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I had this idea that I would try and write in this thing every day in September and look how well that's gone!
Here's the time right now - I think - thwarted efforts. Maybe that's the name for these days. Or.
One time & now it was years ago - I was walking to game after work & this was at the store - so you had to walk by the airport & under some overpasses without sidewalks. About a mile - and this after about a half hour on the train & another half hour on the bus - so you'd get to a place where you'd need to know the secret place to pee (TM). I had this one between overpasses in the long grass area - a whole secret area on the map you could explore where sometimes there would be hobo-leavings & also many, many coyote sightings (what with the airport being big & empty and a place for them). Anyhow I was stepping over the guardrail to challenge cars in the street this one time - this one time and I banged my knee but good on the cornery beam that upholds the guardrail. It pierced a hole in my industrial-worker black slacks - which are nigh on invulnerable usually & I bled all down my leg that day and also hollered a lot.
(But you know, only in private. Someone was saying to me that men never suffer alone, or something like that & I just... What? That's so weird to me to think. On Saturday nigth I was at my mom's and we're having dinner while we talk about what to do about a problem like Father and I let slip that August was really, really hard on me and that I'm not in a great place. At all. And she says well let's talk about it, lets talk about what is wrong and I said... I said I don't do that. SO! What does it mean that I don't write here very much these days? Shit).
Anyhow I'm wearing those same pants today and there's the hole in the knee where the street & the fences tried to hurt me but couldn't well enough. Memories. Really I feel like I have a growing problem in my memory. Not like a dementia problem - but more a problem of my medicine - which does a great job of helping me to not dwell on horrifying past experiences that make me want to die - but also maybe that comes along with not having that good of a memory anymore at all? I think I generally have a real good memory - and that's probably why I ended up having rather a lot of despair. That's a working theory.
Not having despair has been going pretty well but it also makes things seem kind of insignificant & unreal. There's not a lot of terrible edge to things - like the threat of an ending doesn't seem pressing & the knowledge that all will get worse & worse & worse until you're inevitably incapable of bearing any more humiliation & punishment & then you will fall & die - without caring about that? It's a little hard to feel from one moment to the next that you're really urgently required to do anything. It's easier when stakes are low - and heaven knows I've got more done.
I didn't write one book last month, let alone 2, my stated & thus far observed target. I think I wrote better than 50% of maybe 4 books? And none of them are going the way I want them to.
Maybe it's the seasons & their change - maybe it's just anhedonia of another stripe. I want things to be a different way than they are - but I couldn't just tell you what way that would be. I can't take one part of my experience of now and say: "This is the part that I cannot bear & it must go." That's the kind of thing I can work with.
I'm reminded of another time - now - when I was similarly productive & spiralling & disaffected with my job & relationships. I caught myself turning on some kind of news in the morning - just like I used to do. having voice going in the morning while I prepare. That's probably not a great thing. That feeling of alienation from yourself - so much so that you need to look without - you've got to jump on someone else's boat to be aware or alive. That's what's happening because there aren't edges or harsh experiences to laugh at publicly and to be crushed by only years later & in private.
Here's the time right now - I think - thwarted efforts. Maybe that's the name for these days. Or.
One time & now it was years ago - I was walking to game after work & this was at the store - so you had to walk by the airport & under some overpasses without sidewalks. About a mile - and this after about a half hour on the train & another half hour on the bus - so you'd get to a place where you'd need to know the secret place to pee (TM). I had this one between overpasses in the long grass area - a whole secret area on the map you could explore where sometimes there would be hobo-leavings & also many, many coyote sightings (what with the airport being big & empty and a place for them). Anyhow I was stepping over the guardrail to challenge cars in the street this one time - this one time and I banged my knee but good on the cornery beam that upholds the guardrail. It pierced a hole in my industrial-worker black slacks - which are nigh on invulnerable usually & I bled all down my leg that day and also hollered a lot.
(But you know, only in private. Someone was saying to me that men never suffer alone, or something like that & I just... What? That's so weird to me to think. On Saturday nigth I was at my mom's and we're having dinner while we talk about what to do about a problem like Father and I let slip that August was really, really hard on me and that I'm not in a great place. At all. And she says well let's talk about it, lets talk about what is wrong and I said... I said I don't do that. SO! What does it mean that I don't write here very much these days? Shit).
Anyhow I'm wearing those same pants today and there's the hole in the knee where the street & the fences tried to hurt me but couldn't well enough. Memories. Really I feel like I have a growing problem in my memory. Not like a dementia problem - but more a problem of my medicine - which does a great job of helping me to not dwell on horrifying past experiences that make me want to die - but also maybe that comes along with not having that good of a memory anymore at all? I think I generally have a real good memory - and that's probably why I ended up having rather a lot of despair. That's a working theory.
Not having despair has been going pretty well but it also makes things seem kind of insignificant & unreal. There's not a lot of terrible edge to things - like the threat of an ending doesn't seem pressing & the knowledge that all will get worse & worse & worse until you're inevitably incapable of bearing any more humiliation & punishment & then you will fall & die - without caring about that? It's a little hard to feel from one moment to the next that you're really urgently required to do anything. It's easier when stakes are low - and heaven knows I've got more done.
I didn't write one book last month, let alone 2, my stated & thus far observed target. I think I wrote better than 50% of maybe 4 books? And none of them are going the way I want them to.
Maybe it's the seasons & their change - maybe it's just anhedonia of another stripe. I want things to be a different way than they are - but I couldn't just tell you what way that would be. I can't take one part of my experience of now and say: "This is the part that I cannot bear & it must go." That's the kind of thing I can work with.
I'm reminded of another time - now - when I was similarly productive & spiralling & disaffected with my job & relationships. I caught myself turning on some kind of news in the morning - just like I used to do. having voice going in the morning while I prepare. That's probably not a great thing. That feeling of alienation from yourself - so much so that you need to look without - you've got to jump on someone else's boat to be aware or alive. That's what's happening because there aren't edges or harsh experiences to laugh at publicly and to be crushed by only years later & in private.
