Thursday, August 31, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Growing Up is Hard to Do
So I wonder aloud, as Jack Nicholson once did: Is this as good as it gets?
No one is handing me an Oscar for my pseudo-metaphysical philosophizing, but you get the idea. In the last few weeks, I have spent so much time wildly swinging from abject misery and hoping to be struck by errant lightning which just happened to veer into my 7th floor office from the little rain cloud that always seems to be above my head to feeling generally satisfied with life as it is and being unwilling to own up to my former despair.
It leads me to think that I am perhaps bipolar, or developing multiple personality disorder, or selective amnesia. It would not be beyond the pale to consider early onset dementia either. (This discussion of the gamut of hypochondria-induced mental illnesses may seem odd and troubling at first, but I assure you it is an upgrade from my physical illness hypochondria which once led me to believe, while living in Boston nonetheless, that I had contracted ebola. Seriously.)
Overall, I do not feel well (once again, the functional equivalent of the car door being open, but not visibly ajar, so the only indicator is the buzzing signal made by the car itself to alert the driver). Well, there are some visible signs. My growing second chin. The star map of ugly red acne in my T-zone. Does anyone know morse code? Maybe my dermis is trying to signal for "HELP." The inability to complete sentences and overuse of the phrase, "Well, you know... that thing...."
My social life is starting to fall away, slowly but surely, but one could make the argument that it really would have anyway. As such, this way I am suffering less because I don't realize that I no longer have friends because they do not care for my company, but rather choose to believe that I have no friends because of my workaholic tendencies. Honestly, if I had free time, I am not sure what I would do with it anyway. So much of my former social life revolved around my former workplace, and, well, it is now my former workplace and I have been disavowed. (Without my knowledge, apparently I left in disgrace.) In any event, I am in one of those states again where I am not exactly thrilled to be seen publicly, at all, so really, what am I griping about as to overwork and lack of work/life balance? Balance is something I have never had (either physically - see my bruised knees - or mentally - see my bruised psyche).
I guess I just miss sleep. Good sleep. The lack of worry, stress free sleep. But then again, when was the last time I slept like that? Elementary school? Again, why complain?
It is just a very disconcerting feeling to walk around feeling so uncomfortable all the time and feel like a fraud and to be tired of hearing/thinking/contemplating my own complaints. It makes me sad that I write the same thing over and over on this blog. I would like to think that I am learning from my mistakes in this life and therefore improving, if only be endeavoring to just make completely novel ones. But I don't seem to be able to move past the old ones, falling into the same old well worn crevasses, floundering there, working my way out, and then shortly, falling right back in. How dumb is that?
This life could be so good. I just know it could. But I can't seem to get there. I suppose that that deep seated belief that it could be good must count for something. It must mean I haven't given up hope. But I just can't get past the feeling that my life, as I have lived it, is just a waste of time. What is worse, it is a waste of time intentionally. I am so unhappy in this time, that I endeavor to waste it, waste it all away, in some backwards belief that some time out there in the future will be better. I just need to get to it. And I get so desperate and unhappy and overwhelmed and cynical and forlorn at times, that I will just do anything to get there. Including checking out of my life entirely and doing all I can to hide from it.
What a loser maneuver. But there it is.
I really do not know what to do. I really am at a complete impasse. I have no idea what to change or how to make things better. It seems everything I have tried in the past has come up short. How do I make things better this time around? What is new that I haven't tried? There must be something.
There must be something.
There. Must. Be. Something. Right?
No one is handing me an Oscar for my pseudo-metaphysical philosophizing, but you get the idea. In the last few weeks, I have spent so much time wildly swinging from abject misery and hoping to be struck by errant lightning which just happened to veer into my 7th floor office from the little rain cloud that always seems to be above my head to feeling generally satisfied with life as it is and being unwilling to own up to my former despair.
It leads me to think that I am perhaps bipolar, or developing multiple personality disorder, or selective amnesia. It would not be beyond the pale to consider early onset dementia either. (This discussion of the gamut of hypochondria-induced mental illnesses may seem odd and troubling at first, but I assure you it is an upgrade from my physical illness hypochondria which once led me to believe, while living in Boston nonetheless, that I had contracted ebola. Seriously.)
Overall, I do not feel well (once again, the functional equivalent of the car door being open, but not visibly ajar, so the only indicator is the buzzing signal made by the car itself to alert the driver). Well, there are some visible signs. My growing second chin. The star map of ugly red acne in my T-zone. Does anyone know morse code? Maybe my dermis is trying to signal for "HELP." The inability to complete sentences and overuse of the phrase, "Well, you know... that thing...."
My social life is starting to fall away, slowly but surely, but one could make the argument that it really would have anyway. As such, this way I am suffering less because I don't realize that I no longer have friends because they do not care for my company, but rather choose to believe that I have no friends because of my workaholic tendencies. Honestly, if I had free time, I am not sure what I would do with it anyway. So much of my former social life revolved around my former workplace, and, well, it is now my former workplace and I have been disavowed. (Without my knowledge, apparently I left in disgrace.) In any event, I am in one of those states again where I am not exactly thrilled to be seen publicly, at all, so really, what am I griping about as to overwork and lack of work/life balance? Balance is something I have never had (either physically - see my bruised knees - or mentally - see my bruised psyche).
I guess I just miss sleep. Good sleep. The lack of worry, stress free sleep. But then again, when was the last time I slept like that? Elementary school? Again, why complain?
It is just a very disconcerting feeling to walk around feeling so uncomfortable all the time and feel like a fraud and to be tired of hearing/thinking/contemplating my own complaints. It makes me sad that I write the same thing over and over on this blog. I would like to think that I am learning from my mistakes in this life and therefore improving, if only be endeavoring to just make completely novel ones. But I don't seem to be able to move past the old ones, falling into the same old well worn crevasses, floundering there, working my way out, and then shortly, falling right back in. How dumb is that?
This life could be so good. I just know it could. But I can't seem to get there. I suppose that that deep seated belief that it could be good must count for something. It must mean I haven't given up hope. But I just can't get past the feeling that my life, as I have lived it, is just a waste of time. What is worse, it is a waste of time intentionally. I am so unhappy in this time, that I endeavor to waste it, waste it all away, in some backwards belief that some time out there in the future will be better. I just need to get to it. And I get so desperate and unhappy and overwhelmed and cynical and forlorn at times, that I will just do anything to get there. Including checking out of my life entirely and doing all I can to hide from it.
What a loser maneuver. But there it is.
I really do not know what to do. I really am at a complete impasse. I have no idea what to change or how to make things better. It seems everything I have tried in the past has come up short. How do I make things better this time around? What is new that I haven't tried? There must be something.
There must be something.
There. Must. Be. Something. Right?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Country Road, Take Me Home....
To say that I have been all over the map lately, is both a literal as well as a figurative truth. (And let us just assume for the moment, if only to indulge the jetlagged and insomnia plagued auteur, that there really is such a thing as a "figurative truth").
Given the general context of my life, I write this entry from the most unlikely of locations: West Virginia. The last two weeks of piteous cyber-outcries have been posted from L.A. and places in between.
There were a lot of things prior to embraking on this seemingly endless business trip which had indicated to me that I would never be a salesperson. Primary among them, that I hate strong-arming people into anything. (As such, clearly, lawyering was the next best career alternative.) Now I have another reason to add to my list: I really do not enjoy extended amounts of business travel. I am a creature of habit and have a hard enough time creating even a faux-sense of stability when I am at home. On the road, all sense - stable, common, or otherwise - goes out the window. Rootless, my mind begins to wander, my body is continually playing catch up and always in the process of adjustng to its surrounding. Fatigue is constant.
But this isn't what I wanted to write about. Well, I did. I wanted to write about a lot of things, but clarity is not forthcoming at this point, and so I ramble. Typing out garbled and incoherent stream of consciousness sentences mucked up with a peanut butter like mental haze.
It is unclear whether I am even writing in english (let alone any other known language) at this point.
Given the general context of my life, I write this entry from the most unlikely of locations: West Virginia. The last two weeks of piteous cyber-outcries have been posted from L.A. and places in between.
There were a lot of things prior to embraking on this seemingly endless business trip which had indicated to me that I would never be a salesperson. Primary among them, that I hate strong-arming people into anything. (As such, clearly, lawyering was the next best career alternative.) Now I have another reason to add to my list: I really do not enjoy extended amounts of business travel. I am a creature of habit and have a hard enough time creating even a faux-sense of stability when I am at home. On the road, all sense - stable, common, or otherwise - goes out the window. Rootless, my mind begins to wander, my body is continually playing catch up and always in the process of adjustng to its surrounding. Fatigue is constant.
But this isn't what I wanted to write about. Well, I did. I wanted to write about a lot of things, but clarity is not forthcoming at this point, and so I ramble. Typing out garbled and incoherent stream of consciousness sentences mucked up with a peanut butter like mental haze.
It is unclear whether I am even writing in english (let alone any other known language) at this point.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Errata: Oops, I did it again
Taking a moment to actually read the posting I just threw up (one might say literally, given its relative quality) on my blog just now, I realize that in the four months that have passed since I initially drafted it, there have in fact been some changes:
(74) Insert new subpart (a): I have in fact broken a bone. This fact of my life actually took place in January of this year, so I have no excuse for having drafted words to the contrary. Well, actually I have two excuses: First, the allegedly broken bone was my big toe on my left foot, but I never went to the doctor to get x-rays, so I can neither confirm nor deny whether it was actually broken. I can, however, with absolute certainty confirm that it hurt like an absolute mother-fucker for about three weeks, and I could not bend the beleaguered digit in question, so make of that what you will. Second, the only person who saw and recalls with absolute clarity the incident leading up to the alleged bone breaking was one Mr. Jose Cuervo, and he is has fled and not been seen 'round these parts ever since. So really, any and all assertions of toe-breakage that you might hear - either from me or others - is nothing more than hearsay. Probably admissible hearsay, but hearsay nonetheless.
(70) Insert new subpart (a): I can now accurately refer to "my brothers and sisters" as my brother - temporally the eldest, tempermentally the youngest - up and got hitched in June. The circumstances surrounding the blessed nuptials are many, the most prominent of which is due to make his appearance in this world on Oct 15. So now I do in fact have two sisters, and am quite pleased that it had nothing to do with my parents jumping on the procreation bandwagon once again.
(74) Insert new subpart (a): I have in fact broken a bone. This fact of my life actually took place in January of this year, so I have no excuse for having drafted words to the contrary. Well, actually I have two excuses: First, the allegedly broken bone was my big toe on my left foot, but I never went to the doctor to get x-rays, so I can neither confirm nor deny whether it was actually broken. I can, however, with absolute certainty confirm that it hurt like an absolute mother-fucker for about three weeks, and I could not bend the beleaguered digit in question, so make of that what you will. Second, the only person who saw and recalls with absolute clarity the incident leading up to the alleged bone breaking was one Mr. Jose Cuervo, and he is has fled and not been seen 'round these parts ever since. So really, any and all assertions of toe-breakage that you might hear - either from me or others - is nothing more than hearsay. Probably admissible hearsay, but hearsay nonetheless.
(70) Insert new subpart (a): I can now accurately refer to "my brothers and sisters" as my brother - temporally the eldest, tempermentally the youngest - up and got hitched in June. The circumstances surrounding the blessed nuptials are many, the most prominent of which is due to make his appearance in this world on Oct 15. So now I do in fact have two sisters, and am quite pleased that it had nothing to do with my parents jumping on the procreation bandwagon once again.
Awesome! I Fucking Shot That!
FOR THE PURPOSES OF FULL DISCLOSURE IN POSTING, I ACTUALLY STARTED THIS POST 4 MONTHS AGO, BUT I AM CHANGING THE DATE SO AS TO MOVE IT TO THE TOP OF THE QUEUE. IN EVEN FULLER FULL DISCLOSURE, "STARTED" IS A MISNOMER IN THAT I AM POSTING THIS WITHOUT MAKING ANY CHANGES TO IT WHATSOEVER FROM ITS LONG LINGERING DRAFT STATUS.
Inspiration, once again, comes to me in the form of three-middle aged Jewish guys from Brooklyn. Love the Beastie Boys. Reading the recent reviews of their above titled fan-filmed performance-art piece, I was duly inspired to get back to the list I started and abandoned so long ago. More from the list of 100 things you ever wanted to know about CLC but were afraid to ask (and, honestly, don't want to imagine):
(75) Every time I have to answer the age old question of "what is your favorite color?" I always feel like I am making something up so as not to fail to have an answer to quite possible the easiest question in the world. ("Ummm, so what exactly do you mean by 'color'?"). But in reality, I don't think I have ever given an answer to that query that I have been happy with. There are colors that I really enjoy, and that I wear often - for instance, I am not afraid of a dash of red or a splash of pink (though I will have nothing whatsoever to do with blush or bashful); I find green soothing, and blue is similarly to my liking; likewise, I firmly believe that black with always be the new black and that is that - and there are colors I am less fond of - most shades of yellow don't do too much for me, as yellow makes olive skin look, well, like the skin on a raw Thanksgiving turkey (yum), but I don't dislike it. But there is no color that I see that instantly screams: "CLC" I am a one woman rainbow coalition, and therefore I refuse to play favorites amongst the crayolas.
(74) I have never broken a bone. My mother claims it is because of all the tortillas I ate as a child (calcium, apparently) which apparently have given me the equivalent of an adamantium muscoloskeletal structure. However, I think it is more likely because most of my serious falls in life have happened far enough into a college saturday night that I was, let us say, a lot more flexible and didn't put up much resistance to the stairs as I fell down them. "Nothing to see here folks. I am oooookkayyy!"
(73) I do not like beer.
(72) I love to read, but I prefer bookstores to libraries because I need to own books so that I can write in them. Even if I have not intention of (not to mention, no need for) taking notes, to this day, I will hold a pen or highlighter in my right hand as I read a book.
(71) I had my first kiss when I was a sophomore in high school. I was 14.
(70) I have three brothers and a sister, and I was an english major in college, and yet I cannot stop myself from using the phrase "my brothers and sisters." Guess I just can't let go of the idea of an extra female sibling.
(69) My youngest brother turned 16 this Thanksgiving. The day he was born my father insisted on dropping the rest of us kids off at school before taking my mother (who remained at home) to the hospital. He did so, but despite his denials about it in subsequent years, though he slowed the car, he did fail to come to a complete stop. It was my first and last time jumping out of a moving vehicle.
(68) I pouted for a full five minutes at a wedding I attended a couple years ago where the DJ was taking requests but where I was soon informed that the bride and groom had specifically "banned the playing of Britney Spears in any way, shape or form"
(67) In college, I told everyone I wanted to have five kids, just like in my family. In law school, when I realized the inherent disadvantage (economic, emotional and spatial) of being outnumbered by your kids more than 2 to 1, and as such, I revised this figure to two. Today, I do not think that I want have kids at all, but I don't entirely rule out the idea that someday I might.
(66) Even if I decide I want kids, I have a distinct feeling that I am not going to be able to have them.
(65) My favorite movies: Field of Dreams, When Harry Met Sally, A Few Good Men. No surprises there.
Inspiration, once again, comes to me in the form of three-middle aged Jewish guys from Brooklyn. Love the Beastie Boys. Reading the recent reviews of their above titled fan-filmed performance-art piece, I was duly inspired to get back to the list I started and abandoned so long ago. More from the list of 100 things you ever wanted to know about CLC but were afraid to ask (and, honestly, don't want to imagine):
(75) Every time I have to answer the age old question of "what is your favorite color?" I always feel like I am making something up so as not to fail to have an answer to quite possible the easiest question in the world. ("Ummm, so what exactly do you mean by 'color'?"). But in reality, I don't think I have ever given an answer to that query that I have been happy with. There are colors that I really enjoy, and that I wear often - for instance, I am not afraid of a dash of red or a splash of pink (though I will have nothing whatsoever to do with blush or bashful); I find green soothing, and blue is similarly to my liking; likewise, I firmly believe that black with always be the new black and that is that - and there are colors I am less fond of - most shades of yellow don't do too much for me, as yellow makes olive skin look, well, like the skin on a raw Thanksgiving turkey (yum), but I don't dislike it. But there is no color that I see that instantly screams: "CLC" I am a one woman rainbow coalition, and therefore I refuse to play favorites amongst the crayolas.
(74) I have never broken a bone. My mother claims it is because of all the tortillas I ate as a child (calcium, apparently) which apparently have given me the equivalent of an adamantium muscoloskeletal structure. However, I think it is more likely because most of my serious falls in life have happened far enough into a college saturday night that I was, let us say, a lot more flexible and didn't put up much resistance to the stairs as I fell down them. "Nothing to see here folks. I am oooookkayyy!"
(73) I do not like beer.
(72) I love to read, but I prefer bookstores to libraries because I need to own books so that I can write in them. Even if I have not intention of (not to mention, no need for) taking notes, to this day, I will hold a pen or highlighter in my right hand as I read a book.
(71) I had my first kiss when I was a sophomore in high school. I was 14.
(70) I have three brothers and a sister, and I was an english major in college, and yet I cannot stop myself from using the phrase "my brothers and sisters." Guess I just can't let go of the idea of an extra female sibling.
(69) My youngest brother turned 16 this Thanksgiving. The day he was born my father insisted on dropping the rest of us kids off at school before taking my mother (who remained at home) to the hospital. He did so, but despite his denials about it in subsequent years, though he slowed the car, he did fail to come to a complete stop. It was my first and last time jumping out of a moving vehicle.
(68) I pouted for a full five minutes at a wedding I attended a couple years ago where the DJ was taking requests but where I was soon informed that the bride and groom had specifically "banned the playing of Britney Spears in any way, shape or form"
(67) In college, I told everyone I wanted to have five kids, just like in my family. In law school, when I realized the inherent disadvantage (economic, emotional and spatial) of being outnumbered by your kids more than 2 to 1, and as such, I revised this figure to two. Today, I do not think that I want have kids at all, but I don't entirely rule out the idea that someday I might.
(66) Even if I decide I want kids, I have a distinct feeling that I am not going to be able to have them.
(65) My favorite movies: Field of Dreams, When Harry Met Sally, A Few Good Men. No surprises there.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Waving the White Flag
I make stupid decisions. I ruin everything. I hate my life. I hate myself. I don't know if I deserve to be happy, but I am fairly certain I am incapable of that state of being. I am tired. My stomach hurts. My head aches.
I give up.
I give up.
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