Warm Feet

I probably shouldn’t write when I’m not feeling well. Probably shouldn’t even get on FaceBook. It has a way of making me look bi-polar, a bit unstable. Then again maybe I am. Then again maybe I’m not. I can envision two teenagers on a high school debate team behind podiums arguing both points of view. Both would probably be right.

The former argument assumes that the norm is some sort of stability. It’s been my perception that most people simply put on the facade of stability and they do it well. Then again, it’s easy to feel more stable when you’ve got many support systems, your world makes more sense, you have places to go that have meaning and people will hold you when you don’t. Then again I doubt most people have their homes turn inside out as often as mine has over the last four years, but then most haven’t worked so many hours, most haven’t had nobody helping them take care of a three bedroom home and five animals to boot while having a chronic illness of the nervous system. Most aren’t or haven’t been on physical and emotional roller coasters imposed by doctors playing God with medication after medication.

I forgot what I was going to say. I suppose most of this is a free write anyway. I don’t even know why I write anymore. I suppose that’s part of regaining one’s voice.

I want to attend a Christmas eve service tomorrow night. The idea of doing so is more painful than I can communicate. The letters I get asking for money bother me. From purely a economical point of view I didn’t get the services I paid for. From an ethical point of view I got ripped off.

Ah, that’s what I was going to say. I’ve been acknowledging lately that much of my pain in life has been the result of having a strong sense of right and wrong, especially on ethical and spiritual levels. When there’s a disparity I end up in a great deal of pain and simply need what I perceive and justice to resolve that pain. Seems like I’m being unrealistic but usually all I want is something simple, say an apology, say a hug, validation, an admit el of unbecoming or hurtful behavior.

Why is that so much to ask?

I ask myself that then look around and find that others generally have that in their lives. When a loveD one screws up and they cry there’s generally an apology. People do what needs to be done. I see this with my family, my friends, professional associates. It’s always seemed very different with me (with one exception that happened over a decade ago; so simple, a no nonsense apology in a letter, it sticks with me to this day). Maybe my problem is I don’t cry. I don’t exude emotion the same way others tend to. And I’ve noticed if I do shed tears people react and they react fast.

Perhaps I’m still asking too much but I find this bothersome. If I wanted I could learn to cry on queue, even get on the phone and make bemoaned pleas through tears. Wait a minute, that’s what I used to do twenty years back and it worked quite well (most of the time, anyway, that is until it wore itself out). Is it so much for me to simply communicate when I’m upset and why and want a straight forward response directed at the issue I’ve communicated? That seems more honest, more sensible, more balanced. I know on some level it’s judgmental of me to say this but I find crying can sometimes be manipulative and I don’t want that. Sure, I get angry, sure I get upset, sure I get this and I get that, but I’d rather just say what I want and need. Do it or don’t.

Merry Christmas.

I was going to get a tree again this year but the last few weeks have really quite pushed me to the edge. As I mentioned last week I thought 2011 was going to be about getting on top but instead it’s been about worth. More so I’ve had this pervasive concern that I’m just going to decide this life, this body, this place I’ve found and decided myself into, isn’t worth it. Tomorrow may be another day but it’s still another day where I have this degree, this job, this house, these pets, these friends, these aches and pains in this body. I want the world to be different and fucking-A I want to be a Catholic, I love the pomp and circumstance and beauty of it all, the idea of believing in this beautiful God that comes down and saves us from ourselves, but I just can’t understand how any rational human being can believe in that, not really. When I was a child I thought as a child goes the Bible verse and now that I’ve grown up I can’t go back to all that, I don’t even think I can go back to a more eclectic group of spiritual minded folk when the beliefs on paper are a pick-and-choose your own adventure.

I did love those books when I was a kid.

I even wrote a couple.

Unpublished of course.

One thing I do seem to never get tired of is warm air on my feet. That and coffee, although too much and I start to get unnecessary anxiety. Out comes the decaf, but even that has caffeine. C’est la vie, hit the tea.

Good day, goodnight, love the green screen. Wish I’d had this program years ago, this MacJournal. I love the full screen green on black. Reminds me of the old days, just wish I could change the font to Courier New (probably can but too lazy and have a million more important things to do).

Aslynn too much healing to do and too little time Meyers

P.S. To those who do believe, truly a Happy Christmas.