Aaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhh
I am a tiny, spiny, grimacing green eyed monster. I am so much inside myself these days that I seethe with envy over any and every expression of joy, connection, or contentment I see in those around me…I even found myself feeling jealous when having lunch with J_ today. Jealous of his grief, his youth, his resiliency, his stubbornness, his goddamn bobbing up and down like a cork in a turbulent sea. I listen to him grapple with the feeling of loss that comes with the death of a dream, and instead of empathy – instead, in fact, of the deep chortling irony that my lower brain puts forth, I feel eeeeeennnnvvy.
I want his hurt. I want his new love. I want his uncertainty and anger. I want the distraction of it all.
I am jealous of every other person’s life right now because in the moments between being busy, being asleep, and being a zombie in front of the interwebs, I am so fucking desperate not to be me right now.
Faced with something satisfying, an accomplishment, a dream – I’ve gone wild eyed and flailing. And then catatonic. And then, I could claw my own eyes out. Would rather, in fact, than use those claws to do “what makes me happy”. I can’t for the life of me figure out how to force or soak or downward dog these talons back into the hands that once made art.
Talk about pressure.
We’re having an exhibition.
I am excited and proud and overwhelmed and completely fucking paralyzed (in stuttering starts and stretches) with fear.
I need to let this toxic bullshit OUT.
Thanks for being here.
You are nothing if not home
Concert in the park
“I am a writer, a writer of fiction
I am the heart that you call home
And I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones.”
~engine driver, the Decemberists
I saw the Decemberists at the Malkin bowl tonight, and saw J_ out with his girlfriend. A little sad, but also liberating. I had been toying with the idea of asking him if we could try to be friends again. Now I know I’m not quite ready, but I actually feel (in some totally not desperate, blind, flailing way) like there’s hope for it yet.
I don’t know what’s up with C_ and I. There’s love there, but it’s growing up all stunted and hunched, crowded as it is by our egos and insecurities, and pale from being hidden away. It sucks, and I don’t want to do anything about it. It is entirely possible that I’d feel less alone without him in my life. It is also entirely possible that I am suffering solely from a lack of drama.
And call me in the morning.
I took two muscle relaxants for that pleasant, eyes soft-focused lilt, and now I lay here with a heavy feeling in my chest, awake but still, and full of worry. My brain sounds like this:
He hasn’t called. He must have died. Or gotten drunk and cheated and wants to talk in person. Or lost his phone. Or his phone died. Or he died. Or is in the hospital. I wouldn’t find out. Holy shit, I wouldn’t find out. Who would tell me? Maybe he lost his phone, and left a note on my door when I didn’t hear him knock. I should check. A note? He is not the type to leave a note. I should go for a walk, be anywhere but here when I get the news that he’s okay, just tired, just wants out of this relationship. Or is dead. (At this point I went down to check for a note, and, finding none but discovering I’d left the door unlocked knew for certain that he hadn’t been by. I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror and saw a sad person with my hair. I stripped and crawled back into bed, thought about masturbating and then thought how awful it would be if I was jerking off while he lay dying somewhere. This is certainly a ridiculous train of thought, but it’s a situation I’ve been in before, only with the movie ET and not masturbation, and the boy was, actually, dead.) Maybe I need a break. Do I need this relationship? Am I just questioning it because I am scared/stressed/lonely? Will I ever sleep? There’s no way I could be right, that something’s wrong. Didn’t I have this sick, heavy feeling before my brother opened the door and told me about S_? Or did that feeling just bleed into memories it doesn’t belong in? What if…
And this goes on for an hour and fifty-three minutes (or so) before I realize that it’s probably not going away unless I get it out. Anxiety = no fun.
I don’t want to live here, in this place of unease, anymore. I can smell the rain in the air and I hope…well, I hope. That’s a start.
All Tchaikovsky
All day at work. Happy.
Go here.
My first.
Foray into video, that is. And, technically not my first, but we won’t count early video tapes of airband or the cheap horror film I made with my brother and his hot pink and black skateboard (called “Prowler” – both the skateboard and the movie). I love the song, and was thinking of filming something to go along to it, when I came across the footage. Enjoy.
Note to self:
Dont drink when feeling emotionally fragile.
Things I should and shouldn’t say.
Every time C_ and I get together after not being intimate for a while, I feel so goddamned lonely. I had thought that my issues surrounding initiating intimacy were long past, but here I am again, just wishing that he knew (somehow, magically) that sometimes I can’t come to him because I’m lonely and afraid.
It always breaks, eventually, somehow; that tension dissipates in an instant, and he’s there with me. It’s been eight months and I still haven’t gotten the hang of that transition. There’s a switch that he flips, from companion to lover.
I want both, all the time. I’m greedy, and sensitive. A real catch.
But I’ve had it before, with J_ (says the petulant, love-addicted child in my head). I know it was mostly a lie, but it was a good lie.
Life is simple when you live like an invalid. You twitch at lost limbs and cry as the meds wear off, when you’re hungry, and when you need to rest. And you just keep breathing.
I’m sick of this part of myself.
I need more life.
Sunny day!
The little crow outside my office window flew/flopped to somewhere out of sight, and his parents spent the day anxiously defending him from all manner of passers-by.
I am suffering a lack of someone to live for.
I’d like a muse, please. And, while we’re making wishes, I’d like a good night’s sleep.
Never start a letter with I’m Sorry
It’s the longest day of the year, and I’ve been in bed since 7:00; alternately willing myself to relax, and fighting to stay awake long enough to ensure a solid night’s rest.
I’m exhausted and I’m bored and I’m lonely.
It’ll pass. It’ll pass.
I’ve painted my nails blue, even though the look of it weirds me out. The unnaturalness of it makes the skin of my hands look old and sallow by comparison. Waxy and wrinkled, like a beige orange peel.
And then, it’s really not that bad. Kind of pretty. The color and sparkle of the bike I learned to ride on as a kid. Streamers and training wheels to disguise the fact that it was my brother’s old bike, even though i wanted it so desperately because it was His Bike.
I had a birthday. C_ took me sailing. It was lovely and exciting and sad.
