It's been a while. A long while. More on that later (which, let's be honest, could mean never).
But, I have been thinking recently about this quote and my re-naming of this blog. An interesting Freudian slip, if you ask me. As it turns out, I'm an optimist in such matters—looking for the possibility of a fresh start in the old, entertaining the possibility that such a thing exists.
Had a long conversation about all of this with SD this weekend, who had an interesting take on things. Namely, regarding the very nature of love and attachment. In so many words she thought that you can't will yourself not to be attached to someone or not to love them, you can simply wish that wasn't the case or not be willing to address such feelings. Which is both somewhat reassuring to think about and also somewhat upsetting. In the end, I suppose, it may simply be a case for cynicism.
More on this later, when my sickness-addled brain is working.
Showing posts with label ill advised everything. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ill advised everything. Show all posts
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Well put.
"Sorry—am I boring you with this fairy tale romance?"
I shake my head. "I have a feeling you're about to come to a turning point."
"You're right," Oshima says. "That's how stories happen—with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There's only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shames and sizes. It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness is a story."
—Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
I shake my head. "I have a feeling you're about to come to a turning point."
"You're right," Oshima says. "That's how stories happen—with a turning point, an unexpected twist. There's only one kind of happiness, but misfortune comes in all shames and sizes. It's like Tolstoy said. Happiness is an allegory, unhappiness is a story."
—Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Long Story Short
And then it happens, despite your best intentions to the contrary.
Or, at least that's true for me.
It was mid-September, already feeling like fall, and my plans had changed suddenly—I was going home for a funeral. Nevermind that I hadn't spoken to the deceased in more than ten years; she had been important to me at one point in my life, and I needed to be there.
There was a man, N., in the picture at the time. He had stolen into my apartment in the middle of the night. I knew he was coming, but it stirred me from my sleep all the same. Then the next day, he was leaving the city in much the same way that he had arrived in my apartment the night before—meaning that he had been making murmurings, it was nothing unexpected. Yet suddenly they sounded serious, suddenly there was a time frame.
I didn't realize that I cared until it seemed to be too late.
I tend to disassociate from my emotions, or so I've been told. But, not on the day of the funeral. Instead, I was near tears. It was a number of things, really: the lack of sleep, the difficulty of going to any funeral, the trip after to see my own grandfather's grave—how we had gotten completely lost and how shocking it seemed to be to see my own surname on the headstone when we finally arrived. I grew up in a family where children didn't go to funerals and so had never been to his grave before.
In my mind, the day exists mostly in the details: the misting rain that made the ground so damp that my heels dug into it; the smoothness of the stone I placed on my grandfather's grave to signal that I had been there; the steady sound of N.'s breathing over the phone as I talked about the difficulty of it all and his suggestion that, maybe, just maybe, sleep was what I needed; the suprise to discover that I, who doesn't cry easily, was actually crying.
And, there I was, a few months later, crying again—sobbing, actually. Things were over at that point. In fact, we were supposed to be meeting persumably to talk about that. Instead, I was talking about a family health issue. Or, trying, rather. I couldn't get any words out. Couldn't do much of anything.
And, again, most of the night is in the details: the hasty departure from the bar since, clearly, I couldn't be there or anywhere in public for that matter; the scratch of his sweater against my face as he held me; how my back started to ache from the strength of my sobs; my knowing that I would forgive all else, that I had to, because I had no energy left to be angry, left to be anything.
It's easy, in retrospect, to say that these things don't matter, that hindsight is 20/20 and all the rest of it.
But, I was there.
And, months later, I find myself trying to make sense of it all. Of why things happen in the way that they do. Or, more specifically, why this played out as it did. I don't cry; I make a sarcastic comment, brush it off, and move on. Yes, this was different—and, yes, much, much worse—than anything I've ever had to (or possibly will have to) live through. But him?
Maybe it's as simple as this: he was there.
I don't know.
I'm inclined to think that's not the case, that what's important stays so.
There's this, too: I wanted to be right about him.
Or, at least that's true for me.
It was mid-September, already feeling like fall, and my plans had changed suddenly—I was going home for a funeral. Nevermind that I hadn't spoken to the deceased in more than ten years; she had been important to me at one point in my life, and I needed to be there.
There was a man, N., in the picture at the time. He had stolen into my apartment in the middle of the night. I knew he was coming, but it stirred me from my sleep all the same. Then the next day, he was leaving the city in much the same way that he had arrived in my apartment the night before—meaning that he had been making murmurings, it was nothing unexpected. Yet suddenly they sounded serious, suddenly there was a time frame.
I didn't realize that I cared until it seemed to be too late.
I tend to disassociate from my emotions, or so I've been told. But, not on the day of the funeral. Instead, I was near tears. It was a number of things, really: the lack of sleep, the difficulty of going to any funeral, the trip after to see my own grandfather's grave—how we had gotten completely lost and how shocking it seemed to be to see my own surname on the headstone when we finally arrived. I grew up in a family where children didn't go to funerals and so had never been to his grave before.
In my mind, the day exists mostly in the details: the misting rain that made the ground so damp that my heels dug into it; the smoothness of the stone I placed on my grandfather's grave to signal that I had been there; the steady sound of N.'s breathing over the phone as I talked about the difficulty of it all and his suggestion that, maybe, just maybe, sleep was what I needed; the suprise to discover that I, who doesn't cry easily, was actually crying.
And, there I was, a few months later, crying again—sobbing, actually. Things were over at that point. In fact, we were supposed to be meeting persumably to talk about that. Instead, I was talking about a family health issue. Or, trying, rather. I couldn't get any words out. Couldn't do much of anything.
And, again, most of the night is in the details: the hasty departure from the bar since, clearly, I couldn't be there or anywhere in public for that matter; the scratch of his sweater against my face as he held me; how my back started to ache from the strength of my sobs; my knowing that I would forgive all else, that I had to, because I had no energy left to be angry, left to be anything.
It's easy, in retrospect, to say that these things don't matter, that hindsight is 20/20 and all the rest of it.
But, I was there.
And, months later, I find myself trying to make sense of it all. Of why things happen in the way that they do. Or, more specifically, why this played out as it did. I don't cry; I make a sarcastic comment, brush it off, and move on. Yes, this was different—and, yes, much, much worse—than anything I've ever had to (or possibly will have to) live through. But him?
Maybe it's as simple as this: he was there.
I don't know.
I'm inclined to think that's not the case, that what's important stays so.
There's this, too: I wanted to be right about him.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
[untitled]
I am not the kind of girl you'd take home
to your mother. Had she seen me last night,
she would not have approved. I wandered
glassy-eyed, voice as smoky as the bourbon I sipped,
cracking from laughing too loud,
trying to get you to notice me.
What would she say? And
would you listen? Or just tilt your head back, smile,
let light catch in your hair?
Did you even see? Or, were you too busy
talking film with the woman at the bar?
Too red lips forming a question mark on her glass,
fingerprints leaving it grease-streaked.
You probably thought she was beautiful, and
I'm sure she was.
Would you light her cigarette? Lecture
her about the dangers of carbon monoxide? The thinning
ozone, how it's causing the polar ice caps to melt? The
rising cost of living and flour and gas and, well, everything?
Is that what beauty is?
If you stare at the sun too long,
is all you see blinding whiteness?
I bet you could get some great pictures.
Not like the one on your first license that
you won't show to anyone.
Do you have your passport?
I want to travel the world and
see far-flung places so that
I have stories to tell.
to your mother. Had she seen me last night,
she would not have approved. I wandered
glassy-eyed, voice as smoky as the bourbon I sipped,
cracking from laughing too loud,
trying to get you to notice me.
What would she say? And
would you listen? Or just tilt your head back, smile,
let light catch in your hair?
Did you even see? Or, were you too busy
talking film with the woman at the bar?
Too red lips forming a question mark on her glass,
fingerprints leaving it grease-streaked.
You probably thought she was beautiful, and
I'm sure she was.
Would you light her cigarette? Lecture
her about the dangers of carbon monoxide? The thinning
ozone, how it's causing the polar ice caps to melt? The
rising cost of living and flour and gas and, well, everything?
Is that what beauty is?
If you stare at the sun too long,
is all you see blinding whiteness?
I bet you could get some great pictures.
Not like the one on your first license that
you won't show to anyone.
Do you have your passport?
I want to travel the world and
see far-flung places so that
I have stories to tell.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
and, one more for the road
lullaby
I was up tonight, you
on top of me
the steady in and out
of your breathing
pressing down.
The stars were out in full force.
I watched them, and
you. Watched as you tugged at
the blanket, leaving me with less
and less.
Only, you didn’t watch
back. And, you always tell me to
ease in, but
I don’t believe in moderation.
So I watched. I am not so arrogant
as to think that
you should think only of me,
but, you should
at least occasionally, maybe
while you
sleep.
Stay with me, wide eyed and
insomniac. I don’t smile much these days.
Maybe its just lack of sleep, but
I’m taking that as a sign
of something.
I was up tonight, you
on top of me
the steady in and out
of your breathing
pressing down.
The stars were out in full force.
I watched them, and
you. Watched as you tugged at
the blanket, leaving me with less
and less.
Only, you didn’t watch
back. And, you always tell me to
ease in, but
I don’t believe in moderation.
So I watched. I am not so arrogant
as to think that
you should think only of me,
but, you should
at least occasionally, maybe
while you
sleep.
Stay with me, wide eyed and
insomniac. I don’t smile much these days.
Maybe its just lack of sleep, but
I’m taking that as a sign
of something.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Restlessness
It occurred to me yesterday that I haven't been able to get out of bed, without getting back in, that is, since at least the start of the year. This would be fine, except that I'm also not sleeping. And, cannot remember the last time that I didn't wake up at 4 am, after a few hours of restless sleep.
I spent the day fighting back tears. Especially worrying since I'm not much of a crier, really. I'm still feeling a little raw. And, by a little, I mean completely.
So, perhaps it's time to take the first step towards doing something: I'm not doing well, not sleeping well and am generally terrified of what's in store and of time frames.
That's it for the day. No musings about what it all means. Just an attempt to fill the void. And, a request: give me a wide berth. Clearly, I'm not myself these days.
I spent the day fighting back tears. Especially worrying since I'm not much of a crier, really. I'm still feeling a little raw. And, by a little, I mean completely.
So, perhaps it's time to take the first step towards doing something: I'm not doing well, not sleeping well and am generally terrified of what's in store and of time frames.
That's it for the day. No musings about what it all means. Just an attempt to fill the void. And, a request: give me a wide berth. Clearly, I'm not myself these days.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Diminishing Returns
My sister and I, when we talk, talk in the language of loss, of things that haven't happened, choices that should have been made.
We don't mean to, really. It just kind of happens.
I suppose it's who we are.
Admittedly, we were raised better than this. Raised to know our intrinsic worth. Somehow that's fallen by the wayside these days. Then again, these days have been tough to say the least.
Tonight, she's talking careers. The gist is this: there was a contract, not signed for good reasons. Or, at least for good reasons when it was in the offing. You work with all of the information that you have at the time. What else can you do?
A year or so later, she's second guessing herself: What has she lost in the meantime? Was it worth it? Is it better to do without? To hope for the ideal situation, the one that may never come? Or, when it does, turn out to be a disappointment like all the rest?
Maybe the best thing is to take what you can get and work within those parameters. To compromise.
I see myself doing that very thing.
I'm making minor adjustments, but they still add up.
Perhaps it's an issue of too much change all at once. For now, I'm content to see how it all plays out.
Passive, yes. But, an option all the same.
We don't mean to, really. It just kind of happens.
I suppose it's who we are.
Admittedly, we were raised better than this. Raised to know our intrinsic worth. Somehow that's fallen by the wayside these days. Then again, these days have been tough to say the least.
Tonight, she's talking careers. The gist is this: there was a contract, not signed for good reasons. Or, at least for good reasons when it was in the offing. You work with all of the information that you have at the time. What else can you do?
A year or so later, she's second guessing herself: What has she lost in the meantime? Was it worth it? Is it better to do without? To hope for the ideal situation, the one that may never come? Or, when it does, turn out to be a disappointment like all the rest?
Maybe the best thing is to take what you can get and work within those parameters. To compromise.
I see myself doing that very thing.
I'm making minor adjustments, but they still add up.
Perhaps it's an issue of too much change all at once. For now, I'm content to see how it all plays out.
Passive, yes. But, an option all the same.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
On and on and on
It's funny, the way that when you have bad news the natural instinct is to protect the person with whom you're sharing it, to soften the blow.
Or, maybe that's just me.
In any case, I find that I've been doing that a lot these days. Putting on a brave face, smiling, making the best of it. Here's what I think: there are times when there is no "best of it", or to put it more bluntly, some things are just awful with no good reason.
This week started feeling like a bad hangover from the week before. Hell, the month before. Changes all around, and none of them feel good. So, I'm doing a lot of waiting right now. Once the dust settles, hopefully I'll have a better handle on what it all means.
And, yet, I still have the strange sensation of being lucky. Of being in the right place at the right time, career-wise at least. On the personal end of things, I'm feeling anything but.
You can't have it all, I guess.
I want simple things, really. Just stability. The ability to see beyond the immediate. Faith in the long term of things.
None of this is looking likely at this particular juncture.
So, in the meantime, I'm trying to stick to all of the other decisions I've been making. And, for now, failing miserably it seems, much to the chagrin of those affected by my choices, I'm sure.
It's a process. I'll get there. Where ever that is.
Or, maybe that's just me.
In any case, I find that I've been doing that a lot these days. Putting on a brave face, smiling, making the best of it. Here's what I think: there are times when there is no "best of it", or to put it more bluntly, some things are just awful with no good reason.
This week started feeling like a bad hangover from the week before. Hell, the month before. Changes all around, and none of them feel good. So, I'm doing a lot of waiting right now. Once the dust settles, hopefully I'll have a better handle on what it all means.
And, yet, I still have the strange sensation of being lucky. Of being in the right place at the right time, career-wise at least. On the personal end of things, I'm feeling anything but.
You can't have it all, I guess.
I want simple things, really. Just stability. The ability to see beyond the immediate. Faith in the long term of things.
None of this is looking likely at this particular juncture.
So, in the meantime, I'm trying to stick to all of the other decisions I've been making. And, for now, failing miserably it seems, much to the chagrin of those affected by my choices, I'm sure.
It's a process. I'll get there. Where ever that is.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Same-auld lang syne
So, the new year.
I thought about posting a recap of 2008, but to be honest, I'm not sure that I really want to revisit much of it. It was a hard year, to say the least. I'm trying to look ahead now.
We'll see how that goes, I guess. Right now 2009 is looking about the same as its predecessor. But, it's early, so hopefully that'll change.
The days around the new year were, well, strange. No other word for it.
I went around as if in a fog, constantly trying to remind myself that I was seeing things as I wanted them to be, not as they were. That none of this was real. Still, the escape did me some good, at least in the moment. Which made going back all the harder. And, I'm still trying to figure out what it all means--if it means anything, that is--and where I go from here.
This much is certain: I have some difficult decisions to make in the upcoming days.
Or, more precisely, I've made some difficult decisions. That's never been the issue. It's the sticking to them. I'm not sure why knowing something is the right decision doesn't make doing it any easier. I keep telling myself that at least I should be comforted by the fact that I'm not in a state of delusion. I'm doing all the wrong things, but I'm aware. As if it really makes a difference.
I'm teetering on the edge of something, and maybe the thing to do is just give in and let go.
I thought about posting a recap of 2008, but to be honest, I'm not sure that I really want to revisit much of it. It was a hard year, to say the least. I'm trying to look ahead now.
We'll see how that goes, I guess. Right now 2009 is looking about the same as its predecessor. But, it's early, so hopefully that'll change.
The days around the new year were, well, strange. No other word for it.
I went around as if in a fog, constantly trying to remind myself that I was seeing things as I wanted them to be, not as they were. That none of this was real. Still, the escape did me some good, at least in the moment. Which made going back all the harder. And, I'm still trying to figure out what it all means--if it means anything, that is--and where I go from here.
This much is certain: I have some difficult decisions to make in the upcoming days.
Or, more precisely, I've made some difficult decisions. That's never been the issue. It's the sticking to them. I'm not sure why knowing something is the right decision doesn't make doing it any easier. I keep telling myself that at least I should be comforted by the fact that I'm not in a state of delusion. I'm doing all the wrong things, but I'm aware. As if it really makes a difference.
I'm teetering on the edge of something, and maybe the thing to do is just give in and let go.
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