Splat

Yesterday was my worst day for crazy and broken in a long time. I don't really want to talk about it, but for record-keeping purposes I'll note: there were three seperate points spread throughout the day where I lost my language. Twice my field of experience was limited to overwhelming emotional pain. There were triggers but the tendency towards that was definitely pre-existing, when I woke up yesterday morning and in fact the morning before that the dread and isolation were intense. In the evening food and being firmly, lovingly held for a very long time helped clear things up some but it was a long time before I could go outside. I feel mostly better today. The feeling was not directed at any particular person. Yesterday and the day before were my heavy bleed days, I am not implying causation just noting the correlation.

The beginnings of that pressure where I begin to know I need to cry but can't started awhile ago but were barely perceptible at first.

I seem to have an unlimited capacity and maybe need to be held.

Needing people breaks me into tiny pieces and crushes them into dust.

Slam

The final tonight was let-down levels of easy; tomorrow's test isn't going to be much of anything either; Wednesday the math midterm will be substantial amounts of work for prep but I'm beyond caring about outcomes at this point: I'm just plodding through what's asked of me.

I got out of the exam tonight early; I was going to go to movie night but short-circuited partway there and just came home. I can't even tell you how much I've missed movie night, and now to be able to make it and not to go--

But anyhow, that's not the point of this. The point is that it's been raining and windy all day and I came home with poison foam on my lips and dark clouds swirling around me. I still feel it in th e back of my skull, it's a writing mood but not a pretty one. This is when bridges get burnt and civilization torn down.

But-- I stepped into my home and the light was on. Angus was doing dishes. He smiled at me tentatively, and if you know him you know those dimples. He's always tentative with me lately because his natural tendencies in that direction are brought out by my unpredictability-- and in turn of course my unpredictability is fed by the feeling that I take the lead and set the tone for any interaction.

So we have these tentative dimples in the kitchen and some baby rats and suddenly I felt at home. I'm not comfortable, I'm not better, but I am suddenly okay and the cladding of civilisation that's been nailed to me at an ever-increasing pace these days is serving to guide my actions.

I don't know what I'm saying here. I'm wandering. I have no point. In general I feel lost and directionless in my life right now, which is funny because I feel directionless *because* my life is just supposed to be more of the same for so long. It's predictable. It's just sitting there. I'm not steering it. I'm not diving into the future. I'm just stagnating.

I should start taking vitamin D again. I should make sure to keep up with sex and snuggles, two things which I do terribly without (and dammit, how do I end up with two boys so sensitive to blood at one time? It wasn't an issue ever until the last four years or so). I need to find exercise I can do, maybe even just a skipping rope right by the front porch for twenty minutes a day, or I'll nosedive even worse than I am now.

But having said all that: I need to start thinking about the good things in my life again. I need to list them every day. I need to talk about the incandescently bright leaves on my walk up the hill to the bus, the fresh strong green pansies I am beginning a winter association with, the way my friends are veritable rocks in the way they just keep being there and liking me regardless of flailing or absence. I need to talk about how there is room for promise in my life even if new things don't move at the speed of light I'm used to; I don't have time for that sort of speed in anything that's not school either. I need to talk about the feeling of familiar arms around me that's worth more than anything ever. I need to talk about good tea and quince-apple-grape jam. I need to talk about my garden, all mints and apple trees. I need to talk about how incredibly effective I'm learning to be at using my time, and how I'm thinking about applying to attend TED Vancouver because I don't think I have any homework Friday night and so why not spend that evening on that? JACK HORNER will be speaking, it's worth a shot.

I need to talk about the ten million faces of love and how they always smile on me.

I need to talk about how, twenty-nine years in, I have so much both ahead of and behind me that there's never a lack of something to hold onto; there's only the lack of will to hold onto something at all.

I need to talk about kids and baby rats and how my Gabe's coat seems to have popped up in this latest litter and maybe I can recreate those markings. I need to talk. I need to talk.

But first, dinner and sleep.

Be well. Talk to you soon.

In My Head These Days

Not sure I like the music, but the dude and also his lyrics...

Ahhh...

...only sort of on the topic of conversation, one of the things I'm really thirsty for is time with people who are in turn thirsty for me-- not for time with me as a symbol of something, or for some generic outlet for this or that drive or need fulfillment, but for whom the particular things in my head that day are important.

It really has been a silent fall.