Purging

I'm hoping the following won't be a rant post, but I'm not promising it won't turn into one. I'm just going to let it be what it comes out as.

Today has been one of bitterness, which is a shame because it was beautiful; bright, warm in the sun but chill in the shade. Not that being bitter on a cloudy day is any better, but it was just hard to have a tightness all over that not even a blue sky could waft away. Usually it doesn't take much for me to shrug off a mood and I've become pretty adept at building up an arsenal of anti-crankiness, but it wasn't just a mood today. It was a culmination. (Now, I admit that there were definitely bright spots, when I let myself feel looser in my skin, but I couldn't shake it forever, I think because of its source and this space, this studio.)

Part of it was dreading his return. When I heard that key hit the lock, that familiar shucking of the bolt, I was back to "dealing," "coping," "getting through it" again, a state that I feel I've been in for so long and am anxious to leave. So I did leave, but called my mom, who only lectured (well-intentioned) and made it worse. To not do this. To do that. To not forget this. To be a grown up. To grow up. I'm working on it, believe me. It's hard to have her tell me what is already on a relentless reel in my head. I've tried hard not to be cruel to myself through this, to understand that it is a big transition that will take time to feel natural, but she was saying things ... and I caught myself being mean. What are you doing? Are you crazy? From my point of view, this looks like a disaster. You haven't had a job for a month. And what, my friend, have you done to pursue one? You're not so different from him, after all. How dare you judge, how dare you point fingers? What the hell do you think you're doing, anyway? I don't have it figured out. I won't have it figured out. It's hard on me. I'm not a saint. I'm a sinner. I'm still bitter.

And it is, it's a tightness that comes in quick and pulls up sharply, catching me again and making it harder to breathe and to be. I'm just so tired; tired of inertia and stagnation, not only in a relationship but as my own acquired habit. I feel like I've lost some impulse towards productivity that I used to have. It makes me feel inadequate, when even going to the bank to make a deposit manages to intimidate me. It's more than just procrastination, now, it's residual anxiety, even fear. I've just felt trapped, tight, for a long time and it's hard to transition back into possibilities. I don't know how to do it or what I'm doing and I worry what I'm doing is wrong, that I'm a fool and shorting myself unintentionally, that there is something subtle to all of this that I'm just barging along ignoring. Shouldn't there be some sort of guide at some point? What if I'm taking others down with me? I feel so haphazard and clumsy all of the time.

Breathe.

But, life is complex, right? There's no one path for us to go down. Life is a series of decisions, some of them harder, some of them easier, but none of them absolutely right or wrong. Looking inwards, feeling it out, putting a foot down and then not forgetting to actually take a step is probably the best way to do it. Plan what you can (which I need to do more of, I think, but it's, again, intimidating) and roll with everything else. Baby steps. I still need to be nice or I'll back myself, frightened, into a corner.

This wasn't supposed to be about me, really, it was heading towards a rant initially (as mentioned). But here we are, again. I guess when it comes down to it, this is what I have. I need to deal with me, relearn how it is to be me with just me to carry and recapture my stride. It will take a while, no doubt, but I can do it. I'm well equipped and very lucky for so many reasons. Nothing is insurmountable, here. Enough with the goddam drama.

So, due to the unexpected direciton of this post, the poem I was going to post no longer fully applies; however, I quite like it (not my own!!) so I'm posting it anyway. Because it's a little bit how I want to look at things, for now, look and look until the bitterness subsides.

Failing and Flying
by Jack Gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's the same when love comes to an end,
or the marriage fails and people say
they knew it was a mistake, that everybody
said it would never work.

That she was old enough to know better. But anything
worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while

love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that
anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every morning she was asleep in my bedl
like a visitation, the gentleness in her

like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back
through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky
on the other side of that. Listened to her

while we ate lunch. How can they say
the marriage failed? Like the people who
came back from Provence (when it was Provence)
and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,

but just coming to the end of his triumph.