stories

it's funny how ... the stories that you tell are the ones from ages ago. the ones i tell are, anyway. not sure if things seem better through the handy rose the-past lens. or if there's nothing i've done in the last few years that seems interesting. or that i'm proud of. or that i want to admit into the... um, life canon of me. the dinner-party-story version you tell to other people.
if i had to tell the stories of the last 12 months, what would they be? what would i admit to? what would i be proud of? would there be anything?
maybe things need to sit in my head and percolate for a while before i know what they mean, and can articulate them? in the overall lifeline. but that's s sort of rewriting history, and rewriting the way i want me to be.

it doesn't matter.

don't ever say it doesn't matter. i remember my mother crying one morning. and telling me that. don't ever say it doesn't matter. because it does matter, it really does.
but it's such a salve. how on earth can we possibly face the next day? how at all? by it doesn't matter. move on, brush over, look, over there, shiny. that's easier to face than impossible change, or total gloom. up and at 'em, a new day's dawning. time to pretend it doesn't matter.
but it does.

and sometimes, people don't suck.

today was a good day.
it is a good thing to surround yourself with people you love.
it is a good thing to:
reach out;
and ask what you'd like to be asked;
and laugh;
and listen;
and remind them that you love them.
today was a good day.

sigh

oh, i miss girls!

nada?

coming home felt...nothing.
not happy, not sad. not angry. not ecstatic.
just...nothing.
like going back into suspended animation again.
weird.

trap'd

i used to work in radio
now i can barely stutter a sentence

i used to play for a living
now i can hardly scratch out a scale

i used to sing all the time -- god! remember? we used to sing at parties, for events, people would ask us to sing, to arrange things. we sang a parody in front of a thousand people.
and laughed.
now i can't even raise my voice at home. alone. in my own house. anywhere. i just choke.

why????

so i sang myself to sleep. poor, rusty chords :)

Lede

King of Cups, when reversed: The dark essence of water behaving as air, such as rain clouds in a gray sky: A pillar of maturity and patience, hiding a deep insecurity and an indecisive nature. One who secretly lusts for power, but lacks the courage, intellect, or work ethic necessary to take it. A charming seducer who appears innocent and understanding, but is in fact selfish and unfaithful.

forward, please

This is depressing me, wearing me down and sucking out my energy.
So, I've had a bunch of aspie friends, relatives, lovers even. Some of them before people talked about it at all much (we just realised they ticked lots of boxes afterwards). It never really bothered me - or, well that's a total understatement, I never even thought about it. Au contraire, I seem to get on really well with aspie types. Autistic kids, too, back in the days when I used to do that. Actually, I grew up being able to talk to just about anyone, in a one-on-one situation when it was just them - the shyer, more reclusive or "weirder" the better, no matter what flavour. Maybe that's why I'm good at interviewing now. Or I always had the aptitude. Something. It's from my Dad, a bit. Maybe. I remember someone (ah! that particular someone :) *sigh!*) saying, "How do you do that? Talk to people like that - you just sort of click into where they're at?". I don't know the how. I think it probably stems from a genuine interest in people -- everyone, everyone, everyone has an amazing story.
What's the problem now? Now...I just, really, wish I knew what to expect. Because I've been waiting for things to get better for oh, such a very long time. And there's a complicated layering of denial in there somewhere, too, that pretends we're ok.
On the other hand, does it matter? Not everything is excusable because of a syndrome, right?
Wait, no, that's not it. It's not about whether I keep banging my head on the wall, it's the angle I bonk it on (heh). I don't care about a having a piece of paper. But maybe I'm trying to fix things in the wrong way -- in many wrong ways, totally alien ways that will just get things nowhere. Nothing's changed so far, so that would seem to fit the overall diagnosis. So, now what? What do I need to move forward? How do I try? Because being stuck in the same old place isn't going to cut it for terribly much longer.

things my mother taught me

- that i am better than everyone (for some obscure, never-quite-explained reason)
- that i could be so much better if i actually tried and put some effort in

so now, i'm a snob who can't can't connect to anyone with chronically low self esteem. and i try and do everything myself, 'cause the perfectionist is never happy with the way anyone else does it. and then i'm always hopelessly disappointed in my own efforts.
round we go, and round we go, and round we go again.

“Think of a rock polisher, one of those drums, goes round and round, rolls twenty four/seven, full of water and rocks and gravel. Grinding it all up. Round and round. Polishing those ugly rocks into gemstones. That's the earth. Why it goes around. We're the rocks. And what happens to us – the drama and pain and joy and war and sickness and victory and abuse – why, that's just the water and sand to erode us. Grind us down. To polish us up, nice and bright.” – Chuck Palahniuk.

anima

your house is so suffused with love
that visiting's good for the soul

gah

dammit! i try really, really, really hard for it not to matter, and to be positive, and...everything. and i'm STILL petrified of needing anyone at all, ever. for anything. or asking. why??? it stops me being me?? gah.

touch

sometimes it feels like i can just reach out and hold your heart in the palm of my hand.
and sometimes it feels like running my fingers through lemonade…fizzy and sweet and tingly.
and sometimes it feels like trying to hold on to broken pieces of china as they crack and break and slip out of my hands.

...meh?

I'm having trouble making myself care about anything today. It's weird. Most of my emails are unopened. The paper is unread; online news ditto, and most of my feeds also. The Masters work I was supposed to finish is barely touched. I couldn't read more than a few pages of any of the books I'm reading. Nothing on TV held my gaze, although, well, that's hardly new. And I ignored the phone. It's all kinda meh. Why meh? I'm kinda tired, but not hugely. I hurt an old back injury yesterday, but not massively...there's no good reason to be so flat and blah at the world. Did someone put prozac in my tea?

.......

and then

except then you get there, and you think...okaaayyy...now what?

next?

neruda

When I die, I want your hands on my eyes:

I want the light and the wheat of your beloved hands

to pass their freshness over me once more:

I want to feel the softness that changed my destiny.



I want you to live while I wait for you, asleep.

I want your ears still to hear the wind, I want you

to sniff the sea's aroma that we loved together,

to continue to walk on the sand we walk on.



I want what I love to continue to live,

and you whom I love and sang above everything else

to continue to flourish, full-flowered:



so that you can reach everything my love directs you to,

so that my shadow can travel along in your hair,

so that everything can learn the reason for my song.

running out

i seem to be pouring myself into everybody else right now. it makes any time alone - really alone, doing something for me - seem kinda precious.

Can't sleep.

Sometimes I feel like my heart will crack, and all the me will run out. And then there will be nothing left.

reach

...lady lights a cigarette, puffs away, no regrets
takes a look around, no regrets no regrets
stretches out like branches of a poplar tree
says "I am free", sings so soft as if she'll break...

grope

there's a pattern of silence i get into, and i'm doing it again.
when even i can't make myself talk.
but there are silent shouts and screams just under my breath ... sitting at the back of my throat. coiled quiet against the terms of endearment and the swallowed tears.
articulate, prithee, speak? nothing. i just open and shut like a gaping ... ha, fish out of water.
grope, gasp, grope. shhhh.

gehaftet

.....but i am so much more!!