughed and said he thought he could handle that. It didn’t seem to be such a tall order for after death. He did warn me that the pumpkin would look funny, though.

Dare I Say It?

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dentedYou know that saying, the one about sh!t and the pot…? I felt that way about the home-buying experience. As a virgin in the last realm left for me-property – I was beginning to feel that sh!torgetoffthepot urgency. Weekend after weekend, checking out open houses with closed minds, week after week of reading and deleting property updates, thinking this could work, but knowing it wouldn’t. I was getting fed up with the process because it felt like spinning wheels and wasting gas. It wasn’t enough to see the potential in a house when the neighborhood was awful (or vise versa). What, exactly, were we waiting for? Christmas in July?

Then Kisa crashed my car. Well, more accurately, some woman plowed into him. Either way, my car took the hit and couldn’t go a mile further. Either way I was rendered transportationless. It was a mental thing. I didn’t need the wheels but suddenly when I was without them, I was missing them. Big time. Somehow, in some way, being powerless to motion spurred me into action. I called a real estate agent.

I called an honest to goodness, real, realtor. It’s as if I needed a proverbial chili dog to get me moving. Dare I say it? I’m staying on the pot.

counting them up

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When I recited the exact date of when I met a friend she chided me, “…speaking of demons! You can’t let go of yours!” I had to laugh. I was ready to blurt out the old caught in the act, “it’s not what it looks like!” Because it is true. For all intents and purposes it doesn’t look like I have let go of anything.
But, as I explained to my friend, I have good demons. I keep them with me to remind me of how my life could have turned out; where I could have been. I think of her brother and know that I am not vain enough to think I would ever have any impact on his life. So, if our relationship had worked out I would be a puzzle piece in his very complicated life. Fate has run its course and everything would be as it is today. There is a demon and his name is Care, because I still do.
Then there is the demon Gabriel. He is the angel of hurt and pain. He exists to remind me of of troubles far deeper than anything I live with today. Liked a drowning survived I have surfaced.
I cannot forget the demon of Humility. I cannot forgive myself for the pains I have caused others. My selfish need to be the center of someone elses world at a loved one’s expense. I never, ever want to go down that road again so I cannot let myself forget.
So many demons to keep for so many reasons. I love them all, need them all, want them all.

And yet. My friend is right.

I was having dinner with someone the other night. We sat stabbing pasta and fiddling with drink straws while discussing family and the expectations bred within bloodlines. Something she said struck a nerve, rattled a belief, and disconnected an age old longing. Just because you are tied by genes doesn’t mean you have to be tethered. I thought I wanted that tell-all, close as shadows siblingry – the first to know, the last to let go kind of relationship. In all actuality I have never known it or needed it. Another demon to let go of.

Who Are You (& what have you done with me)?

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For the record:
For the time being I am glad we still live next door to the in-laws. Who knows what he would have done if we didn’t hear his cries for help?
I am not upset about the sirsy mobile being in an accident. Driver is okay, car is not. It’s time I moved on anyway.
I still think the attitude of my coworkers staff bites. Being angry about it “not being your job” just makes me want to say, “Find another one.”
It’s not my fault feelings change. I said I would be there, but not in that way. Not anymore. Get over it. I did.
I still haven’t forgotten which means I still haven’t forgiven. Maybe it’s the lack of forgiveness that won’t let me forget.

As I think these things and feel these things I have to wonder where I went. Hope it was good.

Look You in the Eye

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So small

I had a funny thoughtquestion yesterday. It came out of someone else acting tougher than need be. When is it okay to say you need? When is it okay to lean on someone else for support even though you know damn well you can do it all by yourself? If my father had his way for my life he wouldn’t have wanted me to need anyone for anything. “Figure it out for yourself” he would have said. Be tough, be strong. Be blahblahblah.
Wrong.
I have this friend. This amazing friend who I sometimes complain to, bitch to, vent to, rant to. She listens with every fiber of her being and then tells me what I already know. I need her in my life to keep me sane. I may think I’m having an insane moment; a very insane moment, but she’ll reel me back in and tell me what’s logical about my lunacy. I don’t need her yet I do.
I have this husband. This wise-azz, smart, sensible husband who I sometimes whine to, cry to. I ask him permission to buy spooky signs, giant pumpkins and haunted villages. I need him in my life to keep my budget grounded. I may think I can afford every ghost, cat, witch and skull that comes along but he’ll reel me back in and tell me what’s illogical about my yearnings. He tells me what I already know. I don’t need him yet I do.
I have this life. This funny, crazy, vulnerable life which I sometimes think isn’t worth bothering with. I see black clouds and glass-half-empties all the time and often I find myself asking what’s the point? It’s then that I realize I need this life just the way it is, just the way it turned out. I can look you in the eye and say it. I need you.

Snagged

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Southern end

I hate this murky underwater apathy. This floating through things on tired waves of discontent. Lately, all I want to do is give it up. Why am I exhausted and who should I blame? Maybe it’s the dreams. At night I have nightscares that frighten me so badly I wake disorientated and confused. I struggle to ask myself why do I repeatedly have visions of bombers flying over Monhegan, dropping weapons of mass destruction? Masked fighter pilots spewing hundreds of rounds of bullets into people and places. We run, we scatter, yet there is blood. There is death I can’t explain. The sad thing is this. In my dreams I see them coming from miles and miles away. The sky is crystal clear, glaring and brilliant blue. At first they are dots on the horizon, yet I know who they are and what will happen when they arrive. I am powerless to stop it. As they get closer details emerge until I can see their faces. My dreams make them human and cruel.
Another repeat offended is the dream of drowning. Monhegan is hit with a wave as big as Texas. Again, there is that sense of foreboding. I can see it coming from miles away but I’m powerless to stop it.

Some say I want to destroy home. Some say I am started to dread the return, but what part I always ask. It’s true that Colorado started out as a joke, but has become more of a deep wishful thinking as time goes on. I fantasize about being snagged by the Rockies. I dream about being trapped miles from New England with no direction (or desire) to go home. Is that what I really want?

Mums the Word

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Dear You,

I haven’t known how to write this letter. I haven’t known exactly what to say. It wouldn’t really matter because, knowing me, once it was all said and written I wouldn’t have sent it anyway. Excuse the grammar but it’s true. You wouldn’t have gotten whatever it was that I wanted to say, in more ways than one. Instead, I am tempted to be like a politician and say what you want to hear all the while not really saying anything at all. This is how we get along best, am I right? I don’t tell you what I really feel and you don’t spill anything worth a thing either way. Polite as polite can be except with a bite of caustic. That’s us.

You told a story over a meal and I wanted to throw up. What you didn’t say was so telling. What you meant was so obvious it made my stomach roll. I realize I have always been the stronger one. There was never a need to protect me. I acted like nothing could pierce my armor or hurt my pride. My heart was unbreakable and my soul, unreachable. Cold as an Ice Queen in the heart of January. I accept that image. I am comfortable with the chill of uncaring. But, here I am, waiting. I wait for glass half full comments; signs of compliment. They never come. Condescending, accusing, critical, not a single good thing to say. With each utterance I slide away. Closing myself off from wanting to be anywhere near your mouth. If you don’t have anything nice to say…. I played a game in my head. For every criticism it’s one less month here. When I got to three years I gave up knowing I could never stick to my story and stay away for that long. There are too many other things I would miss. Even you. Eventually. I don’t care that I’m not worth worrying about. I don’t care that I’ve never been a cause for real concern. Blame it on the drugs. Blame it on the maladjustment period (or whatever they call it these days). Blame it on the rain. I don’t care.

So, I didn’t say what I really wanted to say. Mums the word.

But I feel better.

Destroying Stupid Part I

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I had saved all of my other ramblings from ThatSpace. Kept them in a book for some odd reason. Yesterday, I started rereading them. Today I started destroying them. Yesterday they meant something. Today they are stupid. In between the lines I found a few words worth saving, but for the most part I enjoyed destroying stupid.

  • It is not what was said that has cut into my self respect. It’s the justification that followed. I am walking anger. ~ March 13, 2006
  • There is no drama in my marriage, no Jezebel moments. ~March 28, 2006
  • I have faith in 11/06/06. ~ April 6th, 2006.
  • I am ten steps away from my black cloud. ~ April 26th, 2006
  • I make no apologies for choosing not to streak so naked through my rant with reckless, yet vulnerable abandon. ~ July 25, 2006

It’s funny. I think I hold onto all these statements because I remember the moments that prompted them. Isn’t that always the way? You hang onto a hurt because of the way it makes you hate. Well, hate’s a really strong word. I’ll take that one back. And…not all of these favorite quotes come from wanting to bash someone’s head in. April 6th was the day I decided to say something about my sister’s pregnancy. November 6th was the due date. I was hoping for Halloween, but spooky didn’t cooperate. April 26th quote was a bout of melancholy that had nothing to do with madness. *sigh*

These are the days I will remember. For the rest there’s destroying stupid.

You Are My Sunshine

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There comes a time when you have to let down your guard. Relax. You have to give up the devices that keep you from being your true self, such as you really are. Really. There comes a time when I can no longer understand you as you think you are. I cannot pretend. Yes, you with the ego so fragile you have to come across as bragging and boisterous. I really do not understand your lack of humility or modesty. Is it a game?Why do you have to let everyone know you think you are the greatest? Do you need to yell to drown out the doubting voices in your head? Always looking to make sure you were heard, you were noticed. Looking for the compliment, begging for the praise. What a good dog. Please don’t. I’m begging you. Don’t. Your constant jokes. Your constant need to be smart. Pathetic. Please relax. You are loved the way you are. Really.

Talking to Myself Again

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I am very used to talking to myself while driving; having full conversations while cooking alone; debating the issues with me and moi in the shower. It’s all been said before – to myself. What I’m not used to is talking to myself when I *think* someone else is supposed to be listening; getting the message, and responding. It’s been happening a lot and I think it’s driving me crazy.

The first time was when I was on the phone with mum. Blah blah blah. We can talk for hours. That’s my fault. I call once a month or less. We have a lot of catching up to do. The last time I was going on and on about something – not important because even I can’t remember what it was – when all of a sudden my mother is asking hello? hello? like I had hung up on her. How long had I been blathering? More importantly, how long had I been talking to myself? How much did she didn’t get? Sighing and ignoring my husband’s bemused look with raised eyebrow, I started from the beginning.

Then there’s the small incident with texting. I was deep in conversation when all of a sudden I noticed my last three texts had gone unanswered. Was I texting to myself? Was I a disconnected dork? Feeling a little put out I shut off my phone and buried it under a bag.

Most recently there was FaceBook. I have to admit I think there is a conspiracy afoot. FB and Google have me good. My problem is I am too rushed to notice if my email is a Facebook message or a real, honest-to-goodness email. Lately, I am assuming the latter and write back these big long, dramatic, here’s everything that has been going on with me emails. I pour out my trials and tribulations leaving no detail untyped. With great satisfaction and a feeling of connectedness I click send on my communication….only to have message delivery failure message pop up because the message I thought I was responding to wasn’t actually an email.

I don’t think there is a moral to the story. I don’t think there is a cure for what ails me. I will always talk to myself in some fashion. Waiting for someone to respond is just part of the game, I guess. In the meantime, I guess I should log onto FaceBook and answer some messages or walls or whatever!

Something From Yesterday

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Advantage for the Taking

Someone unexpected lifted me out of my self-imposed anger today. I had been walking about with this you done me Wrong attitude and she turned it into a Right. Not only unexpected but downright heart stopping shocking. I had written her off a long time ago. Suddenly, I am seeing the faint lines of forgiveness coming through the hate. Am I mad?
I hate being lied to and this lie was self-indulgent and stupid. I could have handled the truth but something chose to make it worse by putting my heart in the mix. The smokescreen was as ridiculous as the lie. Could I not see through it? I couldn’t help but vent. After all, I am allergic to smoke. A sort of blood letting for the hurt, so to speak. The kicker is that I chose to spew my frustration to someone who used to produce just as much irritation as I was trying to release. I couldn’t help it and to make matters worse, there was no stopping me once I got going…you know how it is.
Surprise of all surprises, my rant was met with calm. Understanding. Even a solution of sorts. I couldn’t help but laugh, feel a litte silly. Just how old am I anyway? So, there we are: the barnacle, the newbee, the about face and me. Go figure.

Strange How the Mind Works

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I was silent all day yesterday because the mind was in overdrive. Funny how that is. There are some days that are stickier than others. Why is that? Why do I remember everything, every little detail, like it was yesterday? The details are stuck like flies on the fly strips of my mind. Twisting and turning, but never completely shaking loose. I can remember the color of your shirt. The way your boots were left untied. The stillness of the room when it was all over. The heavy door closing with a quiet click. The leaving.

There are four days in September that replay like a movie in my head. Anniversaries of a different kind. They pull me down, wear me out. Curiously, each year my reaction to them is a little different. Some years they are as insane as a Stanley Kubrick film – images and memories too bizarre to handle calmly. I succumb to fits of crying, fits of rage. Other years I am dispassionate and objective, surveying the scenes with a cool eye and a cold heart. It’s not that I don’t care or that I’ve forgotten what these scenes mean to me. I’m just able to turn my head from them a little easier. They can’t touch me.
This year I surrounded myself with distraction. Little Miss Socializer. The Big E with all of its glutinous overloads. Greasy food. Flashing lights. Throngs of people. Crazy carnival music. IM’ing for the first time in three years. TalkTalkTalking on the phone. Sitting down to do nothing. Still, the scenes played out – like a movie half ignored. Something flickering in the background. Even when my past came to visit me I couldn’t admit to the memories. I played dumb and talked about the breakwater, ever repeating ‘you were the only one.’ Because that was what mattered then. Matters still.

Now it’s the day after. The clouds have all blown away. Someone has removed the fly strip, thrown it away for another year. There are other memories to come, but those will be met with predictable ease. I will look them in the eye, recognition comes with a nod and then, then I move on. Strange how the mind works.

But You Love Me Anyway

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Rock Love
New love has quirks that are considered cute and lovable. Those things that a new lover says and does that are oh so different and revealing and disregarded. Those things are even adorable for a little while. Then, reality bites. Hard. There comes that time after the dust of desire has settled and new love matures into you and me, not one without the other. A given that you and me will be together. That’s when quirky becomes quite something else. Confusing. Contradicting. Infuriating. How we deal with these things that were once so lovable is a good indication of new loves maturity into real love. For me, adding up the quirks and realizing you are still with me is how I know you still love me. Regardless.

I was on the phone with a friend so I couldn’t quite comprehend the conversation occuring without me. I heard something about shoes. Something about a wallet. You were laughing. I knew you could only be discussing my quirks. With my friends no less. Some of whom have a whole wealth of stories on their own. I brought this on myself. I know I did.

It started innocently enough. It was last week. I was cooking curry turkey burgers and had somehow put the buns together wrong. Top with a top, bottom with a bottom. Still edible in my mind – just not pretty to look at. I’ve done it a hundred times before. You came down the stairs in time to hear me swear, in time to watch me try to flip bottom bun for a top. I turned to you and hissed through gritted teeth, “I will always leave my shoes in the middle of the floor. I will always misplace my keys. And. I will ALWAYS put the wrong halves of the buns together! So. You’ll just have to deal with it!” Instead of taking the bait. Instead of picking the fight I was wanting to have, you smiled at me and said gently, “I know something else you will always do.” Forgetting to be angry I dropped the fight and stopped dead. “What?” I wanted to know. “I’ll give you a hint” you replied as you proceded to close every cabinet door in the kitchen. What can I say? I was cooking like a fiend and didn’t have time to close cabinets!

I like tallying the quirks. I like seeing the oddities add up. The longer the list, the more I know you love me. Despite it all you love me anyway.
For the record:

  • I take my shoes off wherever and just leave them for kisa to trip over
  • I leave cups of half finished coffee in odd places, fully intending to finish them later (until they mold)
  • I lose my wallet, keys and/or phone on a regular, sometimes daily, basis
  • I leave cabinet doors open
  • I cannot put burgers together correctly
  • I hand material objects to random people and won’t remember it later
  • I have to cover restaurant food with a napkin when I’m finished
  • I cannot open resealable bags without somehow ruining the ziplock

To the love of my life. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being my lover. Thank you for making me strive to be a better person. I may have my quirks but my life is perfect with you in it. Happy anniversary!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Wasted on the Way

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Somewhere along the way I decided I wasn’t going to play the game anymore. Except, somewhere along the way I forgot to tell you. Consider this the open letter of I’m telling you now. I’m wasted enough to stop waiting.

I’m through with the games. We have been lying to each other for a while now. We play ping pong with promises. Bounce one to me and I’ll volley one back. But, really, they’re all lies. I have no intention of calling you. I have no intention of helping you out. The game is at the give up point and I’ve given all that I can. Now I’m just pretending. Now I’m just acting stupid because I can’t tell you how I really feel. Until now. I went from being your biggest fan favorite to feeling like the biggest fallout failure.

You used me to get somewhere else. That’s okay as long as you got where you needed to go. That’s only because I got something out of it, too. But now I’m done. There were too many other people involved and I can’t justify dragging them into this any longer. If there’s any dragging to be done it’ll be done by me – dragging my tail between my legs and admitting I was stupidstupidstupid.

Kisa has heard the rant. Time has heard the rant. I think everyone has heard the rant. The rant has turned me into a raving lunatic. Pass me the bottle. I want to poison myself enough to puke out everything vile, everything I thought I believed in. I need to get wasted to make you go away.