{ 10 / 4 / 17 }

at 7:45am someone texted me asking if he should be worried about me. the reason? i hadn't yet responded to a text he sent at 8:15pm yesterday.

good intentions or no, if you can't give me 12 hours to return a text, we're not going to get along very well. i am not like most people. my phone is not an electrobiological extension of my hand. i do not spend my day staring at it. i do not respond to every text within the hour. in fact, it's my goal to put my phone on airplane mode for at least 2 hours, at least 2-3 times per week. after 10-12 straight hours of being expected to answer every incoming phone call, email, and text while maintaining almost constant in-person communication with patients and staff, being off the grid is a need.

//

i need
so much space

be careful of that, he said.
before you know it you may have
more space than you know what to do with.

and even though i knew he could be right
i pushed off into the silent seas

//

someone apologized to me this week for being preoccupied. it was almost offensive to me. if someone is able to occupy him or herself without my facilitation, that's a plus. if someone is able to occupy him or herself in my presence, that's a massive plus. it releases me from having to entertain, perform, appease. it releases me from having to wonder if i'm entertaining, performing, and appeasing to satisfactory levels. it allows me to occupy MYself without feeling guilty or neglectful.

(however: if you're in my presence and we're sitting face to face and you're preoccupied while i'm trying to talk to you? we're done.)

//

i need
you to need space,
like i do sometimes

i need you
to be able
to take up your own space

i need you
not to need me
sometimes

and no matter what
it's never enough
or it's too much
i don't have the gift
of getting it right
year after year

{ 9 / 6 / 17 }

i am reading this without gendered pronouns:
we are people who are trustworthy
when we are people who give to one another
without a secondary agenda.

is this true? possible? does this apply to every situation?
i think sometimes it's impossible (for me) to be generous with my soul without any hope for reciprocity (which, technically, is a secondary agenda). i don't think this is selfish; i think it's human. it's natural to inherently, subconsciously desire to "get something out of" a significant sharing of oneself, even if that "something" is even the most minimal appreciation or acknowledgment of what has been shared.

...or maybe i really am a soul-scrooge.

{ 8 / 31 / 17 }

first three songs today:

i tripped and fell into
a rhythm with you
i jumped off the deep end
but still played it cool
tried to pretend we're not different
and i hate that i have to admit it
but i'm done with wishing
i know it's only a matter of time til the shine wears off

darling can't you see
i'm a broken man with addictive tendencies...
i don't ever think i can
learn how to love you right

and i'm caught in your mind but it's like you've had enough
i wish you'd just tell me to go
we're caught in stone
you know we might not make it

thanks for the omens, morning commute playlist.
i get the message.

//

talked on the phone with c. last night and we resolved to "have a drink together" during the conversation, which for me turned into 3+ glasses of wine and resulted in me doubled over laughing in my kitchen, trying not to fall over and not caring if my neighbors heard me shouting, "another f*cking glass of wine, RIGHT NOW!" way too loudly.

at this point the judgy voice inside my head is saying, you shouldn't get in the habit of drinking alone, you know. (the fact that this cautionary biatch of an inner critic is piping up after ONE night of solo drinking speaks to her fortitude and prominence and lack of shits given and hatred of fun.) i agree that drinking alone every night of the week until drunk wouldn't be a healthy pattern. but right now i just need to give a few less f*cks (about EVERYTHING) and let myself live.

//

{ 8 / 30 / 17 }

guys, it's happened. i started writing in a paper journal again.
yeah. shit got that real.
at my first go, i scrawled out eight pages.
don't be mistaken - i journal regularly, often on my laptop because i can type at least half as quickly as i can think, whereas writing by hand really slows me down.
i was riding in a car at the time, sitting in the back seat, and my driving companions kept looking at me over their shoulders, wondering what i was doing and when i'd be done. i gave off enough of an insulated vibe that they didn't feel comfortable asking (mission accomplished), but if they had, i would've said, let me go two more pages. i need one and a half more pages. one more.

//

i think many people might think i'm a vivacious, courageous, never-ending fount of energy, chatter, and spontaneous boldness. apparently i've curated an outer shell that looks like a fearless extrovert better than i realized. i suppose there is a part of me that embodies those things. how would i say it - i register very differently than i truly am, sometimes. i have a very shiny exterior; it reflects, refracts, distracts, distorts. (this makes sense, since one of my closest friends has always said i employ my outgoing persona to deflect and direct attention, to protect myself. she is right.)

the truth is, behind that shiny shell is a girl who is often shuddering in the shadows.
i feel unlovable, unwieldy, ugly.
there are people in my life who affirm and lift me up regularly. people who know i have bottomless wells of self hate in me that keep bubbling over no matter what i do or what people say.
nonetheless, the black tar bubbles over.
geysers of self loathing explode upward, drenching everything in self doubt.
i cannot look in the mirror
i don't recognize who i see there
she is not ugly but i am ugly
she looks pretty but i am not pretty