October 21, 2009
I woke up feeling incredibly drained. I blame the weather. It’s snowing — in October?!? I believe we passed legislation against that — or maybe we just voted in the home owner’s association (HOA) that snow would start in mid November. It seems like no one keeps their word anymore. I will have to file a complaint.
Some things are better left unsaid. Is that hiding or discretion or simple kindness? What you risk reveals what you value. We all have a beast in us that values only our survival; only our happiness; only our needs. I have a friend who is a dedicated pacifist. He won’t eat or use products produced through violence. I think he is changing the world for the better. I know that my life requires a certain amount of denial. Although I do try to imagine the death and destruction in my meals and accept it as part of my choices.
This whole crazy-crazy we’ve been going through, my enchanter and I, is a different kind of death and destruction. It is the violence of our behavior on the beings we have the strongest emotional response to. It’s not a new story — it’s the grist behind the afternoon soaps and the political sex scandals. We have, in all of us, a beast that will take what it wants when we let it.
I voted against it in the last HOA meeting we had. I guess it’s like the snow, another primal force with a mind of it’s own that even Robert’s Rules cannot contain.
October 8, 2009
Sometimes I feel like I woke up in the middle of open heart surgery. Not real surgery with anesthesia and trained professionals. TV surgery that was somehow necessary in the middle of a camping trip. My heart exposed and vulnerable while it gets poked and prodded and I silently comply.
Sometimes I feel like I need too much.
Sometimes I wonder what the hell I am doing.
Sometimes I wish I could start over. Where is the redo button? Yeah, yeah, I know– what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. How can I be sure it didn’t kill me? I think sometimes it did. And through the power of lightning and self-delusion I am still walking but it’s all a patchwork of my rotting remains. All I need is the green skin and the side attachments at my temples.
Sometimes I get scared that the things that hurt 14 years ago will never stop hurting.
Sometimes I wish I were a much better actress. Or just a liar. This truth stuff can really suck.
Sometimes I feel like I am the middle of open heart surgery. Bleeding and breaking and still pumping away while we all try to figure out how to keep it beating and pour asbestos over it, sure somehow that’s good for me.
Sometimes I wish I knew how to take the road more traveled.
Sometimes even chocolate won’t help.
Sometime I miss you. Jerk and bastard though you were to me. I wish I could be dismissive of the whole picture and just remember the ick. Instead I am more likely to remember the nights we’d wake up and giggle like kids or the games we played or the adventures we had. I hate you a little for that, even though it’s kind of my fault.
Sometimes I eat fudge for breakfast.
Sometimes I can’t handle what I think I want.
Sometimes I feel like I am in the middle of open heart surgery. With all my friends doing what they can to help me stop the bleeding.
Sometimes healing really hurts.
Sometimes I doubt myself in every way.
September 16, 2009
After a summer of drama, I have come to realize I don’t thrive on it. And when I do need it, I have tweenagers quite ready to unload any number of intense emotional responses to things like homework and dishes.
In my search for understanding, I have been reading a lot of US and People magazine and it’s really fascinating to me how the rich and famous are no different from the normal and in-debt. It’s all a game– with rules I find a bit repugnant– having to do with image and perception. Occasionally, people aren’t playing, they are living. And they are the ones I find most interesting.
I’ve always hated the way “boundaries” as a concept was used by people I knew as a way to be unkind to one another. I am coming to see how they are actually the key to drama free existence. Learning to define the parameters of my participation in a given situation, relationship, job, or volunteer experience has been invaluable.
I’ve always said I wouldn’t be famous or rich. Not because I don’t think I could be, although I don’t have evidence one way or another. More because the process required to achieve that level of influence is so unsatisfying to me.
May 5, 2009
I grew up with great truisms like “There are three sides to every story. Your side. My side. And the truth.” and “Believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see.” So how much of what you remember should you believe? I thought keeping a journal would give me an edge on remembering “how things really were”.
But there a few problems with that:
1. I was highly focused on things I no longer find interesting. Some of which I actually find embarrassing. So I don’t actually read much of the journals I diligently kept. Even though I also can’t bear to throw them away, just in case …
2. I wrote poetry. I thought it was good.*
3. (and this is where I get really philosophical) What I felt about what I was experiencing when I was 12 or 16 or 22 is no more real than how I understand it in hindsight. Recording bare facts is problematic because they are boring (I have a few journal entries that are fact focused so you can really trust me on this one). But recording feelings/responses to experiences doesn’t tell as much about the experiences as it does about where I was at or who I was when I wrote about my experience.
I like the way Jeannette Winterson dealt with this whole problem by embracing the nature of the memory and classifying her autobiography, Oranges Aren’t the Only Fruit, as fiction.
I’m not sure people are capable of telling the truth, try as we might. There is too much in the way of us even really seeing the truth, how can we hope to tell it to someone else? So I guess what I am saying is that while I will work to be accurate in my retelling and presentation of my memories, I can’t actually promise that it’s true.
Hopefully it will be interesting.
* This is a constant reminder of the possibility of self-delusion at any point in my life.