Archive for January, 2008

Not it

I’m not feeling clever. This is me, but it isn’t. I just don’t care. Being me is caring, but I just don’t care. My gift/curse is empathy, but I just don’t care. Other people’s problems sound petty and simple and they irritate me. This isn’t the me I usually know. And now I feel like crying. What’s wrong with me? Where did I go?

Add comment January 28th, 2008

Withdrawal from the energy bank

   I started to feel sick to my stomach. The energy was being sucked from my body. I…quick, breathe in the white light. By the time my husband had left for work, my body was zinging with alarm.

Already this morning I had put on the headphones and was listening to a seminar at Berkeley with David Lynch on transcendental meditation and film. That was to neutralize the anxiety I get when he turns on the radio in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep. It’s this call in show about ufo sightings and weird happenings. That stuff really gets to me. And then he rolls over and hugs me. Smothers me.

This is the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with. I’m going to find a way to make it work. I have two long shelves of

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books to guide me.
Last week he told me he is going to look for a new job. – long story. Outward I’m supportive; inward I’m panicking. I know with the end of football season that something is coming. It comes every year, this sense of loss and not knowing what to do with himself, when he turns all that football energy on me. My neat little life is in for an upheaval.

I’ve calmed myself down and now I reach out to him. I send him my love, but I sense there’s a vast emptiness in him that I cannot fill. I send him off, wishing him all good things. Maybe I’ll try transcendental meditation.

Add comment January 18th, 2008

Living in opposition

I’m not suicidal, I’m just ready to die. How could I explain to my doctor what I had never put into words before? Then it hit me. I’m approaching the age of my dad when he died. Some time in the last ten years I went to be afraid of dying to accepting the inevitable. I’ve heard it happens; I just didn’t recognize it in me.

All of my life, I made decisions about who I want to be based on not being like my mom. I couldn’t have put it into words, but I cringed whenever her words didn’t ring true. Once a neighbor had trimmed her tree and left all the branches that pointed up. The arborist she later hired complemented her on a great job. Then I heard my mother saying, “Hmmm…if I were going to trim up

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this tree, I would trim all the branches except for the ones that are pointing up.” I couldn’t put into words what bothered me about this except it felt false. It wouldn’t be until I was an adult and in therapy for years that I would find the words that had so eluded me in my youth.

If you can’t put it into words, you can’t make anyone believe you. Or so I believed.

Mom is eighty-four years old and afraid to die. I know that I don’t want to live as long as her. Look at her life; she’s miserable. But she won’t let go. And so it goes. Once again I’m making decisions in opposition to her.

So, I’m telling my doctor that I don’t want to be too healthy, because I don’t want to live to be eighty-four. I thought it was because I couldn’t seem to make my dreams come true. I quit trying, because I got thwarted at every turn. I thought I was tired of trying. But I wonder if I’d feel the same way if mother wasn’t around. Am I just pruning my tree of all but the branches pointing down?

Add comment January 11th, 2008

A new year…new?

I feel as though I have a hangover, a post holiday hangover. The frenzied throb of traffic and people has quelled to a slow steady frizzle of shock. With the spin of the Earth, can we instantly go from overcrowded days with too little money to a happy new year?

Once I revised my calendar so that January followed December so that it didn’t fall into a vast empty darkness at the end of the book of twelve pages, I cured myself of that sense of dread and doom that comes with being unable to

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see where the horizon drops off the edge of the world. The world is round, but our calendars aren’t.

Life is a series of transitions, the most difficult stage of labor.

Add comment January 8th, 2008


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