Posts tagged personal.

I signed up for this Sherlock Halloween card exchange because I thought it would force me to stay creative.  (I don’t think the others are making the cards. I don’t know why I do this to myself) I’ve been at it since I got home from work and have finished two cards.  I’m so slow and it sort of feels like a creative waste?  Like I don’t know these people maybe they’ll throw them in the trash.  But then I think about getting a nice card and I feel a little better about it. 
They are pretty cute.
If I finish in a timely manner maybe I’ll make some for people I know. 

I just finished The Killing and am a little devastated.  I don’t know.  It was so good.  I expected it to go on forever.  But it concluded in a way that felt good.  I wanted this character to be ok.  She was such a great character.  She was so human in a way so many shows fail to convey.  I wanted her to be ok. 

My mom said on the phone today that I am so listless and unhappy (I’m paraphrasing, she didn’t use those words) because I have not found that person yet.  But I am inching around the thought lately that maybe I am meant to be alone.  And I don’t mean that in a ‘woe is me, no one will ever love me’ sort of way, but in that maybe I do not know how to invite someone into my solitude.  And maybe I never will.  And maybe I’ll be ok alone with visits to the outside. 
I really need to make some friends though.  I shouldn’t be this isolated.  But for the moment I am breathing through all the solitude alright. 

In NYC I missed my quiet so much.  I missed the quiet.  I was becoming irritated by being constantly touched.  Shoved and pushed and having to squeeze by.  For someone who is a little obsessive about how much space she takes up, NYC is a little bit of agony.  You are always taking up too much space and no space belongs to you. 
There were so many beautiful people and they all looked so annoyed.  The more beautiful the more annoyed.  Like they were performing.  Everyone was performing.  Their own little show and they are all so angry.  I don’t like the city.  It’s a farce.  It’s unkind. 

I sometimes keep bad company just to have company.  I don’t like the people that I have sometimes.  They are not good for me.  And I am mean to them because I don’t like them.  I become someone I don’t like but I don’t think that’s me.  I can’t seem to shake this one loose. 

My sister keeps making comments about liking my hair growing out.  And man, it just drives me crazy.  I just can’t abide by commentary on my hair.  Cutting it was such a huge thing for me.  It changed how I saw myself and how I felt about myself and what I allowed myself.  I just don’t want to hear any opinion about what I should do with my hair.  I just don’t care for casual beauty advice on this life changing thing.  I’d rather shave it off. 

I want to start doing things.  I don’t want to make excuses anymore.  I want to make myself ready.  I want to find happiness without the stepping stones.  What is stopping me from doing what I want?  What are the consequences really?  I would like to have a little of my soul back.  I would like to feel like I still have the ability to make myself worthwhile.  To myself. 
I want to learn to be happy alone.  And to create when I’m hurting.  Because I’m hurting.  I don’t want to get as bad as I’ve been again. 

I want to let go of needing people.  Of hurting that no one is saying loving things to me.  I want to let that bitterness go and focus on making myself someone who can be loved.  And missed.  And spoken sweetly to. 
I don’t know what I’m doing though. 

#personal  

My face to face interaction for the week has included:

  • Coworkers discussing spousal abuse with comments such as “Well she spit at him”  And “It’s one thing if it was just a random woman but that was his wife
  • My brother asking for money
  • Lady at Walmart vision center talking too fast for me to respond in a timely manner and looking very unimpressed with my total culelessness over her eyeglass jargon
  • Some guy drinking from an open beer can telling me I was doing a good job trimming the hedges in the front lawn.  (That was not a euphemism I was literally trimming the hedges)

I fell deeply in love with this dress.  I wanted it so badly. 
But it only ran up to an XL.  Which is a 14 apparently.  I’m about a 16.  So I bought it anyway just in case I might be able to squeeze into it. 

And I really knew it wasn’t going to fit. 
But I am still really disappointed that it doesn’t fit. 
I am a little upset by it. 
I just wanted something to work out. 

I worked seven days in a row this last week.  Today is my day off and I am sick. And I go back into work tomorrow.

I don’t call out unless I’m vomiting so I’m not sure how this is all going to work out.  Six days a week is a lot.  I’m getting progressively more exhausted.  I just can’t seem to catch up.  And I feel more mentally unstable and I think it’s been showing. 

I don’t get any pleasure out of this job.  It just sucks the life out of me.  I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life.  How do I get out?

I’m really lonely.  But I don’t know how to make friends anymore.  I was never very good at it.  Everything makes me feel so tired. 

#personal  #work  

This week has been really hard and I am going to dump that in here so feel free to ignore a lot of gross, self-pitying bullshit

Sometime I like to just think of myself as a skeleton.  Just some bones putting my blinker on to make this left turn.  Some bones shifting in my chair at work because I ache.  Some bones leaning my skull onto the skull of my cat as I have no lips to kiss. Just some bones.

I feel somewhat paranoid over facebook profile pictures. Another picture obviously taken of myself in the poorly lit house belonging to my parents.  I am sure these photos are being evaluated next to the photos of friends together.  Waist length shots with no arms stretching out to document themselves.  It feels like everyone knows.

When I was younger I stayed away from flowers.  I didn’t like that they were expected of me because I was a girl. I didn’t want to be a girl. Girl things were not things that I had any talent for.  I was not pretty or small or motherly.  And I hated women for being so limited.  But now I crave flowers.  I want to kiss their petals.  I am sorry that I have averted my eyes for so long.

I do not let Whitman outside.  Because I live in a bad neighborhood and people are cruel and there are more roads than grass and I am afraid he will get hurt.  When I mow the lawn he sniffs the grass on my legs, he sticks his nose in the corner of the door to smell the air and he watches outside the window like he’s in a cage.  I feel awful. 

I have been trying to go out more.  I have planned a concert and little outings with people.  But it’s not working.  I feel so aggravated all the time.  I don’t even like these people.  I just want to feel less alone.  I am beginning to really be afraid that I am the problem all the time. 

I’ve been painting for people again.  It feels desperate.  Little requests not to be forgotten.  Little offerings to relationships I don’t know how to keep.  It feels like goodbyes.

There is this weight in my chest.  This unshakable feeling that I have something worthwhile.  That I am not a waste.  That I still have stories in me and paintings and words.  That someone might really love me someday.  I do not speak it often because it seems foolish and fragile and maybe like I have tricked myself into believing I am more than I am.  I feel like I am stumbling over this poorly kept secret of the human condition.  That we survive on the hope that we are valuable.  I am afraid of looking to closely at this.  I so rarely feel like I am doing anything of value. 

Want to see my happy space?
Yes.  You do.