reeling...

It has been a very strange week. An awful lot has happened and I'm not sure how to process it.

And I'm very behind. I have to do about 2 months of research in about 5 days and somehow compile into a stellar paper. I would have thought that was impossible, except this week I have seen the impossible happen.

Closure

It's what I wanted. No, what I wanted was for things to not have turned out bad. I guess closure is what I needed. Now I'm not sure how I feel. I'm profoundly sad. Relieved. Depressed. Looking forward, looking backward, trying to face right now.

The weather is perfect but bringing with it a whole new set of sensory forced memories that I'm not prepared to deal with yet. I know that the passionate, emotional, feeling, intense person is who I am. I'm just having a little trouble being with myself right now. Wishing I was incapable of feeling for a little while.

Of course I'll survive. I just don't know if I'll ever be the same. I'm a stronger person than I thought. But weaker than I should be.

Toxic Dumping

I am not a repressor. Keeping a lot of stuff in this last 12 months has damn near killed me. Someone listened, and if I haven't completely overwhelmed them will listen some more. On Thursday, I got out lots of stuff that needed to get out and I got to verbalize thoughts and feelings that were way too enormous to keep stuffed in my psyche. So Friday was a much better day.

There were parts of it that tried to pull me back to despair and panic and all the other negative emotions that have become so prevalent recently, but I got real bursts of me again, too. And it wasn't me trying to be me again, it was me. Like I'd make a joke or say something completely optimistic and tigger-ish and realize afterwards that it wasn't forced or me trying to remember what I used to be like, but really me. I guess it wasn't gone forever, after all.

The weather was gorgeous--in the 70's and sunny. Parts of the feel of the air and the sun in their own ways triggered memories that threatened to launch the flood of memory, but I let it just make me feel good instead. I don't think that would have been possible had I not gotten stuff out.

I am grateful for people who care. And people who listen. And especially to the person who let me dump my toxic waste without judgement. They have no idea the burden they helped me lift. I am going to survive. Not only that, be me again.

Getting Found

I got lost. Now I'm getting found. With a little luck, politics, soapboxing, cheer and righteous anger forthcoming...

for now I'm trying to detoxify and heal. And find myself. I'm pretty sure it's possible--today is a hopeful day. Getting a large quantity of salt dumped in a potentially fatal wound pissed me off enough that I realized I want to survive. It's not just instinct--it's desire.

I have some friends that are helping in ways they don't even realize. I'm very lucky to have good peeps. And I have a newish friend that is going an extra mile to listen to me and have a tea party with my skeletons. To that person, it's a small gesture. To me, it's a relief that feels like a first breath after being strangled.

It's going to be allright. I'm pretty sure.

the dream...

I had a dream. It was so long and so real that I thought it was my life, only better. It had fireflies in thick summer air, so heavy and humid that the light from the fireflies was diffused and amplified in that surreal way that can only happen in dreams. There was a black swan sitting in marsh grass by the edge of a lake, who knew secrets and sat listening--taking in every word. There was a constant flow of parks with different trees and paths and streams and ponds and puddles, but they all had in common the sounds of laughter and joy and pleasure. There was a black sky with huge bolts of lightening streaking to the ground from the clouds with thunder booms drowned out by angry music and laughter and murmuring voices. There was air so chilly you could see your breath and a cloudy but bright sky meeting a dark grey lake. The grass tickled and the blanket was warm and the grey sky was reflected in eyes as deep as the lake. There were long rides on winding roads with lots of trees and sometimes rain and sometimes bright sunshine. There was a gardener whistling through a hilly park, pretending not to notice. There were gales of the most joyful laughter and I couldn't tell which way was up and which way was down.

Scene by scene and frame by frame it went by in a disjointed blur. It had bad moments too, that seemed like the whole dream would become a nightmare, but they blended into the mix and it was unpredictable, like flying all over the world and never knowing what you're going to see next. There were moments of ecstasy and moments of despair and moments of every emotion in between. It was more colorful than life could possibly be, more intense and more alive. It seemed real--I can still feel the sensations on my skin; see the vibrant settings; hear the sounds; I can taste it and smell it.

And then came morning and I was reluctantly pulled from the dream. And realized that life will never be as incredible. It seems like being dead after the intensity. And so I want to go back to sleep forever and be in the dream again; so I can feel like I'm living.

Woman Killed by Flying Random Junk...details at 6 and 11

Today was a very bizarre day, and I'm not sure whether to be scared or amused by the fact that it isn't over yet.

Good thing I drive a hybrid; if I was on real time gasoline usage I would have run out in the middle of nowhere. I was driving a route I have driven at least a hundred times and got lost because I was so distracted that I made a wrong turn. Or, rather, turned where I should have gone straight. It took me a few minutes to realize that things didn't look familiar anymore and when I figured it out, I thought it might be a good idea to keep my mind on the road. Despite having a very solid idea of where I was, I managed to do it again, getting myself lost even more. Ditz.

Then I went out to MCC to visit one of my friends, and on the way home I saw a decal on a car that said "silver fox." First thought was that it was kind of stupid, then thought hey, what a great goal to have for my 40's. Spend them working on being a silver fox by the time I'm in my 50's. so I'm daydreaming about being a 50-something with a toned ass and big perky boobs and realized I was stuck behind a person with their trunk open. Not unable to close due to a big load, but flapping in the very windy air, threatening to dislodge the shit in it. I gave them lots of space, thinking they would maybe pull over to close it after they passed the traffic lights . Apparently the owner of the vehicle has a yen for living a wild and dangerous life since they didn't. Someone should probably tell them that risk-taking only counts as adventerous when you are risking yourself and not other motorists. All I could see was the headline: "Woman, 39, killed by Random Flying Junk" and under it:"Possibility of bad karma due to excessive materialistic thought. Authorities are investigating".

my life at the moment, in cheesy metaphor--the only available medium for one frightened soul on a night that's too dark and quiet

Some things are important enough to work for
...to fight for,
...to die for.

Sometimes working doesn't involve sweat;
fighting doesn't make you bleed;
dying doesn't necessarily mean the end of life, just sometimes feeling like it.

Some people don't understand those things, and
some people just don't want to.

Sometimes holding on to what's important is like clinging to a silk thread in a hurricane.
But when it's important you hang on and ride out the storm.
It would be easier to let it blow away. Find shelter. Get warm until the weather is better and you can go out and find a new thread. And some people do that.

I won't. You can find a new thread, but it's never the same as the one you let blow away. And when it takes a lifetime to find the thread that makes the tapestry unique and colorful and me, that thread is worth hanging on to. Even if the weather ultimately rips it away, I must try to save it.

The tapestry is so beautiful.
Perfectly flawed and unevenly patterned and as rare as the most important thread.