T. Mama’s Neighborhood

....what would happen if I walked away from it all? Started over? Gave up the structure I have built, the nest, the necessity, and took to the Road as I always dreamed of doing when I was younger and stronger. I don't lie to myself: I think the time of my physical strength is gone. I might recoup some of it, no doubt, but these bones whisper to me: all the fire from my blood and bones and joints now lives in my mind, in my soul, and they will always be strongest. I have tried to kill my taste for most of the sensual pleasures in order to prevent excess; I am still working on making my pleasures specific. It works better that way.

...how do I use the will more effectively, more efficiently? I need to be taught: silence; wisdom; discipline; strength; precision; caution; patience. Some of these things I already know: I need either a refresher or advanced training.

...teach me to sing, O Muse, and teach me to overcome. Rage until the fires are like water and run clear, so that I might be a more worthy vessel of the World, the Word, and the songs that thread through all existence, lines of light and sound that ring and put forth blossoms and leaves...

...this is the lesson to learn: to sing.

....I think about....if you ever will be mine, I will never ever let you down...

There's not enough of this kind of music in the world, you know? Sure, it's Swedish pop that's been used in a Volvo commercial, but that doesn't change that it's a sweet, simple song - free of sex, bitterness, anger, darkness, despair. It's full of hope and love. And I'm not so cynical that it can't touch me. In fact, I've got it on repeat on my iTouch as I type this, letting it flow over me and around me, wishing the world was more full of these spring-time sentiments...

...how this can be so hard for me when it shouldn't be...

I can't figure out if I'm lonely or restless or just tired. I oscillate between "lonely" and "desperate to be alone." I can't sort it out. If I let myself feel it, there's a tremendous feeling of ~tired~ underneath the surface, but I don't want to feel it. I want to forget it's there, keep pushing on...it seems rather straight-forward, not feeling the tired, but it's not so easy. Ignoring it is as taxing as the fatigue itself. But I have to ignore it; ignoring me helps me feel normal, feel more like myself before fibro.

....let me say it if you don't mind....

I'm unfocused today, unfocused and throbbing, hungry to be home, to be Home, and wishing the thousands of dreams in my skull would either come to some kind of fruition, or just leave me alone...go away...disappear. The World will always tax us, it will always make demands of us - we can hardly escape that. But when the Inner World makes as many demands, well...it's easy to see the morning star as a harbinger to frustration, to see the moon pulsing in the sun, and to want to disconnect from the World, in order to answer the calls of the Inner World.

That's probably my problem - I've not really hearkened to the Inner World for a long while, and perhaps I've neglected it, to be honest. So I'm feeding it music, to make up for that. I'm watching BSG to feed it distilled humanity. I'm committing myself to solitude to encourage my mind. I'm writing letters to vent the furnaces of the heart. I'm...trying.

....till you're bleeding...

I missed Mardi Gras this year, because I had/have bronchitis and a viral infection. It is hard to express how deep my disappointment is -- I've been going to Mardi Gras my whole life. I've missed, now, only two seasons. I go every year - it's as much a family tradition as it is an individual pilgrimage. Yes, it is a pilgrimage, in its own way holy: I go to celebrate the City; to celebrate human nature before the holy season of Lent; to celebrate the senses, the sensual; to thrive, for a short while, without too much guilt and too much mindfulness; to live, for a short while, the life I've dreamed and idealized for most of my conscious life. It's not about excess for me - it's about living the fantasy, about reveling in a construct founded half in reality and half in the imagination.

But Mardi Gras is also a guaranteed trip Home during the year, and I missed my fix. Miss my fix. I need New Orleans like I need food, air, water, love, music, and understanding: these are the building blocks of my survival and continued existence. Without something like regular trips to New Orleans, I go through withdrawal, depression, deep and abiding longing.

I'm realistic enough to know that life doesn't always run the way we'd like. But surely, at this point in my life, I have enough resources and wherewithal to accomplish trips Home, to sustain my own soul, since no one else is going to help me accomplish trips Home. I have to make them happen, have to enable them.

....which raises the question: if I have the power, why don't I make it happen more often? I think the answer is simple: self-protection. If I went more often, I'd function less. The hunger, the restlessness would be fed more regularly, but it would be like oxygen to a flame: it would sharpen, enhance, gorge the hunger. The more I fed it, the greater the flame, the greater the restlessness, the hunger.

I'm keenly aware of my self, my desires. I'm not sure how that keen awareness serves me, other than being able to understand my own motivations and clearly examine my actions with something resembling objectivity. It also allows me to more easily justify and rationalize my actions and non-actions (e.g., reasonable reasons for not going to New Orleans more often) in such a way that is productive and self-protective.

...but it makes me angry sometimes that I am able to restrain myself so well. That discipline - that great and terrible discipline - serves me so well as it thwarts me. Perhaps that it is another function of self-awareness: thwarting lower impulses and self-destructive behavior; in a few words, the survival instinct enhanced to deal with my intellectualism and soul-hungers.

But it means that so rarely do I let my guard down, so rarely do I let myself enjoy things, so rarely do I thrive in the normal, every day, day-to-day environs. And I have to thrive - mine is a nature meant to create, meant to love, meant to seek understanding and learning, meant to reach out into the world and clarify. How can I do that if I can't exactly reach out?

It goes without saying that if I don't get my former supervisor's job, I'm going to be heartbroken.

And I will probably start looking for jobs outside of Monroe, i.e., down South. New Orleans, here I come? Maybe? That certainly would be wonderful. I don't love Monroe, but I don't hate it, either. If I got my supervisor's job, we would probably buy a house here in Monroe, and I could certainly cope with living here (and not in New Orleans) a little better.

I'm torn - I want to leave Monroe, just because I know this isn't where I belong, but I also want my supervisor's job. I need something new. I've technically been working reference for the last eleven years (longer than I've been married, longer than I've been with the Captain); I need something new.

But I also need my City.

We'll see.

...it's only because I'm feeling overwhelmed and unsure of myself that I'm depressed.

It's also probably because my body has betrayed me again. No doubt I've played my part in its failure, but it still...dismays me. It still...frustrates me. And then again, I might have developed non-alcoholic fatty liver disease (NAFLD) via genetics, which means I would develop it one way or the other, regardless of my lifestyle and choices. But it still depresses me.

It depresses me that I'm still craving fried chicken, though, honestly, I shouldn't have it. I should go to Subway and have a nice 6-inch veg sub. But it's not what I want. And all I've had today has been one Pam-friend egg; some carrot sticks; and some string cheese. I feel like I have "room" for some Cane's. But I shouldn't have it.

And I wish to God that people would quit trying to tell me how to lose weight. That's why He created nutritionists, and that's why I've contacted one. I know that in order to lose weight and manage the NAFLD I'm going to have to change my habits and my attitude towards food. This NAFLD is a lifelong thing; in the long run, just dropping the weight isn't enough. I need to manage for the rest of my life. In order to do that, I need help - hence, the nutritionist.

I'm tired. So tired. They finally posted my old supervisor's job, and I've just finished emailing the required documents for application. I should be encouraged, I should be excited. Instead, I'm just...apprehensive and sick. Convinced that there's no chance.

I want to run away. I am tired. My soul is tired, my mind is tired, and my flesh...well, I just feel kinda self-destructive again.

I've been looking for a sixpence in the family for awhile, but I hadn't actually done anything to search outside my own family. I wanted my sixpence to be special, if at all possible. That is, opposed to ordering one online which seems somewhat like turning the wedding into a way to make money and removing the sentimentality from this seemingly insignificant moment. Apparently, my mother didn't have one and neither of my aunts can lay hands on theirs. I've talked to my dad's sisters and the family sixpence has gone missing. Apparently somebody got married and forgot to return it to the family "wedding stash."

I was beginning to get disappointed.

But then, just weeks from the wedding (a scary fact alone), I spoke to Mike's mom about one. I knew that their family was steeped in tradition and they were bound to have one. So, she's been on the hunt and found one. Now, not only will I be carrying a part of my future family's tradition in my walk down the aisle, but there's even more significance. The sixpence has only been in one other wedding. (I find myself pondering how to refer to the sixpence's role in the wedding--it isn't really worn, but it's not carried either. You don't don a sixpence and you don't sport one, either.) Anyway, the sixpence is from Mike's sister's wedding. As I listened to the story of the sixpence, I thought it was a great idea; his sister and I are close and I think it's just one way to honor my future family. But I'm dense; I failed to see the greater significance and had to be told what was going on. After my wedding, the sixpence will be put away for years, only to be taken out for Sarah's wedding (Sarah is our niece and goddaughter). So, for Sarah's wedding, she will have a sixpence used only in her mother and godmother's weddings. Nobody is allowed to touch it or use it until her wedding. I love this!

Anybody got a tissue?

Well, I met with the Historical chair of my comps committee today. I finally have one of my three reading lists approved. The even better new, I had the chance to have some say in what was and was not on my list. I know this may not sound like a big deal, but when you have the chance to eliminate works that really don't have any bearing on your future and replace those with works that do, it makes a big difference! Now, all I have to do is have the same conversation with my other chairs and I'll be good to go! I only have 5 months until comps! I still can't believe this. It seems like just yesterday I was getting into the program. Now, I'm just a few months from the much sought after less often achieved "ABD" status! 

I left my meeting this afternoon with a killer headache. But, I chose to press on with the next chore on my list. I had to get my engagement ring cleaned and inspected and I wanted to talk to the jewelry store about my wedding rings.

You have to understand that I'm a daddy's girl. So, when my parents offered up their 25th anniversary bands, I jumped on the offer. However, since then we've been a bit worried about the sizing of the rings. My ring has to come up five sizes (my mother has tiny fingers) and Mike's has to come down at least three sizes. Well, the rings have an ornate design in them and Mike and I have been seriously concerned about being able to have them sized.

So, as I'm waiting for my ring to be cleaned, I speak to the manager about the sizing problem. He thinks it over for a minute and then asks if we have considered swapping bands. I don't know why I haven't thought of this idea before--I mean the rings are identical except for the size. They are both exactly the same width with exactly the same design. I tried my dad's ring on and found out it's only a few sizes too large. Now I just have to get Mike to the store to see how much it will cost to stretch the band so that he can wear mom's. I'm hoping that he won't have a problem with that, though I doubt it.

The irony, though, is that I'm a daddy's girl. Now, if all goes well, I'll actually be wearing my dad's wedding band. How ironic is that?

Really, there are no jokes here. These are the scary events in my scary month. I'm already dreading next month!

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