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2005-08-23 - 4:48 p.m. Ramble On, And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song. That's all I feel like I do...I got to ramble. There's always something going on here, though it may lack the glitz and drama of a big-city, crystalized, power-dyke kind of life. I guess I made it and it's mine, right? We just got back from vacationing in AZ, where I mustered up all the butch in me and learned to drive a dune buggy. I am tan and exhausted from spending a week with the in-laws. Things with C are, as always, fucking amazing. Solid as bread or this table or a fist. Perhaps that's what is different for me than for a lot of other bloggers I read: My relationships are rarely dramatic. More often than not my home life is quiet, comfortable and supportive. After almost fifteen years, I still sometimes feel like I should pinch myself and wake up screaming. It's as if I don't fully believe in my own good fortune. Because on some level, I think I don't deserve happiness, security, comfort, safety, acceptance. So once in a while, I go a little crazy and attempt to stir the pot a bit. Like I did with that one friend earlier this year. It's my little way of sabotaging myself...so I can say "see how awful I really am?I told you I don't deserve _____". I know this about myself. I am prone to my own undoing. My house is dusty. There are little balls of cat fur all over the floor from a few weeks not cleaning. The laundry is piling up again, and I still haven't unpacked from our trip. I have to go back to school next week. Well, technically it was this week. But my check didn't clear the bank on time and I couldn't pay my tuition or buy books. So here I sit, watching bad daytime television, taking naps, trying not to think about how much I despise this shitty job or how much longer I have before I finish school. And worrying what will happen when I do finish; maybe I won't be able to get a job. I think I did everything right this spring, sending all those letters and resumes to every place I could think of, sending follow up letters, calling or dropping in, interviewing, going to job fairs at the spur of the moment (alone and absolutely terrified, I might add). I think I did a hell of a lot of foot work (as they used to say in my alanon group) but with no tangible results. It's not like I'm unwilling to do the damn work. I am doing the damn work, it's just not happening in the time frame that I expect. Things don't ever happen as I expect them to. And I think this is true of most people. They happen as they are meant to though...and that is really fucking difficult sometimes. For me, it's easier to un-do myself. It's easier for me to sit around and make plans to pull "a geographical" exit, to move to Kansas or Indiana suddenly, to cut off all my own hair, to change my body by cutting or tattooing myself, to stop talking to people, stop answering my phone, to stop, or as the french say to "suicide" oneself. When one (in this case, me) hasn't written in a long time, blogging is like a high colonic for the brain. Apparently. I am happy. Generally, I really am. I do operate in such a tenuous manner that I feel as though I may snap, like a violin string, at any second. Everything makes me anxious: driving, customers, money, bleeding gums, a bruise from a bump I don't recall, my sick orchid that I can't seem to save, the neighbors, escalators. I jump every time the phone rings. If someone leaves me a message, I expect a death or an accident. I am distrustful of smiles. So here I am. Ten years therapied, more than that medicated, gestalted, behavior-modified, grouped, twelve-stepped, talked out. I still make all my appointments, take the pills religiously. I do the work. I force myself to do it, to participate in life, go to work, attend classes, say hello, have a cocktail with friends. I force myself. Yet I am not immune to this low-grade sadness, this pervasive despair that just won't let fucking go. Things stick in me like pins. Thoughts like the banner I saw outside a church today: If you hear his voice, do not harden your heart. What does that mean to me?
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