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"I live in a world of delusion," Sarah complained.
"We all do," I agreed.
"Yeah," she said, "I know. That's my other point."
"I know you know," I giggled. "That's why I like ya. You get it."
We burst out laughing as our cognitive frameworks collapsed joyfully upon themselves, two schoolchildren giggling on the playground while the school house toppled
Nick wrote that to me before we even got off the phone. Show off. He's trying to teach me to write conversation. For now, I'd just like to include it as a piece of my own. From a different perspective, you know, to stroke my ego.
So the trick is getting back to writing After you've gotten off. Again and again. And that's all I have to do write now is keep writing. Write now. Write now. Nick already told me that one.
This is why I can't read that pronoia workbook write now. Is because I get too jealous. I type like a little kid when I get sad. I can't seem to get it out if I try to slow down. Speeding up, out of control to a point of stable, perpetual movement, constantly versus evermore urgent efforts to slow down. More concentrated, longer efforts to slow down. It's a lot of hard work. I have no idea why it's so hard, but ultimately, it's good for me. With or without the pot.
I have no idea what to say...aaron, i'm so sorry. My stuck point with this fanciful notion that I talk to God is what got us here. Where I don't know where you are and you don't know where I am. Where you're over there working on your music and I'm over here working on my book. Now, I can't wait for you to read this. Cause now it's gonna look like a litany of me stabbing myself on that excitement until I bleed. That hurt to say. Are you writing to me over there with your song? I doubt it, I don't know. You weren't talking directly about me any of those other times. I don't know, it was possible for me to infer them to be talking about me. I don't know why I can't lie now. That hurt too. I feel like that though when I write, like I get just within reach of the truth. And now i've been paying more attention to my body. All it says is that I have physical feeling pain somewhere in my body. God, why is that so hard to admit. Dear to whomever this may concern, I don't know how long it's going to take me to get better. I PLAN ON MAKING IT TAKE THE REST OF MY LIFE. If that means starting with pot I'm okay with that but soon into I'm gonna wanna give up everything else that's holding me back...
Saturday, September 26, 2009
My version of nick and my's conversation
A little bit of honest, digging introspection into what false beliefs I held revealed that we are all delusional to some extent. It's what those delusions are, what stage we are in of giving up our delusions. And we're at a very early one, but it's a big, quick step. A tread on the wheel.
Anyway, Nick and I were talking about my blocks as a writer. They were all very emotional issues.
Anyway, Nick and I were talking about my blocks as a writer. They were all very emotional issues.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
My thoughts on doubt and wonder part 2
The devil I'm running from now.
See that's the thing that God said to me, the last time that I spoke with him when I was sober.
He said:
DO NOT BE IN SOMEONE'S LIFE IF YOU CANNOT BE A GIFT.
And what I said to Charlie is:
I can see that you don't want a relationship right now.
"With you" he left unsaid.
Anyway, that was my romance while I was trying really hard to align my conversation with God to Christianity. I guess, I mentally went in and then mentally came out.
and when i get to thinking about it that way i get some where near a memory of what actually happened.
Other than that I usually just have this sense of dred.
An ever-leasening sense of dred.
Then I start wondering when the doubt started.
See that's the thing that God said to me, the last time that I spoke with him when I was sober.
He said:
DO NOT BE IN SOMEONE'S LIFE IF YOU CANNOT BE A GIFT.
And what I said to Charlie is:
I can see that you don't want a relationship right now.
"With you" he left unsaid.
Anyway, that was my romance while I was trying really hard to align my conversation with God to Christianity. I guess, I mentally went in and then mentally came out.
and when i get to thinking about it that way i get some where near a memory of what actually happened.
Other than that I usually just have this sense of dred.
An ever-leasening sense of dred.
Then I start wondering when the doubt started.
My thoughts on doubt and wonder
I have an incessant conversation with God. Well, I used to. Now I'm just addicted to pot. But God and pot used to be one and the same thing. Well, not always. There was a time when there was God everywhere. Well, my version of God. Not who God was, but threw what God wasn't. God wasn't evil. As in he wouldn't send us to hell. See, I saw God as Reacting to other forces that he put on earth. As if he needed us for anything. He always told me that he was merely here to serve. That much serves man. Man is needy and weak and vulnerable. All look to me now, God says with a sigh.Anyway, then I came to find out that God wasn't even bored. And I promptly began wanting to be with God every second of the day.
It's really addicting.
I can play it out in huge dramas saving souls every two or three months. Or maybe seven months. And maybe be so happy that I'm doing it the whole time that even start to enjoy myself a little. And it also totally looks like I'm praying on them. Yes, the play on words there is intentional. Preying on them that they might save me.
From the demon that I'm running from at the time.
See that was the thing about Charlie is that he knew the devil.
It's really addicting.
I can play it out in huge dramas saving souls every two or three months. Or maybe seven months. And maybe be so happy that I'm doing it the whole time that even start to enjoy myself a little. And it also totally looks like I'm praying on them. Yes, the play on words there is intentional. Preying on them that they might save me.
From the demon that I'm running from at the time.
See that was the thing about Charlie is that he knew the devil.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The tragedy of an old habit
I almost married this guy named Casey awhile back. He broke off the engagement after I had gone thousands of dollars into debt buying catering contracts and booking reception halls. He grew frustrated with, then shocked and appalled by my increasingly crazier schemes. Eventually he was broken, so he moved out of our apartment. The relationship should have ended long before that, and not just for the sake of my credit report, but because we had lost hope. For years it's been hard to put my finger on exactly what went wrong between us, but I gained some small understanding today.
I was feeling anxious about leaving the house this morning. I was supposed to go to a meeting to begin a new volunteer project but something inside me kept saying, “They don't really need me for this.” I just needed a personal day, something I hadn't had in a long time.
I approached Aaron, my current boyfriend, and told him that I didn't feel like going. I don't know if I was trying to reach out to him or if I just blurting that out hoping to bait him in telling me I didn't have to go. Whatever it was he screwed up his face in frustration and blew me off, going back to what he was doing on the computer. That was the last thing I said to him all morning. He left and I stole a personal day and skipped the meeting about the volunteer project, only now my anxiety was compounded by guilt for ditching out on the meeting and worry about disappointing Aaron.
We met up later to get groceries, awkward and silent. The explosion came when we left the store and argued over who would carry the groceries, if I would bum him a cigarette, where we should stop and smoke and god knows what else. We fought and walked all the way to the bus stop and lit up.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I asked him hesitantly between puffs.
“What?” he asked cautiously. I reminded him about that morning when I had told him that I didn't want to go. He said, “Well, why didn't you want to go? I don't understand.”
More of the same attitude. “Well, the time for gaining understanding has passed,” I said.
“What does that even mean?” he said still with his face all twisted. I thought for a solid thirty seconds about what to say. I thought about Casey and what a dysfunctional couple we were. Two separate relationships had evolved between Casey and I, our actual relationship and the relationship in my head. In our actual relationship there were ups and downs,
misunderstandings and reconciliations. In my head we had great debates about life and we resolved many things that never happened, that couldn't possible happen in real life. I wanted to catch Aaron and I before I couldn't be understood by him at all.
“It means that I don't feel,” I struggled, “trustful enough of you right now to be vulnerable.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means" I struggled some more, "that I just sit here and be quiet.”
We sat in a very frustrated silence until the bus came. We didn't make an attempt to sit near each other on the overcrowded bus. I sat in the back facing the rear and he sat down in front watching over the driver's shoulder.
I stewed over the impossibility of calmly telling him what the fuck was going on. In my head it was so easy, I could lay it out nice and clean like clean sheets on a bed. Then it occurred to me that the battles in my head are my own, I wouldn't want him in there anyway. He would be lost, and I doubted if we'd have any chance of reconciliation afterward. There was no Aaron in my head, and there had been no Casey in my head years before. They were fragments of self-doubt that I'd been wrestling with for years. All I had was Aaron, Aaron in real life. My task was to be patient and hope that love was its own reward.
When I looked up I could see the “Poetry in Motion” poster above the windows on the bus. It was the poem that Aaron once told me was his favorite of all the bus-poems. It was by Primus St. John. It said:
“I believe in myself slowly.
It takes all the doubt I've got.
It takes my wonder.”
I was feeling anxious about leaving the house this morning. I was supposed to go to a meeting to begin a new volunteer project but something inside me kept saying, “They don't really need me for this.” I just needed a personal day, something I hadn't had in a long time.
I approached Aaron, my current boyfriend, and told him that I didn't feel like going. I don't know if I was trying to reach out to him or if I just blurting that out hoping to bait him in telling me I didn't have to go. Whatever it was he screwed up his face in frustration and blew me off, going back to what he was doing on the computer. That was the last thing I said to him all morning. He left and I stole a personal day and skipped the meeting about the volunteer project, only now my anxiety was compounded by guilt for ditching out on the meeting and worry about disappointing Aaron.
We met up later to get groceries, awkward and silent. The explosion came when we left the store and argued over who would carry the groceries, if I would bum him a cigarette, where we should stop and smoke and god knows what else. We fought and walked all the way to the bus stop and lit up.
“Can I talk to you about something?” I asked him hesitantly between puffs.
“What?” he asked cautiously. I reminded him about that morning when I had told him that I didn't want to go. He said, “Well, why didn't you want to go? I don't understand.”
More of the same attitude. “Well, the time for gaining understanding has passed,” I said.
“What does that even mean?” he said still with his face all twisted. I thought for a solid thirty seconds about what to say. I thought about Casey and what a dysfunctional couple we were. Two separate relationships had evolved between Casey and I, our actual relationship and the relationship in my head. In our actual relationship there were ups and downs,
misunderstandings and reconciliations. In my head we had great debates about life and we resolved many things that never happened, that couldn't possible happen in real life. I wanted to catch Aaron and I before I couldn't be understood by him at all.
“It means that I don't feel,” I struggled, “trustful enough of you right now to be vulnerable.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means" I struggled some more, "that I just sit here and be quiet.”
We sat in a very frustrated silence until the bus came. We didn't make an attempt to sit near each other on the overcrowded bus. I sat in the back facing the rear and he sat down in front watching over the driver's shoulder.
I stewed over the impossibility of calmly telling him what the fuck was going on. In my head it was so easy, I could lay it out nice and clean like clean sheets on a bed. Then it occurred to me that the battles in my head are my own, I wouldn't want him in there anyway. He would be lost, and I doubted if we'd have any chance of reconciliation afterward. There was no Aaron in my head, and there had been no Casey in my head years before. They were fragments of self-doubt that I'd been wrestling with for years. All I had was Aaron, Aaron in real life. My task was to be patient and hope that love was its own reward.
When I looked up I could see the “Poetry in Motion” poster above the windows on the bus. It was the poem that Aaron once told me was his favorite of all the bus-poems. It was by Primus St. John. It said:
“I believe in myself slowly.
It takes all the doubt I've got.
It takes my wonder.”
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