I am notorious for the following personality flaws:
1. Being exceptionally flaky in regards to plans.
2. Completing one out of every hundred projects I begin.
3. Starting laundry, but not finishing.
4. Not letting go.
5. Forgetting to pee.
6. Taking at least an hour to wake up.
7. Keeping contact.
8. Microwaving coffee about 10 times before I finish drinking it.
I dawdle and I drawl.
Sometimes I blame things on how I was raised - my mother doing my laundry for years. When I began doing my own, I would always leave it in the washer, then she would put it in the dryer days later for me. I never cleaned my room except in two am bouts of insomnia in which I would rearrange my entire room to angry knocks from my father telling me to stop. Even in this two time a week obsession, my room never was cleaned, never finished.
Right now, I'm cataloging books for The Hobbit Hole Library, opening in Shannon & I's house this month. A friend built a huge, awesome bookshelf (I tried to help, but am rather inept at things) which has provided inspiration and motivation to actually complete this project, push it to beautiful fruitition.
And The Canary, the only thing in life I've ever completed, but still have to make many more copies and mail them out like I promised to over the last year.
I take forever in things. I have the best of intentions, but the worst of energy.
I wouldn't necessarily label myself lazy. Just - easily distracted by the day to day happenings of human interaction. And absent minded. I have to write things down three times to remember them.
I don't understand sacrifice well enough any longer.
I don't even know why I wrote this.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Solidity and solidarity. Depression and inspiration. The intersection of things.
"So when do lives and repercussions stop being just abstractions?"
From the armchair, from the bench, sittin' on the sidelines of the motion filled world, legs crossed, wrists tied, flickers of thought, stacks of books that cry, that plead, that express for change, for a sense of hope in the devastation, for a bit of attention.
Easily, I sit, easily I theorize, hum over, dilute each word with the next in an endless pursuit of the follow the leader until I say no, no let's not talk about this, until I lose the ability to declare an opinion because how can I possibly declare an opinion with out enough evidence to back it up?
In my younger years, I relied heavily upon my emotional senses to mold my morals, my ethics, my actions, my views. In an uproar of a bit of information, in the uproar of the smallest event, my ears rang, my heart pulsed with the rage and the hope of change. Things felt right. Now, after four years of munching theory and criticism and the constant need to question and to answer with cold, hard wrought facts, I no longer make choice. Emotions silenced by the awakening of rationality.
How to balance the two? Where do they meet? Where do they shake hands and agree to disagree or find solace in companionship with one and other?
And in those wild outbursts of feelings, I felt alive, no matter how ravaged by depression my brain would be, I told myself, every second, I would rather experience this ultimate darkness than sacrifice the strength these feelings possess. I would never sacrifice this wild sense of being, these dreams of endless inspiration, endless imagination, endless mood sacrifice.
After hours of intensive therapy, boxed in by walls and cameras and hungry, investigative eyes for too many nights, my eyes sewn shut by controlled illusions and my limbs tightened to paralysis, by enforcement of no movements, my mind drilled dry for crazy oil, the wildness of existence, the wildness of thought, the wildness of emotion was willed from me by me under the heavy influence of those "who aren't sick", by those utterly rational beings.
My sense of self masked by the medicinal creation of solid things - medications, diagnoses, worksheets, hand outs, routines, all without a sense of counterbalance - the complementary nature of black and white marred by a thick boundary.
I have absorbed the benefits, the drastic stability, but now realize the sacrifice of intersection, the necessity of overlap, the power of internal, individual being.
The constraints of these seemingly abstract systems of being lose their ferocity as they grow more and more in their tangibility.
Lives and beings evolve into the temporal physicality of the every day and with that I gain awareness of the strength of emotion. Instead of anger and rage displaced, manipulated, silenced by acts of personal violence or the treatises of the modern social machinery, I am slowly discovering balance and solace in the reality of what may be touched and through that connection, through that intersection gain a sense of trust in change, a sense of trust in myself to push forth that change, to create the space in which that change may blossom.
Like poison ivy that protects the boundaries of nature created by man, my will and my sense of self may be the fence that guards the boundaries of change.
From the armchair, from the bench, sittin' on the sidelines of the motion filled world, legs crossed, wrists tied, flickers of thought, stacks of books that cry, that plead, that express for change, for a sense of hope in the devastation, for a bit of attention.
Easily, I sit, easily I theorize, hum over, dilute each word with the next in an endless pursuit of the follow the leader until I say no, no let's not talk about this, until I lose the ability to declare an opinion because how can I possibly declare an opinion with out enough evidence to back it up?
In my younger years, I relied heavily upon my emotional senses to mold my morals, my ethics, my actions, my views. In an uproar of a bit of information, in the uproar of the smallest event, my ears rang, my heart pulsed with the rage and the hope of change. Things felt right. Now, after four years of munching theory and criticism and the constant need to question and to answer with cold, hard wrought facts, I no longer make choice. Emotions silenced by the awakening of rationality.
How to balance the two? Where do they meet? Where do they shake hands and agree to disagree or find solace in companionship with one and other?
And in those wild outbursts of feelings, I felt alive, no matter how ravaged by depression my brain would be, I told myself, every second, I would rather experience this ultimate darkness than sacrifice the strength these feelings possess. I would never sacrifice this wild sense of being, these dreams of endless inspiration, endless imagination, endless mood sacrifice.
After hours of intensive therapy, boxed in by walls and cameras and hungry, investigative eyes for too many nights, my eyes sewn shut by controlled illusions and my limbs tightened to paralysis, by enforcement of no movements, my mind drilled dry for crazy oil, the wildness of existence, the wildness of thought, the wildness of emotion was willed from me by me under the heavy influence of those "who aren't sick", by those utterly rational beings.
My sense of self masked by the medicinal creation of solid things - medications, diagnoses, worksheets, hand outs, routines, all without a sense of counterbalance - the complementary nature of black and white marred by a thick boundary.
I have absorbed the benefits, the drastic stability, but now realize the sacrifice of intersection, the necessity of overlap, the power of internal, individual being.
The constraints of these seemingly abstract systems of being lose their ferocity as they grow more and more in their tangibility.
Lives and beings evolve into the temporal physicality of the every day and with that I gain awareness of the strength of emotion. Instead of anger and rage displaced, manipulated, silenced by acts of personal violence or the treatises of the modern social machinery, I am slowly discovering balance and solace in the reality of what may be touched and through that connection, through that intersection gain a sense of trust in change, a sense of trust in myself to push forth that change, to create the space in which that change may blossom.
Like poison ivy that protects the boundaries of nature created by man, my will and my sense of self may be the fence that guards the boundaries of change.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
