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Archive for the ‘Sigh’ Category

Tiny teacup

When I think of the publishing world, I think of myself sailing across the ocean in a tiny teacup with an umbrella broken at the joints as a sail. And I get nervous and unsure and my armpits start to sweat. There’s so many of us, there’s so many of us, there’s so many of us.

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I watched ‘The Duchess’ last night with Keira Knightley. I’ve never really had any intention to watch this movie, but I thought it would be full of good sex scenes and the green English countryside and pretty dresses and sheep. And it was certainly full of that, but also full of so much sadness. I’m not sure how much of this movie is true, but it’s based on the life of Georgiana Something, Duchess of Devonshire and her husband is an awful hypocrite who doesn’t love her and sleeps with her best friend and doesn’t allow The Duchess to have her own love affair because he has a sense of ownership and entitlement.  *Sorry if you actually wanted to see this movie* I didn’t ruin much of it other than a little plot – who needs plot anyway it’s the feelings under the plot that matter to me, what makes them do what they do.

This movie sort of broke me last night. Here I was, getting sick again, hardly able to talk because my throat was so swollen, hardly able to swallow because my throat was so swollen and I’m watching the life of a beautiful woman wither away. I’m literally watching her light die.

And it occurred to me that women have been lonely for centuries. We’ve looked to other women, we’ve looked to men, we’ve had sex with other women, we’ve had sex with other men, we’ve looked to drugs and booze and cigarettes and children and work and art and leaving old tea by the bed-side to see if anyone other than ourselves will pick it up for us. And why? All to feel full of something. I wonder what loneliness makes us do, what bad and life altering choices it makes us do?

Even when we are with people, we are perpetually lonely creatures. We hold in dreams, feelings, fears. We can be completely naked and still wearing armor – a lock over the hearts of us that keeps us from pooling out a real human being. And no one would ever know if we didn’t want them to. We are fantastic actors, we are incredible at hiding things, at putting on altered skin.

I kept feeling last night, as I was watching that movie, utter hopelessness for this woman. So much so that I thought she was going to kill herself and I must say I was surprised that, as far as what the movie revealed, she didn’t even consider it. He took away love, her children at one point, passion, hope. He took away everything and she continued time and time again to face her public covered in such a lie of a life. To feel so trapped – I found myself aching for her and her loneliness.

Covered in my covers last night, I kept verbally abusing myself. Made-up conversations with my friends – the people whom I know love me the most and I’m turning them into monsters telling me, in my lonely state, that I’m not worth it, that I’m too much trouble. These are things I can only equate to my own faltering self-worth. And of course to hurt myself even more, I pick the people who I love the most in my life to see how sharp I can make the knives.

As my imagination began to spiral, I was in a scene with one of my best friends in a bar trying to cover up the slices I took out of my own arm, but not trying hard enough because I wanted her to see them. Is this what we do when we are lonely? Is this how we try to tell people – by mutilating ourselves to a point until someone notices?

As quickly as the image came into my mind, the ME of ME quickly reminded myself that that’s SO not something I would ever do. That’s not me. The healthy, sensible me who eventually gets out of her covers and takes a shower and makes coffee and looks out at the new tracks of her backyard animals in the snow would simply say, “I’m lonely today and I miss the way you touch my back when the green lamp is on. It makes me feel like I’m under tree light through the leaves.”

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hit and run to hell

I heard a vroom and a vroom and someone driving much too fast for roads like this for weather like this and then I heard the crunch of him hitting a car on the street. His lights pointing sideways, T-ed into a silver mini-van, not a fast accident. What do I do, what do I do? Call the cops? And then the people whose house it was, whose car it was come running out just in time to see the man in that blood maroon boxy car vroom and vroom and then drive away. The woman chasing him down the street as far as she could go until he was gone. Her husband on the phone. I thought for sure the man was going to pull over. I thought for sure there were still decent people left in the world. I thought for sure that man could never just drive away like that after the damage he caused. I tried to see the license plate, but couldn’t. Those poor people trying to enjoy their family and Christmas and the world just doesn’t quit. I feel, I wish I could do more. There’s not enough insurance in the world.

When I went over to the neighbor’s the police man said that some people call when they get home. I hope so. The people said that’s the second time someone has hit their car in front of their house and drove off. I am thankful for my long driveway and for nice cops.

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urghkl;

I think this is a pretty typical day for the cat. She hasn’t seemed to have any problems staying in bed with me all day. I’ve talked to more of my family today than I normally do, so that’s nice. this is mostly out of boredom, so I apologize because it’s boring, but my fingers seem to be the only things on my body that I can move at the moment. It’s all rancid inside and my legs ache, but I haven’t even used them today. lately when the radiators wake me up in the middle of the night I’m in between dreams and they seem to be voices singing, the seem to have conversations with each other from room to room. How would I know what goes on while I’m sleeping, how much I miss? All of the moisture has been expelled from my body and all day I’ve been trying to get it back. vomit, tears, spit. Still working on that bottle of gatorade, but my limbs feel like weak roots instead.

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…don’t talk to me about being verdant.
Just when I think I’ll make it through the holiday without feeling too pathetic, too sorry for myself, too dependent on people – I wind up throwing up all over myself and the floor twice as I’m trying to make it to the bathroom. I wind up cleaning toilet water off my face, my hand. The rugs balled on the bathroom floor, the shirt I was wearing an unpleasant cherry at the top of it all and me on my knees at 2 in the morning cleaning up the mess of myself. “this is a low point.” I kept repeating, rushing back to the bathroom every hour through the night.

And why? Did I need another reminder that as much as I tell myself I don’t need other people, I really really really do need other people, that we all need other people, that I don’t necessarily need someone to clean up my vomit (that’s a job I don’t even want) but that I do need someone to kiss me on the forehead and rub my chest and tell me to sleep instead of being on the internet and bring me soup that I won’t eat because I can’t. Just the other day I was saying to myself how much older I feel this year, how much stronger and wiser and grown-up. And now I’ve gone back to feeling like an 8 year old sobbing that she’s alone and sick at Christmas, cursing the timing of it all. There’s a lesson in all of this – I’m sure. I feel it bobbing around me, but my toes and my teeth ache and I’ll wait until I have to go back to work tomorrow to figure it out.

C- thank you for my gatorade. I’m hoping it will do to me what the people do in the commercials. I’m hoping it will help me grow muscles and let me run across football fields in no time. I’m hoping it will make me feel more powerful than I do now.

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Edges

I met something this morning. I walked into something maybe I was ready to walk into. Or maybe I wasn’t, I’m not sure yet. All I can say is I feel a little shaky, a little out of breath, starving now like I’ve run a marathon for days and haven’t eaten. I feel my spines are up. I feel on edge.

Months ago when I started these new poems, I created a folder on my desktop called “edges.” And in this folder, i was going to place these new creations, give them a home. I named the folder after I showed the first “new” poem to a friend and told her – this is different. This has more edges than before. I suppose ever since then I’ve been burrowing into something different, deeper, darker and flat out scary to me. But I’ve been plugging away in the dark, in the mornings, at night, whenever it seems to strike. I’ve been back and forth. Pat asked me once at the beginning to come back to him when it appeared I was lingering too long in the undergrowth.

I was a little offended at first when he said that. “I feel like you’re asking me to choose.” But ever since then I’ve kept his words to heart. I’ve kept a light on at the end of the hallway so I can find a way out if I need to. Perhaps these things are not particularly scary to some, perhaps I’ve just been reading too much Plath, perhaps my imagination is slightly out of control.

This morning I stumbled upon something in my journal I wrote only a couple of days ago. I was sitting at work, I remember the circumstances, I was wearing a jacket from the salvation army that I should have washed, but that would require me going to the Laundromat which requires too much effort and I figured all was well. It’s gross, I should have washed it, yes I know. The circumstances were right, my skin was thin, i was bored out of my mind and frustrated at having to sit there at my desk and I could smell this other woman on me, someone I didn’t know and perhaps some of that woman I didn’t know was me, but whatever it was I dove head first into someone, something else. I created a bloody alter self – I created or I unearthed it.

I was rereading what I wrote this morning those few days ago and felt something flicker, something push my hand to the paper, felt in my body a warm terror that I knew I needed to capture. I feel this morning that I met an alter self, a dark self, a self in the shadows and we shook hands, we sniffed each other, we felt each other’s hair, we glowed in the dark. And when the time came for me to leave, when I had placed her now in that hallway, now on that piece of paper, when she had finished running her fingernails down my arm – I was able to find a way back. I turned on Pandora and I let a beautiful beat of music bring me back. And I showered and I cried and even now feel greatly unsure of what I’m doing and why. But I feel comfort, strangely, comfort in knowing that I can come back to light.

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Here Here Here

Intrigued by the people most who give me no attention. See. See how great I am. You didn’t even know. Like it’s a conquest to feed them all my sweetest fish. See I have all these toys. You won’t regret that you know me. I give you my best to make you stay. I give you my best until I have nothing left. I give you my best.

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