In Twilight Regalia

See I just had to put this after the one I made. There was just a reason; you have to hear that there was more. And this is why one goes on and
padam
padam
padams along with Edith Piaf and keeps running along to see if that second wind is coming, because I do think something changes. The thing is I’ve realized in my life things take much longer stretches to change than for other people. My life takes long panning shots; other people have crashing disastrous cameos and short outtakes, but I’m just from another genre or something…. my oevre, whoever it is, has a different plan for my story.

There was a lovely breath of fresh air this last week on my birthday. Why I couldn’t say.

I really didn’t think about it coming; had other things to worry about, wonder about.

But suddenly in a day or two everything goes all bunches of flowers and people go away on vacation who are supposed to leave you in peace and they suddenly GO WOW what a relief, and then suddenly your obligations are reduced and you turn off your phone and get some late morning re-drifting sleep. People who were tense and ill the last time you heard from them are suddenly cheery and wish you well; sunshine sneaks into the room like a prodigal; the skies lift; and small animals who were fleeing your touch have suddenly come around and sit on your shoulder like you were their new property. The funds come in; the roads get repaired; the baby stops crying and says words; and dinners are too good. Air conditioning works. Water is cold. There’s even ice and lime. Sometimes it’s really worth it. What the hell.

One particular gothic abyss of a day, those I trusted, those people, said of me, Ah, whatever. She’s a survivor. She’ll come round.
And I was so astonished and bitter that they said that; it’d sounded so slighting; so abandoning. I needed them to hurt with me then.

But they did know me, after all. I guess they do. Doesn’t mean I don’t need what I need when I need it, but I suppose there is strength here I can draw on. What I have to tell them in those dark times is how that strength came to me, and how that just wasn’t pretty; how much I had to fight off, pushing the edge, nor did I ever ask for it. And when I say I’m a small girl after all, they just kick me in the teeth and don’t believe me. I mean nobody likes that much Disney anyway.

But all of you, you know, all it takes is that odd little song sung into your answering machine; some silk, some time to turn it into something well-sewn; some adornment, that new movement to a new tune, some finery, some unfamiliar delicious smells in the kitchen. Some of you there making sure that those things occur.

All it takes is something that will allow breathing room. The ability to drop it all once it comes. To say What the hell. It takes lace at the window at a cheesey Wyeth seaside. It takes someone making sure you know. And it takes inexplicable suspension of disbelief. And sometimes, when there are enough indications, I can do that.

I can do that.

I am not depressed as I write this. I emphasize that.
But it’s a deeply confusing puzzle to me, and my brain is tired of doing it.
I’m….. exasperated with it. Past the exasperation, I’m just kind of feeling like ow. It’s a dull ow ow ow ow that just keeps on all the time. My life just doesn’t fucking Fit.

This is the one of the more uncomfortable places I’ve been in life. I suppose it could be far worse; I could be very ill; I could have been in a plane crash and stranded or injured; I could have been abducted by a lunatic; I could live in Darfur and be starving; I could have been born with no arms; lots of things. I feel like the kid in My Life As A Dog (an obscure reference for some). (How many watch Swedish films…?) You
have to put things in perspective, the child thinks. You have to realize there are worse things in life.

But really, I can’t think of a time when I was less sure of the events and paths to be taken in my life than now. I have weird dreams about it; stuff comes out and even though I sleep, I’m not really resting. I wake up a lot. I get strange feelings of hopelessness once I wake up because nothing’s been resolved in my sleep; it makes me edgey. Age has something to do with it; when you arrive at a certain crossroads, you double-think all your decisions and having looked them over studiously, you’re pretty sure you’re an idiot just about then.

All the flaws are easy to detect in hindsight; the stuff you should have done, the opportunities you didn’t initially know were opportunities that you missed; the chances you now see were your only exits for various paths not taken that are now closed off to you forever. The people are the hardest part. You realize they changed in ways you’d never anticipated. Some of them didn’t even hang around that long.

All the people I hoped would be with me now live far away from me. The culture I loved and the surrogate family I thought I’d have is long split apart on three or four continents. I have a home situation that’s pretty tepid (very unexpected, I thought I’d have a happy progression or a fiery disaster); I have security, but it all depends on me rather than any help I’ve had, and could all fall apart in an instant should I get myself fired; ( I have daydreams of taking down this place and jumping off a roof, but I really wouldn’t know how to load an AK47, for starters…) I have looming dread of people I personally know becoming old enough to leave the planet; (what’s worse, me leaving or them?. Oh Them of course.) I have wierd aches that were never there before. I have increasing lack of confidence that I am keeping up with skill levels of anyone my junior.

I have an acute awareness that my personal view of life, with all its lessons and values, is becoming less valued by others with each day. And the days go REALLY FAST.

When I make things, I forget that for a moment, and I make a perfect object; something good to taste, something fine to see, something that howls when I sing it. I wonder if a distraction such as that is enough
anymore, since I now know it won’t be a career. It has to be for its own purity now, and I can in fact do that when I’m in pain…. so at least that’s a plus.

The furtive, constant thought that I mean nothing keeps flitting across my consciousness, What Am I FOR? and when I look at it, I think it out of existence, only to have it flit back across the screen. Being older means more mental maintenance I think. There is more to evaluate, and so everything seems to take longer, and steps taken are more secure, but locked in. And keeping away the ghosts is a challenge. I think people have children to frighten them off. I’ve not been afforded that option.

I can’t imagine yet what I can do to change the burden of my own self-conscious life on me — I feel like it must be lifted, but with what? My own self is not enough. My own thoughts just do me in. I need either rescue, backup, or a new incarnation.., or something.

Do I arbitrarily find women who are my age? (arg. I hate that. They are never like me, almost never.)
Do I just get a dog? Don’t I already have fish and small creatures that need me? Where is the thing/ person/ task/ adventure/ situation/ comfort/ raison d’etre I need?

And please don’t say God, I’m already up and down the block on that one.