I've noticed myself being unnecessarily negative over the past couple months, more consistently than I would like. It occurred to me today that I've been neglecting the fake-it-til-you-make-it principle, which is both good and bad, I suppose. It's an implicit gesture of trust for me to be negative with someone; I'm keeping it real, as the kids still insist upon saying. This is especially good in a time where I'm exploring romantic options. I really don't want to start something new giving the impression that I'm a bottomless source of joy and positivity. Patently untrue, and given even a bit of positive reinforcement I'll try to live up to it. I think I've explored quite thoroughly just how well that doesn't work. So I know up front that Brian can deal with my sharp tongue and (overly) critical insights on everything around me.

Yes, faithful readers, that is a new name. And a new thing, rather undefined at the moment, which is... uncomfortable, but probably better for me than those rigorously-defined commitments I tend to favor. He's intelligent and keeps a slow social schedule, which makes for a good combination. He's also kind to me and pays enough attention to the things I say and do to draw reasonable conclusions about what I'm feeling and what I want. Consistently, so far. If he can keep that up, we'll keep this up. And I guess that's the way the early bit of a relationship is supposed to go, instead of professions of loyalty at the first spark of attraction. So, agenda item 2: Don't sabotage this prematurely. Item 2b: Enjoy it exactly as it is. Item 3: Keep my eyes open and re-evaluate with time. Item 4: Try, very, very hard, to be consistently open and honest, and not mold myself into some assumed image of what I think he's looking for. Seriously, it's time to get over that.

So what's item 1, you ask? Time to try on those fake smiles, most especially with my established friends who've proved they love me as I am. Item 1b is to keep in mind that I'm doing it more for myself than anyone else. It's worked in the past, and I think this might be a good time for it. I got an email from Clark earlier today and found myself a bit too self-conscious and nervous about my reply; I decided to just go with it, spent an absurd amount of time polishing my witticisms, editing to make sure the tone was just so, light and giddy and affectionate. And I feel better just for having written it. Though it was a stretch to find that tone in the first place, it ended up feeling more natural by the time I was done that my grump and snark have lately. It's as honest as being grumpy, possibly more so. I appreciate Clark's friendship, I want to be kind to him and brighten his day whenever possible.

I'll be meeting Josh and possibly Kate for dinner here in a bit; I'll start the night with big smiles and see if they don't come easier by the time the night's over.

Monday is for poetry

At least for the rest of this semester.

Today is a better day for perspective and poetry than I've had in a while. I know exactly why, though I don't have time to explore it just at the moment. Class starts soon, and I don't want to spend my whole evening in the computer lab.

Looking at Permeable (which may soon be retitled; right now I'm thinking Needle, since ambiguous noun/verbs are so much fun), I'm still dissatisfied but I can see why and have some idea what to do about it. The pacing at the start of the third stanza is all wrong; it needs more time to build to the frenetic rush of overwhelming, incomprehensible syllables. Not sure how to do that just yet, but I've got some ideas and I'm working on it.

Stanza 4 is powerful as a single line, but almost too cliched to stand alone, so I brought back a bit I'd cut from 3 and hopefully smoothed that transition a bit:

______
They’re only words, after all.
Exhaustion, indecision, insomnia;
the writers’ disease.

So I carve deep into their pathogen
until only pathos remains,
______

And I need something more there, another transition before I'm ready for cats and poetry. I know the gist of it; I need a source of perspective, something to motivate the sudden shift in tone. What's changed? More to the point, why has it changed? Did I learn something, find some peace, just give up? I think it's a little of all of that, and something more as well, something that maybe I don't understand yet and won't be able to write until I do. I think fear has something to do with it, and also maybe authority.

I just love that word. Authority. It needs its own poem. It's a hinge-point in my half-finished villanelle History Of Now. "...and then learned to say we. // It's you with my authority..." I can't remember the rest of that stanza (which means it's probably not worth keeping in its current state), but the basic idea is exploring the sentence "We are." Perhaps it would be worth breaking it out of its meter and seeing how far it could go.

Another little snatch of verse, started yesterday and will likely have some pals to travel with by the end of the week:

______
Promised myself something new,
certain stumbling blocks left behind.
Soft skin against my palms is still
soft skin, and there's nothing new about
my ink-stained hands. Stumbling
to my knees again, salty taste of spring.
Shallow, maybe, but there's so many
uses for skin.
______

Too much repetition right now, and not elegant enough to be a theme, but it feels like it has plenty of room to grow.

Going camping!

And I have about 10 minutes before I need to leave, so this'll have to be quick. I went to bed at 8 last night, got up at 7:30 this morning feeling really good. Baked bread, packed, listened to some good music and overall enjoyed myself for the last several hours. Not that this is earth-shattering or anything, it just deserved mention after that post yesterday. Have to keep things in perspective.

I've noticed alot of hyperbole and superlatives in my thoughts and language here lately. Something to ponder while I'm in the woods for the next couple days. After I get home (and shower) I'm going to try to do some last-minute birthday celebrating. Hopefully that'll work out well.

Dutifully blogging another sleepless night

I gave up on sleep at 5:30, thinking that there are plenty of people who regularly get up an hour before the sun. I'm not particularly thrilled to join them this morning, but at least I'm taking the time to record some of my thoughts here.

I have a pretty bleak opinion of humanity overall. It disturbs me to realize that this is so. I make light of my pessimism regularly, and though I can be perky and chipper in certain situations, anyone who knows me at all is well aware that, in general, I have a negative outlook on life and the future and pretty much everything. I've understood this about myself for long enough that I'm not particularly phased by it, and tend to think of myself as keeping it in check by being uncompromisingly positive on the topic of people. It's fundamentally disturbing to realize that that particular optimism is, at least at this point in time, a facade. I'm faking it, and poorly enough that I'm not even fooling myself right now. I don't like most people most of the time, I can't think of a single person I like all of the time, and I distrust pretty much everyone. I'm ashamed to read back over that, and that shame creates a tidy little coda for the thought: most especially, I don't like me.

Perhaps this is a temporary thing, one of those perspectives that will shift with my mood. I certainly hope so. I'm slowly coming to terms with the idea that being depressed doesn't make me a failure as a human being. I've taken to telling myself that it's okay to be kinda withdrawn and mopey, because I'm fundamentally kind and generous. But is that even true? If I fail in my actions, if I'm hostile and withdrawn (and I have been for the past couple weeks), and my heart is all twisted up with anger at humanity in general and the people around me in particular... Is there anything good in me at all?

So often I feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of simply being alive, of caring for myself from day to day. I resent the people who get to share that burden with their spouses and parents and lovers. I desperately want a partner, but I can barely trust that my closest friends actually mean it when they say they want to spend time with me. I've got this little lecture playing constantly at the back of my mind that starts off as affirming insight and ends up as bitter judgment. It's twisty and not-quite verbal, but a rough approximation would go like this: Am I taking care of myself today? If I don't take care of me, who will? I can't expect anyone to give me anything, and everybody leaves sooner or later, it's only a question of time, and I'm counting on other people way too much, they're going to see how needy I am and when I cling all I'm really doing is pushing them away, and oh god am I pushing them away even faster by being alternately needy and withdrawn, they must see through this and everyone's insecure, life's hard for them too, so they don't want to hear how bad it is for me right now, if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all, just shut up already you stupid little girl, nobody cares.

It would be fair to say that this is unhelpful. I try to stop myself each time I catch myself on these familiar little trails, but I've been failing pretty spectacularly here lately. Maybe writing it out like this will give me some distance from it. It's exhausting enough to be filled up with this vitriol without having to be on the receiving end and be shamed into silence over feeling any of it.

So in conclusion, for anyone reading this who's frustrated with my negativity and moping: me too. I wish I could promise it will get better soon, but I honestly have no idea when, or even if, and I suspect that even if I perk up for a while I'll find myself back here eventually. For what little it's worth, I am trying to repay the kindness I'm given, but I'm doing so with a heavy, bitter heart, so it's likely to seem flat and insincere. Yes, I'm fed up with you and everyone else. Yes, I'm achingly lonely. No, you can't fix it, but your patient company is the only thing that actually cuts through this mess and lets me feel anything other than bitter and lonely, even if it only feels that way about 25% of the time right now.

(updated version, for Laura)

Permeable

When I was five my mother called
old women to lift my shirt and say
german measles,
though the doctor only said measles
with a needle in my arm.

There were so many:
Penicillin in my hip and a dead leg
for three days, no bananas for fifteen years,
no cats and a bottle of benadryl in every room
with a k on top, and so saying
pediatrician
was easier than saying hero.

They saved me
from pneumonia, strep throat, asthma, chronic
sinusitis; pneumonia again, blood in my lungs, tuberculosis
tests (like everything else, so many needles in my arm);
ear infection, throat infection, lung infection: idiopathic;
pneumonia again, and every other winter a week in bed,
doctors' orders, pill bottles lined up and I speak
pseudoephedrine, diphenhydramine, acetaminophen, sertraline,
until the words come easily; depersonalization, anxiety,
suicidal ideation, comorbid major depression.

They’re only words, after all.

But when I carve deep into their pathogen
only pathos remains.
It tells me to gather up bananas,
cats and poetry,
laugh at the pollen on my grave.


(What do you think? I'm worried that in cutting so much I might have lost what little narrative thread I started with, but I'm not sure I liked what I started with all that much. In truth I'm too grumpy and guarded for poetry today, but I had to have something for class tonight.)

Feels like spring today

Finally.

Last night I intended to have a quiet dinner in with a friend, and instead I somehow ended up at the local gay club for karaoke night. As horrific as that sentence sounds, it was actually one of the best nights I've had in a long time. There was (responsible, moderate) drinking and (ridiculous, excessive) dancing, and for about three hours I lost track of everything except laughter and music and good company. Josh has taken to calling me "lesbian bait," which really isn't anything new for me, but it's pretty flattering and totally worry-free; I establish up front that I'm straight, they flirt anyway, and everyone has a good time. Now why can't it be that simple when I'm actually attracted to someone?

Rhetoric aside, that's a pretty good question. The obvious answer is because I care too much, and I'm wondering what I can do to change that. I had such a delightful time last night with these smart, witty, charming people, and I didn't waste any time worrying that I looked weird or can't dance or any of that. I bought a couple drinks, had a couple bought for me, and just laughed and moved and wore myself out. It amazes me, in retrospect, that I wasn't a big spazz or totally awkward, or even particularly nervous. I was charming and fun to be around, and even got a couple compliments on my dancing. I had a good time. Dancing. At a club. I was sweaty and unselfconscious and apparently still rather attractive. I want to learn to tap in to this energetic, positive self at other, more important, less inebriated times.

My legs are so sore today, and my mood is better than it's been in weeks. It's sunny and warm outside, and I've already done my homework for the weekend. I think it's time to take a lawn chair out and do some reading in the sun.

Censhorship as Sustenance (eating my words)

I haven't had much to say in this space for the past week or so. I got tired of hearing my own negativity reflected back at me, and I've been quite busy running around with new people, which is more cheering than grumbling to the anonymous expanses of the 'net. More exhausting, too, but I'm still having trouble sleeping. I think the solution is to work some physical exertion into my daily schedule. There's a free "workout center" at my apartment complex, but I'm really, really not comfortable in the gym atmosphere. But it's bad weather for outdoor pursuits.

See? Four sentences in, and it's already whine, bitch, moan. *scowls* Too bad I can't scold myself into cheering the hell up, because I'm pretty good at scolding.

I've spent a good chunk of my afternoon considering whether or not to post a response on a friend's blog to someone who some might call a troll, though from what I can see he's just opinionated and a little more forceful than I consider polite. Of course, so am I, so it would be pretty ridiculous to ignore him on that ground alone. By the same token, I have to ask myself if even the most reasoned, compassionate response is will be taken as anything beyond disagreement and an invitation to criticize my perspective.

I find that anything I can say about what I don't like about this guy's style applies equally to my own. Pedantic, forceful, argumentative and sometimes a little lacking in perspective. It's more convicting than humbling, which is nice; I'm thinking about how I can communicate myself more gently, evoke understanding rather than discord, instead of just beating myself up.

I've been a regular member of a student group this semester (shocking!), and I often leave the meetings thinking about how I could have been gentler and more concise. I won't give the name (I don't want any google hits off this one) but in their own words they are: "a group for free thought, geared towards discussing secular world views, challenging conceptions, promoting tolerance, encouraging skepticism, and fostering a better general understanding of secular philosophy and the sciences." Nice. The meetings are mostly filled with traditional undergrads, so I sometimes feel like a bit of an old woman, but that's sometimes a good feeling. I can hold my tongue while the kids talk through their ideas, step in with a firm word when I see someone getting verbally trounced for no good reason, and generally be something more of a leader than a follower. I haven't felt that way in a while, and it's a good feeling. I have to balance it with awareness of my own fallibility and a healthy does of emotional detachment, while not forgetting my compassion; healthy exercises all. (And it doesn't hurt that the person there who most exemplifies these traits himself is attractive, single, and blushes every time we make eye contact. More on that if and as it develops.)

And as I was reading through that considering how to wrap up, Pandora played something new that caught my ear and is surprisingly on topic. In closing, a bit from "Little Bird" by The Weepies:

"Sometimes it's hard to say even one thing true
When all eyes have turned aside
They used to talk to you
And people on the street seem to disapprove
So you keep moving away
And forget what you wanted to say

Little bird, little bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said, say it again
They tell me I'm crazy

But you told me I'm golden"

Winter for One

Crass commercial hearts tell me
I've got fourteen days to find love,
just a couple more weeks
or it's another year I spent alone.

I'm trying to tune it out
listen to my self, listen to the rain
and remember that March
is for the fishes who swim upstream, down.
But sunshowers seem miles away

and this cold, dripping rain
trip-trap trapping,
your talk, talk talking
is falling on deaf ears.

I wriggle harder, but it only cuts my mouth:
February's got its hooks in me.

Today was another day of trying; while I succeeded in a couple obvious ways, I still feel like a failure. Stupid February. Stupid fucking depression. I've given up winning this battle, but at the moment I don't even really want to keep fighting it. I'm trying to be healthier and save some money, but what I want right now is to get really, really drunk and cry myself to sleep.

My day started later than it should have; I think "overslept" is an understatement of inexcusable proportions. I went to bed shortly after five yesterday (that's pm, for once), slept until 10:30, ate some "dinner," went back to bed at midnight, didn't get up until almost noon. That's close to 18 hours by my count. I think it's a safe bet I'll have some trouble getting to sleep tonight. I woke up every bit as weepy and emotional as I was when I went to bed, and got next to nothing done for the first couple hours I was awake. Realizing I wasn't going to get anything done at home, I packed up my notes for my Monday night class and went to a coffee shop. I bought a bagel and too much coffee, managed to get all my homework done, even did a bit of writing.

Class was good, I think, but I felt like I kept interrupting the flow every time I opened my mouth. I really liked all three poems we workshopped tonight, but I it seemed like every time I said anything my voice was too loud, too harsh, and was followed by too much polite silence. I'm pretty sure I'm still that over-eager, pushy little swot and everyone just wishes I would keep my big mouth shut. We didn't get around to my poem, and I was more disappointed by that than I want to admit. I cried the whole way home, for no discernible reason beyond simple self-pity. I feel attention starved, and I want to tell myself to grow the hell up. I don't have a valentine, boo-fucking-hoo.

Yesterday I identified anger and the individuals I'm angry at. Today I seem to be sulking and re-directing that anger at myself. Sam taught me to recognize this pattern, but I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do to stop it. I want it to be all about me and how great I am, and it's not. I hate when feeling small is coupled with feeling alone, helpless against this overwhelming, indifferent world. I'm trying to meet my own emotional needs, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do tonight. Wait it out, I guess. Make dinner, try not to cry, or drink, or call David. Keep trying. Keep waiting.

thinking cheerful thoughts. grumpily.

Another sleepless night, roughly a month since the last one. I'm starting to think this might be as much a hormonal thing as anything else. Maybe I'll start marking them on a calendar or something.

Urg. I'm doing my best to fight through this awful February funk. I did a good job of it for the most part yesterday: cleaned, bought groceries, cooked, watched a movie with a friend. The cooking was pretty awesome and cheered me considerably. I baked a butternut squash (with maple syrup and a bit of brown sugar) and tried to make black bean and turkey chili, but got a bit distracted and ended up with something of a stew instead. It was thick and hearty and delicious, and complimented the squash perfectly. A little low on starch, but that's probably something I should aim for, diet-wise. The beans came from a can, but pretty much everything else was from scratch. It felt good to flex my domestic muscles (figuratively speaking; the physical flexing comes later today when I make bread).

I haven't kept up with the cleaning as consistently as I had set out to last month, but it certainly could be a lot worse as well. I've put off doing laundry for lack of quarters, so I've been reduced to baggy pants and an oversized corduroy shirt this morning. I'm reminded why I chose to dress this way for so many years. In a word: cozy. Giving myself a bit more latitude to be girly is all well and good in many circumstances; I feel more confident when attempting to blend into crowds or make new friends, and marginally less ridiculous when trying to flirt. But when it's just me and my laptop, it feels nice to revert to the frump. And David told me I should take this shirt to Goodwill. Hrmph. Shows what he knows.

Not going to dwell on him right now. More musing on positive things: In the past week I've had a couple moments with new friends that cemented in my mind certain character traits that I appreciate and want to cultivate in myself. Clark has this gentle intelligence coupled with a sharp wit that makes for fantastic conversation. He's more verbal than most men I know and much less preoccupied with awkwardness and social grace than most women. It's hard to explain what this adds up to, so I'll go with an anecdote. He was telling me about his grandfather, who has some serious health issues and is in palliative care, and that raised the subject of end-of-life care in general and the notion that choosing to end a long, full life as a very different thing from suicide in adolescence or early adulthood. I got a bit self-conscious to be expressing my thoughts so freely when this is all abstract to me, but to him it's a very real, immediate issue. I covered with my usual verbal bluster, a stream of rambling that ended in a terribly awkward mixed metaphor: "…so the body is a temple, sure, but what do you do when the temple is falling down around your ears?"

I didn't quite mange to stop talking even then, just mumbled an apology for a botched metaphor and was starting to feel really stupid, but Clark gave me his gentle little smile that's almost a smirk and said "Find some big, long-haired guy." It was so quiet and subtle it took me a minute to realize that not only was he not derailed by my rambling, not only had he actually kept up, but he somehow managed to save the metaphor for me. We were talking about his grandfather's failing health, and still he was considerate and self-controlled and smart. I'm sincerely proud to call him a friend.

What I saw from Josh that impressed me so much can't be shared in too much detail, as it's much more his story than mine, but the bare bones of it should get the idea across well enough. I was hanging out at his place and he invited another friend over, someone I've met before and liked well enough. Said friend got a little drunk and a lot belligerent, picked a fight, and generally turned an awesome night sour. Josh dealt pretty well at first, but eventually lost his temper, raised his voice, tried to set a boundary and kinda failed. Drunk and belligerent stuck with what he knew and drank faster, yelled louder, and eventually stormed off in a huff (far too drunk to be driving in my opinion, and I don't think it helped things that I chose to point that out). Josh paced around for a bit after he left, clearly upset, but didn't take his frustration out on me in the least. He didn't even badmouth his friend, which is what I would have expected to see in that situation. Instead, he poured himself some water and asked for my input, wondered aloud what he could have done to make things go differently.

The next day he mentioned it again, said he was planning on air quote apologizing. I'm not sure that's the best thing for him to do, in the long run, but I can't help but think it's exactly what I would have done in his position at his age. I'm very impressed by his humility and willingness to examine his role in creating conflict. It makes me trust him more to realize that, should we find ourselves in a serious difference of opinion, he's more likely to talk it through and try to fix things than just vilify me and play the victim.

Wit and humility. Turns out, when coupled with compassion, they're pretty much the best things ever. That gives me hope for me.

In which sadness and anger are really the same.

I've been feeling blue since I got back from visiting Ryan, not deeply melancholic or terribly anxious, just... down. Sad. It's February and the weather is being entirely true to form, so really that's explanation enough, but I'm a curious little creature so I keep looking for other whys. I'm tired, but restless, and there's a subtle ache that seems a bit like loneliness but hasn't been easy to soothe even with good company.

I fell asleep last night thinking of good things and the people I care for, but I dreamed of Livvy. It was another violent dream where I was cruel and said all the vicious things I wouldn't ever say aloud, won't even allow myself to think about when I'm awake. I scratched her face, held her head down, but she didn't mock or ignore me the way the people in those dreams usually do. At first she made a show of telling me she didn't know who I was, then laughed with apparent pleasure at being attacked, gave every appearance of enjoying my abuse. She seemed utterly certain of her moral high ground. I felt guilty even in the dream, aware that I was the one in the wrong and that I should have had the fortitude to just ignore her in return. We were at a party, and once I saw her I couldn't socialize with anyone else, because I was afraid they had seen the way I had treated her. I was ashamed and outcast, but there was cake, and people kept saying nice things to me, so I was more or less okay.

And now that I put the whole thing into words, it's almost too obvious to be taken seriously. I guess I hadn't realized how much this was still weighing on me, but there's nothing to be done for it now. I've been avoiding people and events that I associate with her, sticking to the parts of my life that she was never really a part of. I suppose that's really fairly limiting, since this isn't that big a town and facebook informs me we share 25 friends (a massive underestimation by my count). I'm still angry after more than a month. I'm angry at Lain too, of course, but the geography makes it much easier to ignore that. In truth, though, I haven't made time for any of the events down in Dallas that I went to last fall, and it's a tossup whether that's more about the risk of seeing Livvy or thinking about Lain.

I don't like feeling this way. I've also been feeling angry with David the past couple weeks, and I'm not sure whether to file that under "still" or "again." The last several times I've reached out to him he's made transparent excuses and dusted off the same cold, insincere apologies that were the thing I hated most about being involved with him. I wish I had more time to talk, but I've just been really busy. I'll spend the next 20 minutes telling you what I don't like about my life right now, but only if you keep your mouth shut and don't ask me about anything that has any emotional depth. Sorry. Which is a valid boundary to set, even if I don't like it, but I hate hearing it wrapped up in that bullshit "sorry," as if it's out of his control or something.

Hollow apologies and broken promises bother me in a way that little else does. They're almost a challenge to take someone at their word in spite of my experience and intuition, and I almost always take them up on it. Maybe he really is sorry this time, maybe he'll call when he as more time. But experience suggests he'll call when no one else in his life is offering him the sort comfort and support he's come expect me to give at the drop of a hat. And the worst part is, I spent the last three years training him to treat me this way. It's as much my fault as it is his.

needles

pathos -> pathogen

when i was five my mother called
old women to lift my shirt and say
german measles
though the doctor only said measles
with a needle in my arm
there were so many:
tetanus locks your jaw after
being pierced by rusty metal
and is prevented by
being pierced by shiny steel

penicillin in my hip and a dead leg
for three days, no bananas for fifteen years
no cats and a bottle of benadryl in every room
with a k on top, and so saying
pediatrician
was easier than saying hero

they saved me
from pneumonia, strep throat, blood in my lungs, asthma, chronic
sinusitis, pneumonia again, we thought it was consumption
tuberculosis tests by broken pathogen
like everything else
a needle in my arm
ear infection, throat infection, lung infection: idiopathic
pneumonia again, and every other winter a week in bed
doctors' orders, pill bottles lined up and I speak
pseudoephedrine, diphenhydramine, loratidine, acetaminophen,
depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, insomnia
the writers' disease
Enough.

If I have to choose, I'll take
rusty metal
and gather up bananas
cats and poetry,
laugh at the pollen on my grave.

and the wheel keeps on turning

Ten points to anyone who can figure out which song I'm referencing there. Tip: it's one of the more obscure turning wheel songs, by one of those bands nobody under the age of 40 should admit to listening to. And I love them shamelessly.

This afternoon's project is working systematically through the symbols of the zodiac, with a focus on linear progression and interrelationship. Begin at the beginning:

Aires(ram): April, Fire. Assertion of ego, proclaiming the self. First step in the hero's journey. (I am.) something new
Taurus(bull): May, Earth. The growing season, sensual beauty. First tentative exploration of the world. (I am here.) growing strong
Gemini(twins): June, Air. Examining the self. Dichotomy, duplicity. The mirror and the mask. (You are, too.) partnership/pregnancy
Cancer(crab): July, Water. Defenses, nurturing, sideways problem-solving. (We are.) childbirth/parenthood
Leo(lion): August, Fire. Leadership, marshaling of inner strength and external resources. (We are here.) establish the family
Virgo(virgin): September, Earth. The harvest, abundance as a result of due diligence. (Look what we made.) provide for the family
Libra(scales): October, Air. Justice and equity. Balanced decision making. (We must be fair.) dividing the harvest
Scorpio(scorpion): November, Water. Passion and narrow focus. Permeable boundaries. (I'm inside, you're outside.) looking beyond the family home
Sagittarius(archer): December, Fire. Soldier for a just cause, questing knight. (I must protect.) leaving the home/pursuing the villain
Capricorn(seagoat): January, Earth. Hermitage, gone to ground. Survival, thriving in scarcity. (I'm alone, really.) odyssey
Aquarius(water bearer): February, Air. Talking through a problem, reasoning through feelings. (We're in this together.) counselor
Pisces(fishes): March, Water. Paradox, intriguing dichotomy. Great truths and daydreams. (I am not.) enlightenment/death

Grouped by element:
Fire: Aires, Leo, Sagittarius: I am, I am strong, I can fight.
Earth: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn: Touching, weighing, hoarding.
Air: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius: Speech, science, communication.
Water: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces: Maternal, romantic, spiritual.

The spectra: Implied dichotomies of opposing signs, grouped by elements. (Those with * are inherently dichotomous themselves, so get two descriptors.)
Air-Fire: Electricity! Is it even really there?
*Libra-Aires: complex, indirect - simple, direct
Aquarius-Leo: compromise - principles
*Gemini-Sagitarius: mercurial, adaptable - steadfast, hidebound
Water-Earth: Mud. It's really there.
Cancer-Capricorn: caring for others - caring for self
Scorpio-Taurus: anxious creation - peaceful consumption
*Pisces-Virgo: big picture, meaning - details, practicality

I've got no interest in pretending the stars dictate our personalities, but these symbols aren't meant to stand alone. That sun sign is just the starting point, the foundation(id); on top of that we layer the moon sign, the emotional, intuitive self(ego), and the rising sign, the face we present to the world(super ego). Twelve symbols placed into three slots, uni-directional and open to repetition. That's twelve cubed, right? 1,728 possible combinations. A bit too ambitious for a Tuesday afternoon.

belated annunciation

In my exploration of the mythic inversion of eternal mother to virgin, how on earth did I miss Mary? Seriously, the virgin mother of God, and I don't even mention her? *facepalm*

Miracle Metaphor

Okay, I've been stumbling around this same thing from several different directions for more than a month, but I have more I want to write out and commit to (virtual) memory. My gender poem as it stands now:
__________

Virgo

her hands are cold and sore

this is a weak metaphor
but she doesn't have much use for beauty
small hands, soft and round
make small miracles, milk with honey
turn back, water that had been wine
they aren't mine, but will be

temperance
is always drawn a woman

but daddy, i'm missing you
couldn't give me your time
couldn't give me a y, but i
don't know what to do
in a woman's skin

but miss you
and wish for a man
___________

Okay, so who and what is this? Virgo is the virgin, but she's also the eternal mother. Her Sumerian name was something to do with some fertility goddess or another, and that makes sense with her being all about practicality and caretaking and abundance, but after the Romans got ahold of her she somehow turned back into a virgin. Stupid Romans. When you make your symbols contradict basic biology they can't and won't stand the test of time. Really, who takes Zeus seriously anymore? The occasional inversion I can handle, and paradox is great, but a god who's petty and insecure as the worst man I've ever met is no kind of god. (Maybe Zeus can be my symbol for Ben? Abstraction helps me deal and work my way back to a place of contentment and compassion, so this needs further consideration.) But the Romans screwed Hestia over something fierce. She was flame and security and a safe place to rest, a nice union of what I usually perceive as earth and fire, but they wrapped her up in shame for female sexuality, and now she's missing her flame. Her hands have gotten cold. I resented the hell out of my mom for what I perceived as her promiscuity and the way it destroyed my nice, safe family, but if I'm honest with myself I know that's not the whole story. She was Mother to me, but she was just a woman to her, and she was clumsily stumbling toward happiness like all the rest of us. Unfortunately for all of us, she had two young children she kept tripping over along the way.

So, Virgo. My mom is a virgo, incidentally, and as far as I recall I don't have a single planet in my whole chart that's in virgo or any other earth sign for that matter. But it's just a metaphor, not divination, so that part can actually be kinda useful. Those particular hands will never be mine; I've got two of my own and I need to learn to use them. (And, really, you should see them fly across this keyboard right now. Let it never be said that in all my dreaminess I haven't learned to do at least a couple things with dexterity and grace.) But we learn by modeling, and I've tried to be my mother since I was an infant because that's just what children do.

It was a revelation to begin to see temperance as one of my potential strengths instead of a stumbling block and a weakness. As an adolescent I had a tendency to overindulge in just about anything I didn't set up as totally taboo, but I was an adolescent. That's what adolescence is about. The fact that I have a tendency to drink just a bit more often than I should, but only a bit and very rarely more in one sitting than is wise, is a testament to the fact that I am growing up, if a bit more slowly than I had expected of myself. I'm learning to do things in moderation, to balance head and heart, to keep one foot on the ground and one in the moving stream, remember to carry around a pitcher of water so I can nourish myself in lean times. Oh, I never posted that desert piece here. It's not so good, but it relates to the water bearer/water and emotions as nourishment theme.
______________

desert blues

wasting through dry desert days
aching for somethin green
coyote lurking, showin his ribs,
fear and hunger makin him mean,
and the sand in his eyes
sun on his neck
dust in the air

haven't heard the rain all year

the desert is makin me lean, makin me lean
got me missin things i aint even seen
waves on the shore, wet sand in my toes
green trees and forest, lord only knows
how this desert is makin me lean

yucca's got roots go a mile deep
'cause it knows the sand keeps shifting
and time can break any hard dry stone
does me no good, i keep on drifting
with this sand in my eyes
sun on my neck
dust in my hair

haven't heard the rain all year

and the desert is makin me lean, makin me lean
got me missin things i aint even seen
waves on the shore, wet sand in my toes
green trees and forest, lord only knows
how this desert is makin me lean
______________

Silly and sentimental, but not a bad first draft expression of this idea. I think it might do me good to work through the nourishment aspect of each of the elements. I've noticed today I've been cooking and eating, writing and reading my own words, and I feel very pleasantly full in a couple different ways. (For anyone who didn't catch that one: words, intellect, and communication get filed under air.)

Back to Virgo: Temperance is an excellent symbol of self-actualized, balanced femininity, and it would be helpful for me to learn to play nicely with her. David helped with that, good little water-bearer he is, always wrapping his emotions up in something seemingly cognitive and unrelated, but soothing all the same. That suits Jacob pretty well too, now that I think about it, though his wrappers tend to be a bit more visual or tactile and less talky. *smirk* Capricorn, fish that insists on pretending it's a mountain goat. It's a restrictive lens, but it sure is working at the moment.

But we move away from temperance pretty quickly, because even thought it's complex and multifaceted, I haven't managed to internalize much of it yet. We still haven't gotten to first or even second person, because to do that I've always had to invoke something masculine. And what's everyone's favorite masculine archetype? Daddy's home! Do we squeal and rush into his arms or hide in our rooms because he doles out the real punishments? Oh, you know better than to fall for that false dichotomy; it's both at once, of course, but on top of that he's not actually here. He didn't give me his y chromosome, or an explanation for his absence, or even enough closeness to ever really feel comfortable calling anyone Daddy, just Father (much to his consternation) and, much later, Dad. And what is female without male? You can't have a continuum with just a single point, and I like dichotomies, like moving back and forth across a spectrum and reveling in the rainbow between.

Why, hello there Iris. You'd make a pretty good Temperance yourself, with those wings and the water pitcher, and who needs to know it's Styx water and not something a little softer. Talked to your sisters lately? Poor harpies got a bad rap, getting all mixed up with the sirens, although they haven't been treated all that fairly themselves. Fierce women aren't well liked, whether their fierceness is couched in flame or wind. But we like them well enough when they're all pretty and colorful. You keep on keepin on, Iris, but I gotta admit I still resent you just a hair. What happens when you grow up and those colors fade?

small miracles

I've got to get this down before I forget: in my gender poem (arguably untitled so far), I had considered "small hands, soft and round // make small miracles, milk and honey" to be the weakest image and in need of tinkering. I've consider home and hearth, which are alliterative and monosyllabic but otherwise out of keeping with the general sound. I chatted with Laura tonight about how milk and honey are ambiguous as symbols of domesticity, but they invoke "female" from a frame semantics perspective fairly effectively, milk with the whole mammary thing and bees being rather matriarchal. I was pondering this on the drive home, then thinking about how Blake chooses his closed-case words very carefully, arguably more for their phonetic than semantic properties, and it hit me:

small hands, soft and round
make small miracles, milk with honey

so I get the assonance of the /I/ and invoke a personal frame that likely won't read for 99% of my audience, but is perfectly in keeping with that stanza. My mom used to make us "spiced milk" on special occasions (read: when she was affable and in the mood to be affectionate). Basically she would add some spices to milk, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and the like, heat it to a nice warm-drink temperature and stir in a spoonful of honey. I'm still of the opinion that this is one of the most delicious, soothing drinks in the history of the world and totally trumps even a good chai latte. And yet I almost never make it for myself.

It's not mine, but it will be.

**Edited @2:45 to add what seems like genius right now, but might be total crap by light of day: Hestia! It's the perfect title. I mean, sure, it's my mom and it's temperance and it's me learning to cook and clean for me instead of all the men in my life, but, really, it's totally the goddess of home and hearth! Oooo, or maybe even Vesta, from after she's been further corrupted by the Romans and less immediately understood to be all about keeping folks warm.

Mirror v. Mask

I'm thinking today about the phenomenon of knowing the self through knowing others, or at least attempting to. (Attempting to think about it or attempting to know me through you? Yes.) This idea is huge and sprawling, links naturally to more things than I could fully explain in a lifetime, let alone this afternoon's blog post. There's all of psychology and most of literature, for starters, not to mention every single interpersonal interaction I've ever had. Sociology has a role here (though I'm not entirely comfortable saying that in any situation), and hive/swarm/collective consciousness theories are applicable. Jung and Campbell are pertinent. I should probably do a thorough, historical examination of philosophy. There's a nifty little essay by David Foster Wallace about the role of media in creating consciousness that's very apt. I think there's some art theory on this concept as well, especially as it pertains to portraiture, but my body of knowledge is sadly limited to the liberal arts and so-called social sciences. Oh, biology too, with the mirror neurons and Paul Ekman's overlap between physiology and psychology. I think Darwin had some stuff to say about that as well. Richard Dawkins probably could contribute if he were around (or if I actually got the gumption to read some of his work myself instead of just letting my friends share what they've read. Ooooo, check out that mirror action!)

What got me started on this was a snippet of conversation last night with Clark where I mentioned that I don't like driving, which he hadn't realized, and I tried to explain how it's mostly a fear thing. That got me thinking about how David often talked about fear as a motivating force, usually as a criticism of certain societal trends but occasionally in reference to specific behaviors or individuals. I sometimes thought that was a little hypocritical of him, and then he picked up and moved to California all on his lone wolf lonesome leaving me to eat my (unspoken) words. (Watch out, I feel a big ol' extended metaphor coming! But I think I'll leave it unwritten for now and come back to it another day. Note to self: I have a voice.->expand) But several times since he moved out there he's mentioned the theme of looking for peace and dealing with anxiety.

I've come to realize that what he articulates as anxiety I often refer to as depression. Psychologically speaking, the two are distinct but interrelated, but without a firm grounding in psychology no one can be expected to differentiate consistently. That got me to wondering about the relationship between anxiety and fear. I tend to use them more or less interchangeably, with the primary difference being in scale: fear is bigger. But, is that right? Well, since words have exactly as much power as we collectively give them, I decided (in good academic fashion) to go consult an authority on words. Being a child of my age, that authority was Wikipedia.

"Fear should be distinguished from the related emotional state of anxiety, which typically occurs without any external threat. Additionally, fear is related to the specific behaviors of escape and avoidance, whereas anxiety is the result of threats which are perceived to be uncontrollable or unavoidable."* (I'm not blogger enough to use real footnotes, but the asterisk will do.)

At many times in my life I've avoided driving and social situations far more than is healthy or reasonable, so I suppose that might elevate those two from anxiety to fear, but right now they are both largely unavoidable if I want to be successful, so maybe anxiety is the right word. I'm trying to do more of both, and unsurprisingly they get less scary the more I do them. The "social" fear is mostly about rejection and humiliation, which are subjective experiences that combine the external threat aspect of fear with the uncontrollable aspect of anxiety and wrap it up into one terrifying, overwhelming package. For me, at least. This writing about it is one mask I can put on it to make it less overwhelming for me. For anyone who's reading this and relating, it becomes a mirror.

I like this metaphor! I'll have to explore it some more, but another day. I have driving and socializing to get to. (EEK!)

*Öhman, A. (2000). Fear and anxiety: Evolutionary, cognitive, and clinical perspectives. In M. Lewis & J. M. Haviland-Jones (Eds.). Handbook of emotions. (pp.573–593). New York: The Guilford Press.

but what does it all mean?

This thing of being the friend I want to have seems to bearing fruit already, more than I wold have expected. I've been very lonely for longer than I would like to admit, starved for conversation and affection, and for the longest time I let that build into a self-perpetuating cycle: Nobody was talking to me, so I assumed nobody wanted to hear what I had to say, so I stopped offering my opinions, and consequentially was less interested in listening to others. But this exercise here of throwing my words out into the world via pixels and speedy little electrons seems to have broken the cycle for me. I'm more involved in more people's lives than I've been since that first year I worked in Physics, and my mailbox is full of long conversations on many different topics.

Yesterday I got an unusually long email from Jacob that just made my day. Among other things, he asked me (quite gently) where I stood in my "belief in God (...and Christianity)." I haven't answered this question in a long time, and have for the most part managed to steer conversation away any time it approached this topic. But after swallowing my pride and fighting through my fear I managed to give a fairly lucid, entirely honest response and even managed to send it off without editing out any of the really important bits.

Reading back through it today I got to thinking about how rewarding it's been for me to use this space to be honest with the people I trust to be able to handle my honesty. So, as scary as this is for me, I'm going to copy a big chunk of my reply and paste it here, with a bit of [parenthetical commentary] to compensate for the second-person nature of letters. *deep breath* Here goes...


"I'm going to try to answer your question about God and Christianity, but only with a heavy disclaimer. For the last several years I've adopted a policy of simply not talking about these things except with rare individuals, people who I can assume more or less agree with me. It's not that I need to have my own ideas reinforced, but rather that people get very attached to their particular interpretations and explanations of things, and it leads to fights and bitterness. And I hate that, the sick reversal of trying to share your moral compass with someone only to come off as a cold-hearted bigot. I hate seeing others that way almost as much as I hate being seen that way myself, and I considered refusing you outright because that's never been part of our dynamic and I'm loathe to introduce it now. But I reminded myself who I'm talking to and [some goopy friendship affirmation stuff]. It's still very important to me that I have your respect, but I'd rather that be based on openness and honesty than assumptions.

"You're mostly right; 'agnostic' is an accurate way to describe me, a bit more so than 'atheist,' and while I've used both labels when trying to give a quick, pat answer to this question, neither one is really right. They use the presence, absence, or nature of a god-figure as their defining characteristic, and I've come to see that as a bit of a distraction in terms of making moral and ethical decisions on a day-to-day basis. The term I'm most comfortable with is "secular humanist," though it is a bit awkward and carries a subtle connotation of indifference. I'm still looking for a way to answer this question quickly and honestly; recently I tried out "For me, kindness and generosity are the beginning and end of morality." Unfortunately, that's a little glib and probably best suited to being stitched into a throw pillow or something.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's possible to change certain things about the way one is raised, and religion is something I'm starting to think is really, really tough to deprogram. I was raised with the understanding that 'god' is just an idea, something people talk about because it comforts them. That was laced with alot of bitterness coming from my mom, and as a teenager I knew just enough to reject her bitterness. I was lonely and socially awkward, and really wanted someone to reinforce my idea that being kind and generous is inherently worthwhile. I found that in the church, and I tried very, very hard to conform my thoughts and behaviors to the standard I was presented with there. You know more of my successes and failures with that than probably anyone else..."

[but my wider readership doesn't, so: I made a very awkward youth group kid. I read my bible more consistently than most, because I was excited to have some nice black and white answers to the trickier questions, but ultimately I couldn't accept a lot of those answers. I was outspoken and assertive in a way that didn't jive with the southern baptist idea of what makes a "Godly young lady," and I was told I "lacked the joy of the spirit" enough times that I still can't say those words without bitterness. I was very, very depressed, but I was told in a number of different ways that good Christian girls should smile and defer and help with a glad and cheerful heart. I wanted to be like that, and I learned some good social skills by trying to squeeze myself into a role so different from the one I had been raised to, but I was certain that if anyone saw how miserable I really was that I'd be rejected in a minute. I started my habit of hiding my depression at church, but I kept it long after I left, which is a shame.]

"...I had an unspoken inner conflict all that time that ate me up: I never really believed. Not emotionally, not subconsciously, and I felt like such a dirty little hypocrite for it. I tried very, very hard to internalize the idea that there's a consciousness out there, and it's benevolent and powerful beyond my understanding, and I can relate to it through prayer and it will comfort me. But, you see that "it"? Always caused me some trouble. I was told I was supposed to be thinking "He," but I've got a big, aching psychological wound where my idea of a father figure should be, and it just all got tied up together with my fears of abandonment and discomfort with my own gender. How could I possibly believe I was loved unconditionally when I had never seen anything that even attempted to model that? And so I felt like a failure at Christianity, too. I tried to share that with people, reach out, but either I wasn't good enough at asking for help or I was asking the wrong people, because I never did get it. Self hate and shame won out, and I eventually slunk away from the church to seek community and morality elsewhere. I pretty much gave up on having the big, theological questions answered, because they had never mattered all that much to me anyway. Mostly I wanted assurance that I was good, but I was starting to understand that's something you find exactly as often as you go looking for it, and it means only as much as you let it mean.

"Internally, I tend to think of all religions as systems of symbols, ways of interpreting and understanding a chaotic, unkind world. If a set of symbols helps someone to be responsible, kind and happy, who am I to say that they're wrong or foolish? Conversely, if a particular ideology leads someone to be selfish, violent, or cruel, I don't hesitate to decry that, and too often people allow their religion to become an excuse for bitterness and exclusion. I sometimes think I'd like to find another organized system of symbols to make sense of this world, but I'm certain I don't want to get pulled into another social club built around those ideas. It seems to me that when a diverse group of people get together for the express purpose of discussing what is or isn't good, they mostly end up alienating each other. I've had enough of that. I desperately need inclusion, so I do my best to give it, but I'm not going to lie about what I believe anymore.

"And reading back through that, I'm concerned it's too harsh, too exclusive. I'm very tempted to delete it. It's hard to trust people with personal truths, and hard to trust myself to express them in a way that won't alienate the people I care about."

But, again, that's exactly what this space is for.

a bit of renewed optimism

Maybe more than a bit. Yesterday's prediction held true: that mood seems to have been mostly sleeplessness-induced, and today is much more sunny, if not literally. I didn't manage to stay up very late; I was out by five and woke up for "dinner" at midnight, went back to bed within a half hour and slept through to nine this morning. That's sure to make falling asleep tonight a bit harder, but I've been out and about for most of the day, saw a bunch of people on campus and had lunch with several other ling undergrads. I'm feeling like I'm in the right place again, and it's one of my favorite feelings. At lunch Josh and I were talking about the neighborhood around campus, and though we would both like to be done with school by the end of this summer, we tossed out the idea of finding a two bedroom to share if we end up stuck here longer than that. I'm not too sure how I'd feel about having a roommate again after all this time, but he's mellow and kind and loves to cook, and we have similarly unhealthy sleeping schedules so ideally we would be well-equipped to be patient and compassionate about not making too much noise. It's nowhere near a sure thing, but it's an encouraging thought that even if my long-terms plans don't pan out, I could still find very good things here in town.

On the bus ride home I listened to a TTBOOK podcast about the National Book Award runners-up, and they had some excellent things to say about being a good writer. I'll probably listen to this one again, but the bits that stuck out the first time through were "my readers are much cleverer than me" and "when I'm writing about the ineffable, I find the I must be very precise with the physical details." (The last one is likely a paraphrase; I was getting off the bus and had trouble following each word.) I'm enjoying thinking about being a better writer and being a better person, and how it's hard to do one without the other, for me at least.

Also: I'm taking a creative writing class this semester, advanced poetry, so all this literary energy of mine will double up and earn me some credits. I needed an upper-level elective anyway, and I'm pretty excited about it.

half paralyzed by fear today

My voice is all stoppered up, tight, and I'm afraid to even go looking for it. Want to reach out, but not sure how. I know this sounds melodramatic and I'd like to stop. The solution is simple, I'm sure, but my stomach is twisted up and my hands and feet are cold. Probably not sleeping last night has something to do with it, and I'll feel better tomorrow morning, but only if I can sleep tonight. That means staying awake for the rest of the day, probably should get out and do something.

I need to pick up my prescription from the pharmacy. I'd like to see Clark. The weather is nice and I would probably be happier in the sun. And yet I feel inadequate to all of these, afraid of them. Maybe I should give myself the rest of the day to be twitchy and fretful, but then maybe I'll feel even worse tomorrow if I do.

Why does today feel horrifyingly open and empty, when I've just had weeks of no responsibilities and enjoyed all the space? It's analogous to agoraphobia, I think, but I can't work out the particulars. This feeling is self-perpetuating, doesn't want me to sort out why I feel this way. I'm calming down as I write, yawning. I don't want to sleep yet. Maybe some caffeine? Maybe some simple affection? God, the one's so easy but unhelpful, and the other's completely out of reach.

I want a lap to lay my head in, fingers in my hair. I want to not want those things. I want to curl up and not wake up until I know what my future's going to look like, and I know that's a self-defeating, irrational thought. Maybe I'll just settle for a some tea.

new(ish) year's resolution

I'm not a big fan of the big, formal new year's resolution; so often it's just a way for people to feel disappointed in themselves by mid-February. All the same, I've spent this winter thinking quite a bit about how to change my life for the better, how to make myself happier and more productive. This has been coming for a while, but I just figured out tonight how to articulate what I want to do differently.

From here on out, I want to try to treat myself the way I treat the people I love. Kind of a reverse golden rule I guess; would that be a lead rule? It is kinda heavy. (Oh, man, I crack me up.)

So that's a nice, simple little sentence, but what does it mean? I'll have to work it out as I go, but so far I've got some pretty simple, basic things that I think might make a big difference. I always like to cook and clean for the people I care about. I have no idea how many hours I've spent in David's kitchen, but it was certainly more often his than mine in the years he lived here. Most often I was washing his dishes while, back at my place, there was a sad, dirty, cramped little kitchen in need of my attention. So, we'll start with the basics: For the rest of January, I'm going to take care of my home as thought there were someone else living here, someone I loved and wanted to impress. (Man, subjunctive tense is a bear, but I kinda want to bring it back after writing sentences like that!) Keep the kitchen clean, vacuum more often, take care of the houseplants, hang the laundry as soon as it's washed, all those things I let slide when I don't feel good. Also, I'm going to spend more time cooking tasty, nutritious food. This is something I'm very good at doing, even on a budget, but so often I don't bother when it's just me. So, I'll try to focus on those two, cooking and cleaning, for the next fifteen days and see how I do.

I'll re-evaluate in February and see how I'm doing. If I've managed those with any regularity, maybe I'll be ready to add something new. Or maybe I'll just congratulate myself. Possibly I'll need to remind myself that in the middle of January I thought it was a really good idea, and I should try a bit harder to make it happen. We'll just have to see.

Resolved: I deserve to be treated well, even by me. Especially by me.

Be brave, Kari

This idea is in its absolute infancy; I haven't even asked anybody about couch surfing or their plans or any of that, haven't even checked my budget. But I have a very bad habit of doing the safe, easy thing and abandoning ideas like this in their absolute infancy. So, in an effort to goad myself in to being brave and trying new things:


View Spring Break? in a larger map

**As of 7pm, got confirmation from David and left a voicemail for Matt. Tomorrow: call Karen and take a closer look at this spring's budget.

and words about words, too

A moment ago Pandora played a song that caught my ear, and I went to check out the lyrics. I liked them so much I almost posted them here, in the spirit of sharing the poetry that touches me (and, yes, song lyrics absolutely do count as poetry, because if they don't then poetry just doesn't have enough of a role in the modern world). You're not reading them now because I decided that it's more important for me to share my own words, but if you're deeply curious it's Secret Heart by Feist.

I realized recently that, not only do I have an almost obsessive love of words, I trust words more than actions. This is utter foolishness according to conventional wisdom, and I think I'm just now figuring it out because even I think it's just a bit preposterous. People can say anything, it's so very easy to lie, and actions always come with consequences of one kind or another. But the thing about actions is that they can be explained away with a few skillful words. I didn't mean to hurt you, it was an accident, I had my reasons, you're totally misreading me, I was drunk, you just didn't understand, you thought that meant something? Yeah, it's pretty obvious what kind of actions I'm thinking of. The things with words is they pin things down, or at least try to, so that these shiny, slippery little butterflies of meaning and intent can be neatly lined up and categorized, organized, understood. When someone says "I want to make your life better," that's a very clear and direct thing, and even if they don't totally succeed I find it comforts me to revisit the memory of being told kind things, makes it easier to patient and compassionate.

Being told I'm loved always, always, always makes my day, and there's little I enjoy more than trusting someone enough to feel secure and assured in saying it myself. Sadly, neither happens half as often as I'd like.

I'm wondering what this means for my romantic interests, past and future. It's time for me to put some serious thought into this topic. It's been six months, and he's not coming back this time. I'm not quite ready for someone new, but that makes it all the more important for me to really consider what I want, what I need, what I'm willing to sacrifice and what I'm not. I'm not entirely sure if I would do better with someone who matches me on valuing words so highly or someone who challenges me to think outside my natural, subconscious assumptions about words and actions and intent. So, let's compare: Ryan, Jacob, Ben, David, I hope you're not too tired of being made examples of. If you are, and you've found your way here, skip the rest of this post.

Ryan had quite a way with words when we were younger, though it seems to have declined in the last few years. He's still quite charming, but he mumbles a lot now, doesn't seem to try so hard to say the right thing. He's gotten better at listening, too. He's always been good at telling me the things I desperately need to hear: I'm good and compassionate, undervalued by my family, virtuous and bound for good things. And that he loved me. He said it again and again, and though his actions never really lived up to it, I always chose to believe him. And, really, who's to say which was right? He believed he loved me, and we both learned to define love as the way we treated each other. Which was, of course, quite damaging for me in the long run. Though I'm pretty sure he was what I needed at the time, he was never very good to me.

Jacob is so very uncomfortable with words that there is no way to say it that falls anywhere between understatement and hyperbole. He's sharp and adaptable and always tries to be a good communicator, so I don't think it's a serious problem for him or the people in his life. But, looking back, I wonder how I would have felt with him if he had given me fewer gifts and said he cared for me more often. Strange to want someone to be less good to me. Maybe this is a problem. Undeniably, he was always good to me and helped me through one of the scarier times in my life, but I could never quite believe, on an emotional level, that he truly wanted me. My histrionics on the subject caused us no small amount of strife. If I could find something like that again, someone who did all the right things but wasn't very good at saying them, could I appreciate it better now? Hm. We'll revisit this with David.

Ben wasn't particularly good with his words or actions. Better with words, I suppose, at least at first, and he managed to talk his way out of consequences with frightening regularity. He was very, very good at making me question my actions and bottle up my words, and I'm still not totally sure how he did it. He hurt me so much. Three years and I'm still dealing with the fallout of the things I let him put me through. Do I really need to keep talking about this, keep dragging all this ugliness out into the light? I'm still so ashamed of myself. Disgusted with us both. How did I ever call that love? He made me bleed for god's sake, several times a week there in the middle of things, and I always thought it was something wrong with me. He told me it was something wrong with me, and as always, I chose to take him at his word instead of considering the impact of his actions. Bad choice.

David is uncomfortable saying things directly and often very slow to act, but that usually means he's deliberate with both words and actions. Good trait, and one I'm very attracted to, but it left me constantly unsure of him and his intentions. I was so afraid to tell him I loved him, though I was certain I did, because I doubted he would ever say it himself. It took me the better part of a year to believe that I could trust him not to hurt me physically (thank you Ben for that little parting gift), but I never did learn to trust him with my heart. Would things have turned out differently if I had? Looking back, I pushed him away just as often and effectively as he did me. The big difference is that instead of shutting down and pulling back like him, I piled on contradictory actions and words, the way Ben and Ryan taught me to. Snapped and grumbled and scowled, but then insisted that I loved him and didn't understand why he thought things weren't working. I wish I had been better to him, more consistent. I wish I had been brave enough to match actions to words. I wish he had been brave enough to say he loved me when I needed to hear it.

What do I need? It's obvious to me that what I want is someone who's going to hurt me and tell me they love me, but I think it's time to stop tilting at that particular windmill. I will get past it. I will. I suppose the obvious ideal would be someone who's good and loving with words and actions, who treats me with kindness and respect even as he tells me I'm good and beautiful and loved. But I suspect that I will feel smothered by that, or at least overwhelmed and intensely distrustful. That's how it started with Ben. Maybe someone who's slow and deliberate, but eventually builds up to saying and doing the right things, giving me time to be ready for it. How will I know that's coming, how do I hold on to my patience when I find someone I want that from? I suppose I just keep investing in the people who are being good to me now, and keep an open mind about the ones I'm attracted to.

I don't have much of a track record with that kind of patience and openness. I'm much more likely to force things to a premature confrontation. So that's something to work on, I suppose.

My brain hurts. Enough words for now.

Today has poem pieces

To make sure no one worries too much, I think I should preface this with a disclaimer: this isn't my usual confessional voice, though it sounds an awful lot like it. I've been thinking a lot on gender roles lately, and this is more the product of my musings in general than any specific personal perspective. So, read and enjoy, but don't concern yourself too much with what exactly this means for me. I'm not too sure myself just yet.

her hands are cold and sore

this is a weak metaphor
but she doesn't have much use for beauty
small hands, soft and round
make small miracles, milk and honey
turn back, water that had been wine
they aren't mine, but will be

temperance
is always drawn a woman

but daddy, i'm missing you
couldn't give me your time
couldn't give me a y, but i
don't know what to do
in a woman's skin

but miss you
and wish for a man


**edited to reflect midday tinkering

Getting to know me

I've spent many hours over the past month cleaning and organizing, trying to bring some sense of order and beauty to my living space. Tonight, I spent hours pulling out old books and binders and journals, making a mess out of my bookshelves and covering the living room floor in drifts of paper. This seems both predictable and somehow right. I found plenty of interesting things. In no particular order:

A notepad with a series of rather detailed character studies and the vaguest possible outline of a novel. I remember writing these things on a plane, I believe to Seattle, and so this would have been the fall of 2006. Three years doesn't seem like enough distance to forget a novel, and it certainly doesn't make sense to me that my perspective has changed so much in that time. Reading through my notes, they seem very adolescent, little more than a clumsy, childish gesture at adulthood. I wanted to write a coming of age story about morality and religion, and honestly believed that a 23 year old might have the perspective necessary to do so. I suppose it kept me calm on the plane, and it never hurts to flex my writer muscles a bit, but I'm a bit embarrassed by the obviousness of my symbols and the utter transparency of my own moral insecurity. And by the fact that I kinda want to revisit it to see if I can make something of it, maybe just some short stories.

Old emails from Matt, along with some unsent hand-written letters to both him and Jacob, from 2000 to 2003. My god, I sounded pretentious. Do I still sound that way? It's distressing to realize how little my younger self and I would like each other if we could somehow meet. All the same, my voice is sweetly, achingly sincere, and so obviously full of love and gratitude for those two. And so was Matt's, in its way. It made me miss him intensely, though I know the friendship we had then was predicated on time spent together those last couple years in Odessa, and there's no way to get back to the same kind of closeness now, with so many miles in between. It's good to know that love can be like that, close for a time but still real even with distance that you know you'll never quite cross.

In one of Matt's emails, the words to a song he had just written, which I can still hear in my head and desperately wish I had a recording of. I don't think he would appreciate my sharing the title, even after all this time, but I have no doubt that he'd be flattered that almost ten years later, I still find it pertinent enough to repost in my own space:

I've got things to get back to
I don't want to think of you
Because that means that there's a choice
And a chance to fall back down
Well, I've been scared a long, long time
afraid to be afraid
so are you thinking what I'm thinking?
Do you care?

Can't you see
I could die inside tonight.
You make it seem and feel
like right is always right.
Do you trust me?
Oh, the things you'll see.
The things you'll see.

I've scared myself away,
and I'm afraid I'll do the same
to you and everyone that comes
to ask me how's my day.
Is it a wonder that I doubt
or a wonder that I pray?
And I don't know if you can understand
You don't need to understand.

I suppose it's a little adolescent, and it should be, seeing as he was all of eighteen when he wrote it. But it's also exactly the thing I've been chewing on tonight that led me to tear my apartment apart looking for pieces of my own history, remnants of my voice. I miss having people around me who know me, but I'm also afraid they never really did know me, because I hide myself away without meaning to. I want to be known, and I'm afraid to show myself, even to me. And is there any way to deal with these feelings that doesn't boil down to adolescent navel-gazing? I had a good and productive day, kept myself occupied with good and important things, but when it got dark and quiet and there was nothing left to be done, I filled up with this anxiety and loneliness, and I don't know what to do with but distract myself or dive head-first into analyzing it.

Getting back to the things scattered around me on the floor: a nice leather journal with gilt edges, a present from Brian for Christmas '01. Distressingly, I can't remember what I gave him that year, though I remember shopping/planning with him for Karen's present quite clearly. There are exactly two entries in the journal, because I'm always nervous about filling up nice, clean spaces with my messy words, and the first is a note from him that, among other things, praises me in terms I'm sure I didn't deserve at the time and haven't lived up to since: "Your love that refuses to give up on anyone has surely blessed my life..." Yeah. Sorry about that, Brian. That's certainly the most flattering way my clinging has ever been described, and I have no doubt that it was sincere, but it makes me feel sad and conflicted to think about it now. I can't really explain how or why I pick the people I decide to love, and I just refuse to let them go once I have, even when they really need me to. And it exhausts me, I can't sustain it and take care of myself, and I have to wonder how many potential relationships I've missed out on in all my chasing after people who were, for whatever reason, done with me. And, at the same time, I feel incredibly guilty that I haven't even heard Brian's voice in years now. So different than the way it felt to remember Matt, and I can't explain why. And, again, very pertinent to the events of the past few weeks. Do I keep loving Lain, keep chasing after Livvy, or do I let them slip away since that's obviously what they both want? I feel so very neglected and taken advantage of in both relationships, exhausted by the effort of being good to them, but it eats me up that the last time I spoke to each of them was in anger, and I haven't even apologized. The obvious solution is to write a couple apology emails, send them off and be done with it. Maybe I'll be ready for that in a couple more weeks, but right now I'm still far too hurt and angry to be able to do it with any sincerity.

Do other people agonize over these decisions like this? I know I'm no more generous or compassionate than anybody else, because we really are all pretty much the same when you get right down to it. It just looks from the outside like other people make these decisions with less angst and inner turmoil, and I'm not entirely convinced that all my worrying is actually making me a better person in any way. Of course, I'm also quite concerned that if I just dismiss these decisions out of hand I am essentially guaranteed to make the wrong choice and just hurt everybody more. Stupid brain. It's bedtime now; I promise we can worry more tomorrow.

At least I have my health

It's surprisingly nice to say that with sincerity. After nearly two weeks of being largely house-bound (not to mention a solid week of being quite nearly bed-ridden), it feels amazing just to shave my legs and do the dishes. This winter has been pretty hard so far, with lots of twists and upsets and some not-inconsequential heartbreak, and I've had plenty of time with nothing better to do than think about all of it. I spent a good chunk of that time in the altered consciousness of a high fever, so my musings haven't always been the most lucid, but I have managed to keep myself from melancholy and self-pity more often than I did through most of the fall. All in all, I think I can actually count this particular bout of pneumonia as a blessing. Which is weird.

I had the thought today that the last couple weeks have been about getting a taste of the things I've longed for, then having them stripped away, along with my ability to do even the simplest things for myself. It's made me poignantly grateful for every tiny bit of good that does come my way. It seems to me today that maybe I needed to have everything stripped away for just a bit, to be laid even lower than the self-pity I'm so habituated to. It means that as I get things back (like, for instance, the energy for basic hygiene) I can take joy in the ability, instead of lamenting the responsibility. I know this rush of gratitude and euphoria won't last; this sort of feeling is a sprinter, and shouldn't be counted on for the long haul. But right now I've got a chance to build some new, better habits and focus my thoughts in new, possibly healthier and more helpful directions.

I didn't live up to my own expectations last fall. In fact, I failed in exactly the way I had been so afraid I would if I took the risk and went back to school full time. And the world didn't fall apart, and the people I respect haven't written me off as a failure. (Well, not all of them anyway, but I'm not in the mood to dwell on that just at the moment.) Furthermore, I did get some other things done. I made a bunch of new friends, something I was very worried I wouldn't be able to do, and I think a couple of them are the quality of people I really, really want in my life. I put real, concentrated effort into my poetry, hours at a time and often several times a week, and the work shows. I'm seriously considering cleaning up a couple pieces for the NT Review, and maybe, just maybe, putting together a chap book and sending it to a couple periodicals. I mean, it'll only cost me a stamp or two, right? Why not?

And I've grown my understanding of social interaction as much in the past three months as in the year previous to that, possibly much more. Maybe it's more helpful to say that all the seeds that Sam and David and I had been planting in my psyche over the past several years have suddenly had an amazing growing season. It's been hard to deal with in a lot of ways. Actual compassion and insight aren't always gentle, easy things. They often mean accepting that people just don't fit together, or aren't giving each other anything good, and no one is at fault and no one is to blame, but everyone is hurting all the same. That part isn't so fun. But recognizing it sooner can only make me a happier, healthier person, not to mention a better friend. This is why I say understanding of social interaction and not just social skills, but really neither of those really captures what I'm getting at here. Awareness and self-possession have a lot to do with it, as do social grace and confidence.

And the most amazing thing to me is that all that interpersonal stuff, the social skills I've agonized over and the compassion I've always been burdened with/lauded for/confused by... it's the exact same thing that will make me a better writer. Because it's all about the exchange of information between human beings, and writing is just a narrow, focused version of the same.

In truth, I'm mostly communicating with myself right now. That's what I created this space for, after all. And there are a handful of people who have access to these words and will know that they're mine, and I'm aware of those individuals as I type, as I read through to make sure this is lucid and not riddled with typos. Is Lain still following after my two year hiatus? Has David finally decided to come check all of this out? Will Jacob or Laura have anything to say in response to all this? There is some potential for inter-personal exchange here, and that's what motivates me to get this all down instead of letting all these ideas chase themselves around my head all night. I think in the long run, though, the real value will be in having a snapshot of where my thoughts were running in the first few days of 2010, as I waited for my body to heal and my heart to... Huh.

What am I waiting for my heart to do? Heal? Be happy? Just pick itself up by the bootstraps and miraculously feel happy about the same things that have made me sad for so long? I would very much like to be ready to start trusting again, but that's a complicated, scary thing. I'm becoming more aware of my tendency to distrust, and that can only be helpful. Am I waiting to stop loving David? I hope not, because that would be a fairly stupid thing to do, seeing as I don't particularly want to. Maybe what I'm waiting for is the knowledge that there's room in my heart for new things and people, and that it won't be a betrayal to the people I've loved in the past when I start to move on. That he's not betraying me by moving on himself.

Well. This ended somewhere very different than where it started. I'm fairly certain that if I try to continue on from that last thought I'll circle back around to melancholy, and frankly I'm just not interested in that. I love him and I miss him, but there's a hell of a lot more to me and my life than those two little facts. What else? See above.