How’s this for fucked up? I don’t believe in shame, but I feel ashamed.

I feel like I’ve let down family, and let down myself. I should have been paying more attention, keeping it together. I was blind. And if it’s not because of me, then I should have known better to begin with.

Think of a time when you were really vocal about something, and strong in your defense of it. Then you turned out to be totally wrong. And maybe you hurt someone along the way. Then stretch it out—imagine you were pigheaded for a really long time, like years. Then it came to light just how much of a dufus you really are. How do you feel now, jackass?

what the hell happened to me?

A month ago the prospect of me being possessive, defensive, and closed was out of character. My philosophy is clear: people stay with each other because they choose to, not because they have to. To cling to the way things “should be” is just asking for pain.

So what the hell happened? Why does it feel so wrong to just let go?

Continue reading “what the hell happened to me?”

but Paul Simon’s pretty good at them

And she said losing love
Is like a window in your heart
Everybody sees you’re blown apart
Everybody sees the wind blow

It’s rare to find words that really resonate like these. Especially “blown apart”. Just thinking about those words brings laughter and tears all at the same time, because it just feels so accurate.

There’s this later part in the same song (Graceland, by the way), which made more sense this time around than it has ever before:

There is a girl in New York City
Who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I’m falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Whoa, so this is what she means
She means we’re bouncing into Graceland

going crazy, part 2

So I talked about “going crazy” as if it was this great thing that I was working on. When I was a teenager, I was thinking I could always go crazy if things got too bad (as an alternative to suicide and continuing to put up with the pain). Right now, the thought has occurred in much the same fashion, but it doesn’t feel nearly so simple as it did in my memory. It feels a little more like running away now, as in if it gets too bad I can always quit my life and run away somewhere else and do something else. But what if “whereever I go, there I will be” as the wisdom goes—depending on what I’m running from, I can’t actually get away? So this option, like everything else, seems a lot less straight forward now, when the world is falling down around me.

I apologize to the gentle reader for the arrogance of my previous post on the matter.

and the world spins

It spins and reels and turns upside down. The earth comes out from underneath. There’s nothing quite like it. From the outside, looking in on the one being spun, it always looks so much simpler; that’s because to the observer, the world is pretty much staying put, just the spinner is spinning. When you’re the one spinning, you don’t have the luxury of greater perspective.

It’s very difficult to make decisions when the world spins. When your reference points are constantly shifting, you don’t know how to get there from here, or even which way you want to get, for that matter.

I thought I was making decisions based on some system, but once things didn’t turn out how I wanted them to, can I trust that system? And I’ve never been one to trust someone else’s system. That leaves me with an open question: how the hell to make any decisions at all and trust in them? Even basic ones like whether to get out of bed in the morning. Go with the flow, keep options open? What if you don’t even trust that you know which decision will keep options open?

There’s little question about whether or not I’m alive, though. Feelings have an incredible way of pointing that little fact out.