on repeat if you like.
I don't have anything to write except a mood. I'll start as always with the story, but it isn't much of a story, and I can't remember how to begin my life neatly for it: the weekend was lovely, my temples of flesh and green are all being returned to me and I am a creature of worship. I love things again, less gray, less numb. My fingers are not bound by skin, not appendages to be used, but rather windows with which to explore the world. That indefinable space in my chest and especially in the back of my head and in my throat reaches out towards others.
My class has begun to cohere. We went for beers the other afternoon, I suppose it was Saturday after class, and there were a bunch of us. We exchanged numbers finally and plotted to get the kids to come with us-- how do you include people too young to drink, or who need to drive home to PoCo afterwards? I got to chat with people I didn't know much, and I like everyone I talked to. The restraints or professionalism are giving way to tentative friendship, or, at least, buddyship.
Last night was firefighting class, which is being taught by a guy the year ahead of us in the program, but who's been fighting fires for seven years. The person who normally teaches it is out for surgery, but it's fun to have this guy there, fun to watch him teach for the first time. He imitates BCIT teacher structure well, and he's knowledgeable, and the curriculum is really nailed down by the ministry anyhow. I'm daydreaming of running away for the summer to firefight and making money thereby. Maybe I'll do it the year following school, and accumulate some loan debt. It would be so nice to take the weight off-- I feel this especially now, while spring is rushing and rattling from the earth to the sky and back again right through my bones and shaking me around like a ragdoll. It's a powerful spring, this one. It's my spring, the beginning of the first year in which I am really awakening to my own agency.
The plants at work got fertilized last week and the week before, depending on where they were in the rotation, and they are happy to see me when I go in. They've stopped dropping leaves, and I only lost one this winter. That's really good. It's spring pruning time and I can't tell you why or how-- it's just the right time to get out the pruners. Some things, mahoganies, I cut back by 50%. It's so good to prune a plant properly-- half jigsaw puzzle, half life-saving surgery.
I took a boot camp fitness class for an hour on Monday before class. It will continue till April. A classmate I particularly wanted to get to know better is in it. My body is the good kind of sore from it.
And then there's tonight, a final for climatology. I didn't do well on it, mostly because I spent a total of fifteen minutes reading and reviewing half the material, and the other half I hadn't seen for over a week. I'm fine with that, and in fact chose it because I prioritized looking up my ecology prof and talking with him about the hands-on exam. I'm doing well in climatology, I can absorb a hit to the grade on that one test if it means doing better on the soils practical. But-- a final means off early.
And so I was off early, and here I am at home, and here's the thing.
It's spring. I'm awakening to my body as I have not for awhile. I'm awakening to the world as I haven't for awhile. I can see during the daytime, it gets fully light out! I am beginning to be aware of myself as a creature in the present, rather than just racing from one task to the next. It is a joy, perhaps, but I'm also returning to volatility. I thought keeping myself this busy would mean I had no energy for that. I've taken up a latin course online as well as everything else, just to edge further into the ridiculous, you know.
And maybe it works, but when I'm on safe ground I explore the edges, I look back into my shadows, I look over things and analyse and try to disentangle things which is always a two-steps-forward-one-step-back process.
And so here are the tangles:
I love Angus particularly much lately. He's a little more emotionally erratic than is comfortable, and has just initiated a real job search effort finally. It swings me around some. Change is happening in his life and I don't know where that will leave us when this is done. He needs support right now and I can give him some of that but I worry, is this enabling? How long can I do this? When someone does anything you ask, what do you say?
Michael has been especially sweet to me lately. We've settled into basically a once-per-week routine, mostly overnights, and I do love routine. It settles me. This hadn't worked well when I was with Juggler but Michael is not Juggler. It took me some time to figure that out-- also that he's not Kynnin. Ha. And so I love him, as I do, and I hold this space where it is. I push a little, when it's important, and he's accepting of that, and the rest of the time I hold myself self-contained. And it's good. It's very, very good. But sometimes I daydream about going firefighting for the summer and coming back in the fall and going up the stairs, dropping onto his couch and staying for a week of relaxed breakfasts and livingroom-picnic lunches and just... I don't know. Just existing unscheduled and unwalled.
I saw Kynnin the other day. He'd been through a breakup, possibly a temporary one. He and Mouse seem to still be doing poly the way they were when I chiseled away from the quad and I am so glad at the changes in my life since then. You know, Michael reminds me of Kynnin sometimes-- less often now-- but Kynnin does not remind me of Michael. It's the fifteen-year-old, the nineteen-year-old, I'm reminded of. I could try to pin down what's changed-- I will someday --but the biggest change is in our history. Leaving someone is betraying them in a very particular way that, after the first time, can never be undone. It can be wrapped around with stronger things, re-storied, scarred; it can be embroidered or enshrined but it's a change in every relationship and you can't go back to before it happened. I am not in a relationship with Kynnin in that sense. I don't-- you know, I can't even type this without crying, let alone say it --I don't even love him anymore (how is this possible? Remember this?
We were, and oh the irony in this word now, inseparable. How do you stop loving someone?) but I care for him so very much. He was hurting. And, you know, I have that magnet in me, that opposite pole that orients me towards pain and pulls me into it. And so I hugged him, and I meant it, because willpower and flesh can sometimes magically heal a soul just a little. And there was no bitterness, not a touch, just so much caring-- but oh, was I aware that he had never been there for one of my oh so many endings with someone I loved. Was I ever aware of it.
And so boys have always been my trouble. I look out rather than in. Here's my mess, my tangle, but the worst of it is that it's Valentine's Day on the fourteenth and I don't care, I haven't cared since the first Valentine's day I spent with Kynnin where he got me a teddy bear holding a heart. It draws my thoughts towards that awful societal ideal that my life does not meet, though. I deliberately don't meet that ideal. To do so I would have to give up Michael, stop loving him or coerce him into something more conventional? Become bitter because he doesn't love me? Be terrified about Angus, take myself out of school and care for him for the rest of my life? Devote my paycheques to that rather than this? Make a choice between an uncomfortable home and a relationship with a person who I get along with so well in so many respects and pretend there was no third option?
And you know, all I wanted tonight was someone I care about to put my arms around, to curl up and read or watch TV with, to be with someone I trusted and be human. And I felt so open and alive. But there was no one there; people were busy, Angus is in a mood and recommended I not come home but-- it's my home, and here I am, writing and writing and writing. My back is a wall that separates me from the rest of the house. I am practically not here, removed once again to some coil inside my own mind, divorced from my body.
I don't know. There's not much more to say, I suppose. Or there's plenty, but I don't care. When I've written enough it all blurs together, I am removed from life, I am in that dissociative state which no one can break into without my permission.
Be well. I will also be well.