I Don't Go Back
Mar. 25th, 2006 06:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstorm...to read my old posts because I don't want to feel chained to them. If I look back, and I see that I've been unhappy lately, I feel an obligation to continue being unhappy because otherwise that means I was wrong, or something.
As I gain stability, I can read back some, and see why I was unhappy, and think about ways to change things.
Right now, I am simply happy. I feel like clear water over stones with the sun shining into it, ripping and bright and full of joy. It feels like it should have some significance for me to say it, and those who are close to me respond appropriately. How are you? they say, and I answer I am really happy. Their responses are as varied as the people, but: that's really good and I'm glad to hear that are among them. Did you know, I used to spend time with people who would only grunt and tell me their problems in return, with no bit of joy in them?
When I left Vancouver yesterday, many of my friends were angsty. It is the sort of weight against which I am helpless; if I have a problem of my own, I can fix it, change my thinking or the situation; I can ignore it; I can bask in misery for a little while as a sort of self-indulgent luxury. If someone else is having a problem, and they seem genuinely unhappy, what can I do? Nothing about their mental state or their problem, nothing at all.
So when I left, when I got on the bus to begin a journey over the water, I left that behind me for a little bit. I rode and rode and rode, and got on the ferry, and ate, and got on the top front of a double-decker bus where there was a neighbor, a man from East Van, sitting next to me. We'd never met before, but we talked about Illuminares (he does displays for it sometimes) and the joys of walking places, and families, and good and bad habits. I missed my bus stop, we were so busy talking, and only Bevan's chance call saved me from going to downtown Victoria and becoming lost. Then again, Victoria isn't that big, it might not have mattered so much.
So then was talk with Bevan, seeing his home (a big old rooming house that, unlike Vancouver Specials, has square footage left for kitchening and the like and not boarded off into bedrooms) and talking and walking downtown and sharing food and talking. It felt like a sleepover from when I was very young; there was his bed, and my little bed made up on the floor beside it, and we talked in the dark and I could see only a slightly paler blur which was his face.
I slept long, despite the obligatory break from 7:30-8:30 to pace as he slept, to open the window and let in the light, etc. Then we talked some more, I missed a bus, we talked some more, we sat silent for a little bit, he drove me to the ferry, I ate, I caught a bus (notice a theme?) and now I am here, in Juggler's house. His glasses, for which he paid five hundred bucks less than two months ago, were destroyed in the flash mob/pillow fight. I'd be pissed; he's not.
There is a trick to this reintegration I haven't yet mastered. It was so good to be away, where I simply couldn't be running around, filling every spare moment with seeing this and doing that, where there was no schedule except perhaps the need to sleep sometime and eat a bit some other time. It truly was an escape, and I loved it.
Since I bought them I've been wearing my ankle-bells; I got them at CrazyChris' responsible consumption fair at UBC (along with my gorgeous, gorgeous shirts that I wish I'd bought more of) and they mark each step with a jingle. With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she will have music wherever she goes but also awareness of my pacing, knowledge of when I am walking quickly or slowly or irregularly, knowledge of when I am stumbling. Self-awareness. I was walking down the street with Bevan through drunk people when one stares at me with my gold face paint and says, oh my god, you're so fancy and my bells ring steadily as I walk past her. That belongs on my tomnbstone. Behind me, I could hear her say, that's why I wish I had LSD, stuff like that has been happening to me tonight."
The face paint was sort of thus, but a little less ornate:
(Picture by Juggler)
Love you guys. See y'all soon.
As I gain stability, I can read back some, and see why I was unhappy, and think about ways to change things.
Right now, I am simply happy. I feel like clear water over stones with the sun shining into it, ripping and bright and full of joy. It feels like it should have some significance for me to say it, and those who are close to me respond appropriately. How are you? they say, and I answer I am really happy. Their responses are as varied as the people, but: that's really good and I'm glad to hear that are among them. Did you know, I used to spend time with people who would only grunt and tell me their problems in return, with no bit of joy in them?
When I left Vancouver yesterday, many of my friends were angsty. It is the sort of weight against which I am helpless; if I have a problem of my own, I can fix it, change my thinking or the situation; I can ignore it; I can bask in misery for a little while as a sort of self-indulgent luxury. If someone else is having a problem, and they seem genuinely unhappy, what can I do? Nothing about their mental state or their problem, nothing at all.
So when I left, when I got on the bus to begin a journey over the water, I left that behind me for a little bit. I rode and rode and rode, and got on the ferry, and ate, and got on the top front of a double-decker bus where there was a neighbor, a man from East Van, sitting next to me. We'd never met before, but we talked about Illuminares (he does displays for it sometimes) and the joys of walking places, and families, and good and bad habits. I missed my bus stop, we were so busy talking, and only Bevan's chance call saved me from going to downtown Victoria and becoming lost. Then again, Victoria isn't that big, it might not have mattered so much.
So then was talk with Bevan, seeing his home (a big old rooming house that, unlike Vancouver Specials, has square footage left for kitchening and the like and not boarded off into bedrooms) and talking and walking downtown and sharing food and talking. It felt like a sleepover from when I was very young; there was his bed, and my little bed made up on the floor beside it, and we talked in the dark and I could see only a slightly paler blur which was his face.
I slept long, despite the obligatory break from 7:30-8:30 to pace as he slept, to open the window and let in the light, etc. Then we talked some more, I missed a bus, we talked some more, we sat silent for a little bit, he drove me to the ferry, I ate, I caught a bus (notice a theme?) and now I am here, in Juggler's house. His glasses, for which he paid five hundred bucks less than two months ago, were destroyed in the flash mob/pillow fight. I'd be pissed; he's not.
There is a trick to this reintegration I haven't yet mastered. It was so good to be away, where I simply couldn't be running around, filling every spare moment with seeing this and doing that, where there was no schedule except perhaps the need to sleep sometime and eat a bit some other time. It truly was an escape, and I loved it.
Since I bought them I've been wearing my ankle-bells; I got them at CrazyChris' responsible consumption fair at UBC (along with my gorgeous, gorgeous shirts that I wish I'd bought more of) and they mark each step with a jingle. With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she will have music wherever she goes but also awareness of my pacing, knowledge of when I am walking quickly or slowly or irregularly, knowledge of when I am stumbling. Self-awareness. I was walking down the street with Bevan through drunk people when one stares at me with my gold face paint and says, oh my god, you're so fancy and my bells ring steadily as I walk past her. That belongs on my tomnbstone. Behind me, I could hear her say, that's why I wish I had LSD, stuff like that has been happening to me tonight."
The face paint was sort of thus, but a little less ornate:
(Picture by Juggler)
Love you guys. See y'all soon.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 03:34 am (UTC)I'm glad that your experience of sleep overs is identical to mine and as nostalgic. Those double deckers on Vancouver Island are so flash: did you ride at the front, or the back? I rode at the front where the window was everything, and my neighbours voice explaining her fantasy setting was another interesting part of the road, except when I glanced at her. Oh! I miss that bus ride, it was very pleasant.
I must go to Victoria shortly after I get back: I miss memories of my grandma (and Roger's chocolates).
z.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 04:50 am (UTC)When you coming back, ho?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 07:39 am (UTC)Exactly.
November 26th? I think so, anyway. You'll get to see me in my kick ass new pants (which I wear in combination with my patented Drexoll Monkey shirts).
z.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 05:00 am (UTC)Interesting. Sometimes I let a year or two go before reading some of my posts; there is the possibility of continuing a rut or extending a high but more that when I put things away for awhile I can reflect inside undisturbed. Then when I look at the writings, I see the issue from a new and different angle.
I highly recommend taking road trips. They are another way to get out of the normal patterns of life and see things from a very different point of view. I'm glad you got to take one.
You do look there.
CZ
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 05:39 am (UTC)I'm lucky to have friends to visit. It's good. :)
I've been changing fast enough that two years later, my posts talk about things that have receeded into hazy mist.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 07:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 08:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-26 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-27 03:38 am (UTC)