Still Standing
Oct. 20th, 2010 08:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormThe day's over and I'm still standing.
Well, okay, it's not over, and I'm sitting on the bed in the livingroom, but allow me my rhetoric; this is an achievement beyond what I might have expected of myself. I am playing Santeria over and over, occasionally alternated with Perfect Blue Buildings, and when my cohabitor looks around the half-wall from the kitchen at me I act like a human being, more-or-less.
My mom used to give laundry lists of all the stuff she had to do as a way of silencing us kids. I do that sometimes, but this time I won't.
I tell stories. Let me tell you my story.
I have a ...process assigned to me. I don't know what it is, if it's sentient, any of that. I'd call it a character-building angel or a remarkably consistent twist of fate but that would lead you to believe I favour one over the other. I don't. I don't even favour the thought that it's unique to me over the thought that it's not. In my life, I have observed a process.
The process is attracted by certain words and turns of phrase. It's attracted, basically, by arrogance. Perhaps this is karma, the wheel turning on my intense arrogance and crushing it to dust.
...because, in a remarkably consistent and predictable way, this process crushes me to dust. There are two words that always call it, generally within a couple days but sometimes it lurks for up to two months before it powders me and all that's left is the dust of conviction blowing away in the wind. Those words are "always" and "never". All it takes is a sincere declaration: "I could never eat raw zucchini" or "I'll never leave you" or "I'll always be there for you".
I rarely slip up and use those words anymore. Sometimes I can get away with "always", when I think very hard of intentions rather than outcomes. I can often get away with "won't" or "will". It's the surety that the process takes note of.
Last night I got home. I'd made it through the day. I made it home too tired to figure out how to use the keys, but not tired enough to burst into tears as soon as I walked through the door. Within half an hour I was regenerating. I made some silly post or statement, and I was thinking, "I can handle this. I'm getting stronger, more capable, more able to deal with things. This can't conquor me."
Then today Angus basically lost his job. It's not a clean slice, he'll get some hours here and there, but-- he was/is going to school in three months. That was a change to our financial plan and the stuff around me going to school. I was going to do some loans. I still am. There is, however, no way in hell I can pay both of our rent.
I won't have to. He's a grownup and will figure something out. Still, scary, scary, scary.
I had dinner with a friend. I've calmed down a bunch. I can even look at this optimistically in some ways-- it's too much for me to type them out for you yet, but they can occur to me as thoughts at the least.
I'm scared, though, and the venom comes out. I badly want someone to talk to. I want to cry. I want to make scathing comments about pulling doubleshifts while both my people are pulling none, however premature or untrue that may be. I want to hide under a blanket and have someone nonjudgementally come in and bring me tea and hug me no matter how hostile my body language is. I want stories of how people did this same thing and came out fine. I want people to stay the fuck away from me and shut up.
But:
I work all this weekend. I have two midterms and one final next week on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I have a major assignment due tomorrow that's not done yet. I AM STILL TOO FUCKING STUBBORN TO LET THIS THING TAKE MY SCHOOL THE FUCK DOWN.
So I'll stop typing now and I'll get back to work. And I'll damn well stay there.
Well, okay, it's not over, and I'm sitting on the bed in the livingroom, but allow me my rhetoric; this is an achievement beyond what I might have expected of myself. I am playing Santeria over and over, occasionally alternated with Perfect Blue Buildings, and when my cohabitor looks around the half-wall from the kitchen at me I act like a human being, more-or-less.
My mom used to give laundry lists of all the stuff she had to do as a way of silencing us kids. I do that sometimes, but this time I won't.
I tell stories. Let me tell you my story.
I have a ...process assigned to me. I don't know what it is, if it's sentient, any of that. I'd call it a character-building angel or a remarkably consistent twist of fate but that would lead you to believe I favour one over the other. I don't. I don't even favour the thought that it's unique to me over the thought that it's not. In my life, I have observed a process.
The process is attracted by certain words and turns of phrase. It's attracted, basically, by arrogance. Perhaps this is karma, the wheel turning on my intense arrogance and crushing it to dust.
...because, in a remarkably consistent and predictable way, this process crushes me to dust. There are two words that always call it, generally within a couple days but sometimes it lurks for up to two months before it powders me and all that's left is the dust of conviction blowing away in the wind. Those words are "always" and "never". All it takes is a sincere declaration: "I could never eat raw zucchini" or "I'll never leave you" or "I'll always be there for you".
I rarely slip up and use those words anymore. Sometimes I can get away with "always", when I think very hard of intentions rather than outcomes. I can often get away with "won't" or "will". It's the surety that the process takes note of.
Last night I got home. I'd made it through the day. I made it home too tired to figure out how to use the keys, but not tired enough to burst into tears as soon as I walked through the door. Within half an hour I was regenerating. I made some silly post or statement, and I was thinking, "I can handle this. I'm getting stronger, more capable, more able to deal with things. This can't conquor me."
Then today Angus basically lost his job. It's not a clean slice, he'll get some hours here and there, but-- he was/is going to school in three months. That was a change to our financial plan and the stuff around me going to school. I was going to do some loans. I still am. There is, however, no way in hell I can pay both of our rent.
I won't have to. He's a grownup and will figure something out. Still, scary, scary, scary.
I had dinner with a friend. I've calmed down a bunch. I can even look at this optimistically in some ways-- it's too much for me to type them out for you yet, but they can occur to me as thoughts at the least.
I'm scared, though, and the venom comes out. I badly want someone to talk to. I want to cry. I want to make scathing comments about pulling doubleshifts while both my people are pulling none, however premature or untrue that may be. I want to hide under a blanket and have someone nonjudgementally come in and bring me tea and hug me no matter how hostile my body language is. I want stories of how people did this same thing and came out fine. I want people to stay the fuck away from me and shut up.
But:
I work all this weekend. I have two midterms and one final next week on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I have a major assignment due tomorrow that's not done yet. I AM STILL TOO FUCKING STUBBORN TO LET THIS THING TAKE MY SCHOOL THE FUCK DOWN.
So I'll stop typing now and I'll get back to work. And I'll damn well stay there.
