Life is a Playlist…or something like that. Just insert your own witty title here…
This morning started with the moodiness of Rilo Kiley’s A Better Son/Daughter (lyrics below)
Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can’t breathe
And hope someone will save me this time
And your mother’s still calling you insane and high
Swearing it’s different this time
And you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her
And that god never blessed her insides
Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting things
And crawl back into bed to dream of a time
When your heart was open wide and you love things just because
Like the sick and dyingAnd sometimes when you’re on
You’re really fucking on
And your friends they sing along
And they love you
But the lows are so extreme
That the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in its absence
But you’ll fight and you’ll make it through
You’ll fake it if you have to
And you’ll show up for work with a smile
And you’ll be better
You’ll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter or son
And a real good friend
And you’ll be awake
You’ll be alert
You’ll be positive though it hurts
And you’ll laugh and embrace all of your friends
And you’ll be a real good listener
You’ll be honest
You’ll be brave
You’ll be handsome and you’ll be beautiful
You’ll be happy
Your ship may be coming in
You’re weak but not giving in
To the cries and the wails of the valley below
Your ship may be coming in
You’re weak but not giving in
And you’ll fight it you’ll go out fighting all of them.
But you know what? Moods change. Apparently once you have a mess of internal organs removed they change pretty rapidly. Like water in a hot skillet. Not a good example of stability.
I am trying to hard to be the river. I am trying so hard to hold it all together, to be calm, rational, realistic, pragmatic and deal with the tumultuousness of my life. But you know what…for all the good that’s there…right now, it sucks. The year has passed, and I am in a holding pattern for the next few days, wondering what is waiting for me, wondering what some technician in a lab who doesn’t even know me is going to tell me about my future. What other obstacle stands in my way.
Oh dear reader, you had hopes of a comedic stream of consciousness rant. I won’t disappoint, but that’s not where I am at right now. Right now, I am so deep in my head, I don’t even like it here. I feel paralyzed, ineffectual, impotent. Alone. Of course, you, my friend, want me to know that I am not alone, that you are here for me. I know that, but the reality is that those are words with good intent that we all say, but when push comes to shove, it’s not that you wouldn’t be here for me, it’s just that there’s nothing you can do or say that can help or heal or make me less afraid or alone. That’s truth. I am alone in this. I am alone in most things. And for the sake of being real with myself and with those of you who have come to expect my honesty, I live in a world where I’ve never fit in. There’s been no one in my life who has ever seen my world through my eyes, heard the music in my head, understood my screenplay. It makes me sad sometimes, but I’ve learned to live with it. I just always seem to think of this on this last day of the year…the day I think is saddest because so often we are glad to see it go, glad that this is over with, when really it is another year left behind and we should be reflecting on how we made the world a better place, on the people we made laugh, the joys we celebrated, the things we learned. Instead we get drunk, we spend time in an altered state talking about how tomorrow will be different. It’s an arbitrary date people. A day randomly selected to mark the passage of time. If we weren’t all so focused on categorizing and labelling, we’d recognize that every day is really a new year’s eve. And we’d celebrate our accomplishments and new beginnings every day.
Wow, that took an unexpected turn. Really, I am just moody and probably hungry. I am trapped in the tower, Andy is packing up his life in Philly today, and closing that chapter in his life. I am closing the chapter of my life where I was still able to breed. I am grieving the loss of children I never would have had anyway, of a part of my life that I never stopped imagining was going to happen. I am grieving the loss of a part of me, that is now is in some lab being sliced and poked and examined. Parts of me are everywhere.
In the end, I wonder how much any of this matters. I know this is dark and perhaps troubling to you my dear reader. I am not contemplating my demise, just the role of a worker bee like me in the hive of life, and weighing remaining a complaint cog in the machine with choosing to live a radical anarchistic life without limits – do I choose responsibility and safety or jump, blindly, hoping for net and abruptly change the course of my life? What is my path supposed to be? Why is there no flipping handbook?And I want to scream, doesn’t anyone else struggle with this? Why does everyone else seem so satisfied with their lives and why am I always hungry for something unsettling, exciting, new, bizarre and scintillating? Why can’t I be happy with a cheeseburger and fries? Why do I have to have an antelope burger with spicy sweet potato fries with a sirracha ketchup? Why can’t I be happy watching a sit-com with a beer, instead of needing a twisted psychological drama and a pink squirrel? What is my obsession with the fringe? Answers please.
And as I write this, in the background “Because of the Shame” is playing. It is a song about a person who goes to a funeral of someone he knew, but doesn’t feel especially attached to, and how they are ashamed of being vulnerable. It makes you think about all of your relationships and what they mean to you and the person who is also involved in it. Do you both understand the connection the same way. Again with the ADHD writing style.
I wish I was able to dance right now. I’d like to throw on some thrashable punk rock and/or techno and get lost in the music for a while. Or at least have a ride in a car that actually has a stereo. So I could sing along loud and out of tune and let the rage, fear, and angst go. But alas, in the tower I remain. Although I will need to descend at some point cuz I am hungry hungry. My first descent of the steps without assistance. I should watch AHS while I am down there. Maybe I’ll take a stroll next door and hang with Lisa for a while. Oh the endless possibilities for a woman with a two foot incision on her stomach held together by 600 staples, dressed stylishly in a fuzzy robe with dogs that look more like bats on it and mismatched pjs, who can’t really move faster than a 1/4 mph. It’s almost unfathomable.
So faithful reader, my toes are cold, and I need to move from the chair, so alas I leave you on this new year’s eve without the promised hilarious diatribe. Oh well. I have a dr. appointment on Monday, so I am sure that will provide comic fodder. If you are really desperate I could elaborate on the bodily fluid that was leaking from my incisions that had me believing that I was about to ooze out to an empty flesh shell the other night, but I’ve got to eat first. So happy new year to you and yours. Be well.