obligatory bummed out overdramatic foolish girl post

[You're reading this, I know, which is why I want to make the disclaimer that you are by no means expected to be stressed out or otherwise feel responsible for replying to or addressing this post in any form. I can't leave this unwritten; I have to be able to use this space to make things right in my head. Likely you will find it rather extreme and overly metaphorical. Just gotta get these things off my chest. Also, it's nice every now and then to make my friends worry about me, so they'll email or call and say, "what's up?" and I can say, "oh, silly me, I'm fine. But how are you??"]

I'd say I was back at square one, but I think I would prefer that. At square one you know where you are and the options you have ahead of you.

Instead I find that my particular square is located somewhere out in a vast desert of squares going in all directions, no end to be seen. I could go anywhere. What I'm actually going to do is sit down, hug my knees and bury my head in my arms until I feel like looking up again. And when I do? Maybe that desert will have turned into an ocean and my square is just floating out in the middle of it, going wherever it's supposed to go. The only direction I could possibly choose is down.

It's close quarters in my throat today. Sharing the meager space are a frog and a lump, and they are wedged so tightly together that it seems neither can do their particular job properly.

The frog is supposed to have me feeling wickedly, earnestly ill- because today's the only day I have to be sick and since it's going to happen it needs to happen NOW. All of my days henceforth are booked solid and I've got no time for feeling miserable. Unfortunately, I'm still hovering in that middle stage, in the limbo of "this is going to be a really wretched cold when it matures that prevents me from doing just about everything I need to do but for now it's just toying with me blithely, a fickle bitch of a sickness."

The lump wants me to cry. Hell, I want me to cry. Everything's all fucking pent up inside and I can't get rid of it by hoping. But my eyes stay dry, and I can't force it or trigger it. For that I suffer all the worse.

("People often mistake women's tears for defeat, for weakness. Hers were not tears of surrender, but tears for the injustice of the world." --Sandra Cisneros)

If both residents of my throat were working up to snuff, I'd still be in bed. I'd look at the beautiful day Dallas threw in my face and sniffle, "Bah. What's sunshine when you're unhappy? Just a smack in the face, that's all."

But I can't cry and I can't stay in bed, so I walked to the library. I talked to the stream. I tried to find the magic I was feeling up to yesterday and came up short. This place is killing me, and just for a little while I was distracted enough to think it wasn't.

I have something backward in my head. When I am upset with my situation, when life's kicking me hard in the ass and I hate what's been and what's being, I can't get out of it. I agonize and agonize and moan for some imagined concept of better days, but in terms of bettering myself, I'm nearly useless. When something comes along to make me feel peaceful again, to settle my soul, I go forward. I make goals. I advance them. I plan and plot and lay roads.

Angst slays me. I can't work with it, I can't work around it, and it takes me ages to properly get past it. Suddenly Texas is Texas again, and I still hate it and the cruel joke life's played on me the past year and a half (perhaps I played it on myself, who knows) is twice as harsh a lesson in "get your shit together."

But you don't get do-overs, and you can never go back to square one. Just keep fixing the stuff you fucked up and try hard not to screw things over any more. Come on over to the hole I've dug myself someday; it's getting cozy in here and I'd love some company.

("A person of independence, who does not need nor want us, inspires our admiration, and admiration is a love potion. A person who needs us too much, who is weak with neediness, inspires pity. And pity, the other side of admiration, is the antidote to love." --Sandra, again)

[Find yourself someone with a smile that makes your nerves tingle and a laugh that makes you feel goofy and awesome. Find yourself someone whose touch makes your legs wobbly and your heart ache. Find yourself someone whose absence makes you furious with sadness. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for, but all I've learned is that it's nothing next to finding someone who makes you content.

And you give me that, too.]