Where Am I?
May. 14th, 2008 02:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormI honestly have no idea what I want to say right now, so let's give something a try. It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Personal growth seems to be way up lately. I'm not sure how to put all that's happened succinctly, especially since life is still a process and so it's all still in the midst of happening. I'm doing okay at being independent, I guess, but I find it pulls me further and further away from my habit of intimacy, which in turn pulls me away from the ability. There's a fair bit of isolation happening, therefore, and not too much in the way of desire to change that. On the other hand, my house is getting nicer and nicer, I love my garden, and I'm getting comfier spending vast swatches of time with only myself.
I'm sick right now, have been since Friday. That's definitely contributed to isolation (who wants to get sick by hanging out with me?) and to a lot of boredom. Only yesterday did I finally get out of bed to leave the house. Ugh. Should be better sooner or later.
My mind keeps swinging back to thinking about reliability, about what I want from people, about what commitment means, about what's realistic to ask from people and to want from them. I get bored of it even from myself. I've been telling people that if this home doesn't work out -- if I have to move *yet again* --I'm going to sell everything and head out of the country, because it's obvious that no matter how hard I try to choose stability it just won't choose me-- and if you've gotta surrender, do so gracefully, right? At the moment I don't have any ties here. There are people I like and people who like me, but that's not a tie, that's just an incentive to visit sometimes.
I feel sorta scorched-earth sometimes. Can you tell?
I need to meet some new people. I'm trying hard not to go into huntress mode around groups of new people-- I'm not really looking for another boy right now however hard my instincts push me towards that. I'm still broken in that regard. There's some sort of a trust thing in there.
I've been cooking and eating a lot, and doing a lot of dishes. Work has been keeping me busy when I'm not busy being sick. My rats and I hang out sometimes. My life always sounds the same when I type it out.
But here's the thing: right now I have no default person. If I see something beautiful, if I want to go for a walk on the beach, if I want to share a meal-- there's no one who comes to mind immediately and with certainty. There are lists of people who might not be too busy, but that's as far as it goes. You've heard this before from me, perhaps, but it bears repeating. More often, especially with livejournal so distanced from my daily life, the thing doesn't get shared. It feels like loneliness. It feels like getting on a path in the bush and walking in a random direction away from the known, where you realise that if you go far enough no one will be able to find you ever.
Then again, I often think perhaps I've gone so far that no one can ever find me. Last night I had a conversation with Paul (gods bless Paul and Angus, the only two people besides my roommate who've been somehow around to keep me from chewing my legs off from sheer boredom) in which we noticed that people's childhoods mean a lot less about those people than they used to-- now it's accumulated experienced that shape us as we get older and recede further from those childhoods. The accumulation of so many things, though, in both childhood and adulthood-- that's dust that will never be wholly sifted by another person now.
When Kynnin and I got together, I was fourteen and he was fifteen. We knew more or less everything about one another that could be known. That won't be repeated. I'll always have secrets from people now, surprises, because there's simply too much there to be known by another.
None of this is what I meant to say. It leads to some sort of an inevitable conclusion, something about giving the world a big screw-you and heading off into the wild blue yonder, but none of it was the point of this post.
Green is reclaiming me. Maybe that was supposed to be the point? My garden is right there. I have sixteen kinds of tomato transplants (yes, some for you if you want them, call me). I went to the Burnaby Gardenworks and there were fourteen different kinds of kiwis in the fruit and berry section. I am advising a whole bunch of people on edible gardens. I am swinging a shovel for work. Some of this I love, some I don't know enough about. I want to see the invisible webs in the garden, the pieces that link it to humans and to itself.
I am again a machine made for loving people, but my heart isn't in it. It's rather awful to care a lot for a lot of people but not, often, to take pleasure in it. Is this an aftereffect of heartbreak? Things pass through me and then out again, like light through glass. Nothing sticks.
My weight is shifting up to my arms. My hips are almost gone. My skin is browning deeply. I am still blue girl-- my hair took the colour and won't let go. There's very little soft left on my body, and my arms have what might be described as slabs of muscle on them. It's a stranger's body in the full-length mirror, though still my face. Older. I have lines around my eyes now, tiny ones. They belong there.
The other night, and the other night only, I was very sick and lying in bed with the lights on late at night. I could almost see the corner of the bed (his bed was in a different spot than mine) where I sat on the corner of the bed crying and said "pleasepleasepleasedon'tdothistome". I had thought I was too proud to beg a man for anything, you know. It made me feel sad, but also I felt a tremendous sense of passage through the scene, of passing on and moving through. I suppose it's fair to say I put it behind me. The fact that I'm living in the home that Angus used to live in, in the room that was his, really doesn't occur to me otherwise. It's very much mine, and always has felt that way. I collected acorns around the corner when I was seven; this fall Marvin and I will collect acorns and leech the bitter out of them and make food.
I feel more and more like life is a continuous ribbon. I feel more and more like I am confined to a very small and particular here and now.
It's time to go. Be well. I'm around if you want me.
Personal growth seems to be way up lately. I'm not sure how to put all that's happened succinctly, especially since life is still a process and so it's all still in the midst of happening. I'm doing okay at being independent, I guess, but I find it pulls me further and further away from my habit of intimacy, which in turn pulls me away from the ability. There's a fair bit of isolation happening, therefore, and not too much in the way of desire to change that. On the other hand, my house is getting nicer and nicer, I love my garden, and I'm getting comfier spending vast swatches of time with only myself.
I'm sick right now, have been since Friday. That's definitely contributed to isolation (who wants to get sick by hanging out with me?) and to a lot of boredom. Only yesterday did I finally get out of bed to leave the house. Ugh. Should be better sooner or later.
My mind keeps swinging back to thinking about reliability, about what I want from people, about what commitment means, about what's realistic to ask from people and to want from them. I get bored of it even from myself. I've been telling people that if this home doesn't work out -- if I have to move *yet again* --I'm going to sell everything and head out of the country, because it's obvious that no matter how hard I try to choose stability it just won't choose me-- and if you've gotta surrender, do so gracefully, right? At the moment I don't have any ties here. There are people I like and people who like me, but that's not a tie, that's just an incentive to visit sometimes.
I feel sorta scorched-earth sometimes. Can you tell?
I need to meet some new people. I'm trying hard not to go into huntress mode around groups of new people-- I'm not really looking for another boy right now however hard my instincts push me towards that. I'm still broken in that regard. There's some sort of a trust thing in there.
I've been cooking and eating a lot, and doing a lot of dishes. Work has been keeping me busy when I'm not busy being sick. My rats and I hang out sometimes. My life always sounds the same when I type it out.
But here's the thing: right now I have no default person. If I see something beautiful, if I want to go for a walk on the beach, if I want to share a meal-- there's no one who comes to mind immediately and with certainty. There are lists of people who might not be too busy, but that's as far as it goes. You've heard this before from me, perhaps, but it bears repeating. More often, especially with livejournal so distanced from my daily life, the thing doesn't get shared. It feels like loneliness. It feels like getting on a path in the bush and walking in a random direction away from the known, where you realise that if you go far enough no one will be able to find you ever.
Then again, I often think perhaps I've gone so far that no one can ever find me. Last night I had a conversation with Paul (gods bless Paul and Angus, the only two people besides my roommate who've been somehow around to keep me from chewing my legs off from sheer boredom) in which we noticed that people's childhoods mean a lot less about those people than they used to-- now it's accumulated experienced that shape us as we get older and recede further from those childhoods. The accumulation of so many things, though, in both childhood and adulthood-- that's dust that will never be wholly sifted by another person now.
When Kynnin and I got together, I was fourteen and he was fifteen. We knew more or less everything about one another that could be known. That won't be repeated. I'll always have secrets from people now, surprises, because there's simply too much there to be known by another.
None of this is what I meant to say. It leads to some sort of an inevitable conclusion, something about giving the world a big screw-you and heading off into the wild blue yonder, but none of it was the point of this post.
Green is reclaiming me. Maybe that was supposed to be the point? My garden is right there. I have sixteen kinds of tomato transplants (yes, some for you if you want them, call me). I went to the Burnaby Gardenworks and there were fourteen different kinds of kiwis in the fruit and berry section. I am advising a whole bunch of people on edible gardens. I am swinging a shovel for work. Some of this I love, some I don't know enough about. I want to see the invisible webs in the garden, the pieces that link it to humans and to itself.
I am again a machine made for loving people, but my heart isn't in it. It's rather awful to care a lot for a lot of people but not, often, to take pleasure in it. Is this an aftereffect of heartbreak? Things pass through me and then out again, like light through glass. Nothing sticks.
My weight is shifting up to my arms. My hips are almost gone. My skin is browning deeply. I am still blue girl-- my hair took the colour and won't let go. There's very little soft left on my body, and my arms have what might be described as slabs of muscle on them. It's a stranger's body in the full-length mirror, though still my face. Older. I have lines around my eyes now, tiny ones. They belong there.
The other night, and the other night only, I was very sick and lying in bed with the lights on late at night. I could almost see the corner of the bed (his bed was in a different spot than mine) where I sat on the corner of the bed crying and said "pleasepleasepleasedon'tdothistome". I had thought I was too proud to beg a man for anything, you know. It made me feel sad, but also I felt a tremendous sense of passage through the scene, of passing on and moving through. I suppose it's fair to say I put it behind me. The fact that I'm living in the home that Angus used to live in, in the room that was his, really doesn't occur to me otherwise. It's very much mine, and always has felt that way. I collected acorns around the corner when I was seven; this fall Marvin and I will collect acorns and leech the bitter out of them and make food.
I feel more and more like life is a continuous ribbon. I feel more and more like I am confined to a very small and particular here and now.
It's time to go. Be well. I'm around if you want me.
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