Also,

And I apologize for the intentionally vague nature of most of this... but I find it frustrating when my deep, foundational beliefs are challenged and found to be lacking.

No, I don't believe in any deities.  Sorry if you got your hopes up...as I know some of you did.

It's just that perhaps I'm  not the pacifist I have always thought myself to be... and the challenging aspect of this is that it's a side of myself that I've been shying away from for some time...yet I've been unwilling to admit my own changes even to myself.  It's only in the last weeks that I've actively sought the changes...rather than passively searching out the possibilities online.

What do you do when you really want to do something that goes against everything you've ever believed?  And what do you do when...you do it.  And like it.  I spent too much time justifying this before acting... and it brought me a lot of peace...but I am still stumbling a little.

It's good for me.  Change is good.  It wasn't a bad foundation, but it's served its purpose and now I need a new one.  Reconciling the acceptance of this new side of myself into the hippie mold I've always lived in will take some time.

Over-analyzing is tiring.  Why am I unable to over-analyze in just one area of my life at a time???

And no, it's not a bdsm thing...I've read over this a couple times and every time it seems worse.  I just want to shoot things with arrows.  Nothing that's alive.

Good Days Cause Bad Days.

I should have known better than to revel in the pleasure of a few good days.  That sort of thing rarely lasts... and when it falls apart, it falls apart in a really destructive way...destroying foundations that were in place long before the good days.  It's like a toddler playing with blocks; all I can do is sit back and watch as the towers fall.  Fitting for this time of year, right?

I'm sitting here now, listening to gentle rain and feeling like my heart, along with various other body parts, have been torn to bits and put in a jar with rusty razor blades and barbed wire and salt, shaken, and then poured into a fancy glass over hot coals.  When things are already pissing me off, my memory has a way of connecting things that may or may not actually be related, and then spiraling out of control.  Damn synapses. I've had 3 nights of difficult sleeping... I never sleep well on Mondays, but I have no good excuse for the next two nights.  The way my brain is working right now, I can't count on more than 4 or 5 hours tonight.  This is wearing on me.  And the fact that it's 7:18 and Oliver has been asleep since returning from his dad's means this might be a long night in more than one way.

And...when I'm worn down, I shouldn't listen to music.  It just speeds those possibly-false connections along even faster, and I end up sitting on an ottoman for an hour turning over my unnecessary thoughts.  I don't like having some of the thoughts I've had today...and I really don't like applying "what if" to situations that, years ago, were way outside of what ifs.  I cherish my memories, but sometimes I wish they were unavailable for over-analyzing years later.  I think I should say yes more, and spend more time as far from my comfort zone as possible... but after today, I think I'll be spending some time hiding out and licking my self-inflicted wounds.  Wonder how long it'll take...

If Oliver hadn't started school, I wouldn't have time for all this thinking.  He's doing great at school, though.  Loves it.

But...anyway.  What should I do with the mood I'm in right now?  Use it against myself...because under normal circumstances I would not share my homework with anyone outside my class (and I'll only share it there because it's required).  I wrote a poem.  We all know how I feel about poetry.  The writing process was upsetting and emotionally exhausting.  My book dredged up all sorts of uncomfortable and painful memories, but then told me to discard them if they were too painful to write about.  That seemed very inauthentic...why would I want to be emotionally dishonest in my work?  There's nothing real about avoiding the things that make me uncomfortable...and I want the things that I write to feel real.  Anyway... I'm sharing my super-depressing poem with you...whoever you are...in all its trivial glory.

November

The gray morning hung outside the window

Like some limp sheet

Wet from days of autumn rain

Stray leaves were plastered to the glass

Some trailed through the house

Its doors open to the elements

Its doors open to let out the smell

The leaden sky muted the world

“He always talked about you, wondered how you grew up.

He hoped the world never got to you.”

I sat at the table, empty

Tapping a pen on a notepad

My eyes fixed on the stained coffee cup

The one that stood beside the coffee pot

Full and waiting

Hot until it was cold

For a week, maybe two

“I want his coffee cup,” his best friend said. 

“That’s all I want.  Something to remember him by… we had coffee on Sundays.”

I made a list of little trinkets

Memories for others to hold on to

Gathered these artifacts on the table

And I made a list of to-dos

Check the attic for marijuana

Find bank statements and bills

Call biohazard cleaners about the smell

“We’ve never had a turn-out like this.  Standing room only. 

He touched a lot of people.”

Find address book

Send thank-you notes

See lawyer

Which copy of this manuscript is the newest?

Probably the one on the coffee table,

Half face-down with notes

“That walnut is special, don’t throw it away.

It was his pet.  It had a name, but I don’t remember it.”

Box up a life

Put it in storage

Or don’t, because the smell will linger

The choking sweetness

A smell you’d know as death

Even if you’d never smelled it before

Which memory would I pick to keep?

Which borrowed memory of this man I did not know?

“He took the strings off the guitar.  He always said that if it had strings,

It would distract him and he’d never get anything done.”

But today it had strings

And I remembered a golden summer evening

The last rays of sun warming my tanned skin

My little white sundress billowing in the wind

Chasing fireflies

My father on the back steps, guitar in hand

And his smile as he sang


And now I feel all the things I felt before...and also exposed.  Oh well.  Here's to now and don't look back (says Better Than Ezra)... Here's to honesty.

Fuck.