PROCRASTINATING

It's clear: I am procrastinating. I'm listening to David Bowie on Pandora because he told me I could be a hero just for one day. Thx, Bowie. My life is so full of disorienting items. For the majority of my life, I have only lived on the cusp of reality. Recently, while visiting the Columbus Museum of Art (who rejected me for who I am), I found a Mark Rothko quote that goes, “There is no separation in the world of myths between reality and unreality”. Clearly, Rothko is drawing connections to his own human (or non-human) existence. Periods of my life have been abruptly interrupted by reality. This isn’t to say that I NECESSARILY live an irresponsible lifestyle. I’ll give an example. As an undergraduate, I spent my freshman and sophomore years dabbling in a few different majors. I have a lot of different interests in the humanities, so it was difficult for me, at such a young age, to pinpoint an exact determination of study. Once my junior year began, it finally occurred to me that I actually had to choose a major. That college would indeed come to an end, and that I would be going down a certain path, depending on the major that I select. This was no less than shocking. It was an actual, physical, shock to realize that college would indeed come to an end. That the next step in the trajectory of my existence would eventually occur. I've never understood trajectory. I've never understood how to feel the motions of life in front of me. Yesterday, I felt almost violent. I felt blood pumping through my body in a way that I had never felt. It was uncomfortable and disorienting; normal. It's an interesting way to live: on the cusp of reality. I don't know how else to exist. I'm at the library. Or am I?

I am constantly traumatized by intrusive thoughts. I am traumatized by the past -- but, not necessarily bad/scary/shameful points in the past. My password to blogger account reminded me of Lars -- specially, remembering when we created this blog together at Hampshire -- and my chest began to hurt. Throbbing pain. Trauma envelops my body and causes actual pain. Two things are going on right now: #1. my dad is visiting #2 my old adviser from UD is collecting data for a newsletter from WGS alumni, and she wants to know what everyone has been up to since graduation. Enveloping pain. Pangs of pain -- Joe didn't think 'pang' was a word during Scrabble last night. Of course it is. I guess I just don't know what I'm doing. I guess I feel as though I have lost a lot, and the thoughts of having cause pain. Anyway, Henry found a new box, so it is a good day for him. xoxo

I'm Sort Of Here.

Hullo. I'm not sure who I am writing to at this point. Most likely my audience is just myself. I think my audience began as only 4 or 5 readers, anyway. So, it isn't a HUGE loss. But, I am concerned about loss lately. I haven't worked in a while. School seems like it occurred sometime during THE ICE AGE (or another time that sounds far off). Mango (at this juncture, because I am assuming I have no readers, I will address this note to Mango herself), I've had a rough couple of months, to be quite honest. I moved into my dad's house back in May, after turning down a perfectly good internship at the Media Education Foundation. I thought I wasn't going to have a place to live; come to find, my dad offered his girlfriend's son's apartment for the summer about a week after I turned it down. (Side note: why would he choose to live with his mommy for the summer if he had an already-paid-for apartment in Amherst?) Anyway, moving in with him was probably the biggest mistake I made, thus far, simply because it generated its very own toxic mindset that rippled into other enormous mistakes. Erroneous, Mango. Erroneous. His house is far from my only friends in Massachusetts, so it was difficult, financially, to visit them. I thought it would be okay, though. Come to find, my friends visited my dad's house exactly once -- for about an hour (maybe). For a while, I kept visiting them. But, since I am unemployed, I can't afford the gas for the drive. So, at this point, because I'm not making the effort anymore, I've lost them. It's okay. I want to make a new life and new friends. But, I do feel very trapped at the moment. Trapped & avoidant. I'm completely withdrawn from life. Because of my dad's extremely abusive behaviors, I can't stay in that house for longer than a day. So, finding a job has been difficult. I feel as though I don't have a place to rest. I'm lucky to have Joe in Boston, sort of. Actually, I wish he were in Dayton, so that I could just leave & stay with him there. So, Mango, I'm just trying to convince myself that lonely (and all suffering) is healing. I'm just having trouble moving forward these days. Graduate school may be in my future; but it is looking grim. I'm not saying everything is horrible; it isn't. I'm relatively fortunate. I can't find a job, but I am not suffering tremendously for it. That's a great thing. I'm mostly just disappointed. Disappointed & feeling like I've lost a lot. A lot of me is gone. I thought this move (back to MA) was going to be great. Now, I can't wait to get back to my life that I made for myself in Ohio. Get ready for another move, Henry! Mango, a lot of your posts have some sadness involved; but there's a lot of happy, too (like my first official day at Starbucks; having lizard skin; dreams about gerbil girlfriends; bbq chip car accidents)! I hope I can get back there soon.

How do we get back there?

I have a sheet of sketch paper on my wall that reads, "the sky was gold, it was rose". When I paint, use pastels, watercolors, colored pencils, my subject matter is different each time; however, I always end up using pinks, oranges, golds, and rose. Joe pointed this out to me the other day, when I told him I only kind of knew why I love the lyric, "the sky was gold, it was rose". He said, "Kelly, some form of a sunset always finds its way into your drawings." I started crying. I've been leaving clues for myself all along. Not everyone mourns for lost innocence. However, I am especially guilty. The sky was gold, it was rose, when I was young in the Berkshires. My mom & I religiously watched the sunset in a gorgeous open field in our backyard, or during one of our daily evening walks. When I can't take the pressure, when I'm falling apart, when the dishes are piling up, when I look in the mirror and see a corpse trying to live like a 20 something, I think about my mom & the sun. I think about the person I used to be. Spunky, outgoing, carefree, honest, emotionally open, trusting. Of course, everyone loses some innocence, some of their personality from childhood. But, I mourn so heavily. I am nothing that I used to be. Each day is a constant struggle, wriggling my way in and out of depression, anxiety, and severe avoidance. My dad told me that my grandmother, who is about to turn 90 with a severe case of dementia, still thinks that my dad is attending college. She believes her husband is alive. Although my grandmother's thoughts are due to the disease, I started crying when my dad told me these details because, first of all, in a way, my grandmother has left us. And I miss her very much. But, also, in a very beautiful way, she found her way back. She found her way out of this mess - to perhaps where the sky was gold.

Astute gluten.

I want to start out by saying I am fucking astute. I will leave this statement as is; however, I will return to the notion later. So, you will wait, please.

I, first, want to talk about getting locked out of my apartment. So, here goes. A few days ago, Joe & I were about to take an evening walk. As he was shutting our front door, he exclaimed, "Do you have your keys?". Door shuts. I don't. Neither does he. Needless to say, we will not be taking a walk this evening - just a series of short ones, back and forth across the parking lot. First, we walk to my landlord, Dave's, apartment. Of course, no sign of his existence. He's an alien, for sure. Next, I called University Police: HELP ME PLEASE I'VE BEEN OUTSIDE FOR SEVEN MINUTES I NEED TO GO BACK INSIDE. Officer Roth shows up with a set of janitor keys. He has hundreds! I want everyone in the blogosphere to know that I really liked Officer Roth. He was the kindest, gentlest police officer I have ever encountered. He was so patient with that hefty load of keys - none of which seemed to fit my lock.

He eventually calls backup when my mutant lock won't accept any normal keys. Now, when a university police officer calls backup, it is usually a maintenance man, rather than a squad of more police cars with sirens and guns. So, Art, the maintenance man arrives in his van. Art is very tall with a pointed nose, wearing a pair of 1980s bifocals. His voice is quite nasal. He is aptly named.

"Is this apartment owned by UD?" Art asks me.
"Uh, no. I thought they were all connected though," I reply, fearing that I will soon be on my own to axe down the door using only my converse tennis shoes and a hair pin.
"No, that's fine. We don't have a key for you, though." Gulp.

Art, then, looks at the windows, telling us that if this apartment was University owned, he would've smashed one of the windows by now. That comforts me. Officer Roth, still accompanying the crowd, shines his flashlight on the windows, while Art carefully examines the locks.

"There's no way we're getting in there," Art tells us. However, instead of leaving, Art calls 3 or 4 different gentlemen to help us. Mind you, it is 11:00pm, and he is waking each of them up with his calls. "Bruce?! Art. Wake up a minute. I have a series of questions for you."

Art wants to contact Dave, my landlord, but we don't have his cell number, and he isn't on location at the moment, or so we thought.

Joe decided to give my landlord's house phone a call to leave a message. That way, once he arrives home (if ever), he'll come help us. In the meantime, Art, Roth, Joe, & I are sitting in front of my apartment, not knowing what to do next. Art, then, calls another buddy, who claims that one of the R.A.s must have a spare key. The four of us walk over the R.A.'s apartment. As we are knocking on the door, Art spots a middle-aged man walking through the parking lot, towards my apartment.

At the top of his lungs, he shouts, "DAVE?!!" Dave turns around.

"Apartment 14?!!" He replies. He got our message! For whatever reason, he didn't come to the door an hour earlier. However, we were still thrilled to see him.

Dave had a tool to unlock the door. It seems as though he keeps the master keys in Cincinnati. Right where they should be. Anyway, the tool wasn't working. Art & Roth crowd around Dave, giving suggestions and the flashlight for sight.

Art answers his phone again.

"Oh, hey Bruce. I'm fine. No, this isn't a UD apartment, but it happens to be a UD student. We aren't involved." I laughed uncontrollably. As he uttered those words, he grabbed a tool, and started jamming it in the doorway, along with Dave.

Eventually, Dave opened a window with a crowbar. Joe climbed in and opened the front door. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE came in my apartment immediately to check the status of the window and to make sure I had my keys.

Then, they were gone.
Some nights, I miss my quirk-squad.

In unrelated news, I am gluten intolerant & astute.

I have lately pointed out – to myself, as I do – that I have created a label for myself. ‘Fragile’ is said label. Why, fragile, you may ask? Well, I am physiologically, emotionally, and mentally affected by the world quite easily. For example, in the summertime, I do not get 5 or 6 mosquito bites, I get around 56. When I have to speak to other humans, my stomach cramps and my speech immobilizes. Public speaking is even worse – I can feel every organ in my body cramping. I am far too keen on others’ connotations in speech and mannerisms. I am far too keen on my own mannerisms. These and other qualities have led me to believe that I am considerably fragile. However, since I have been researching language & disability, I have come to the conclusion that I need to alter my wording. From now on, I am astute. I am so keenly aware of my surroundings that it completely affects my body and mind.

Today, Joe was driving me to my Communications presentation, and I was nervous and sick. I blurted out, “Gah, I’m so fucking ASTUTE!” This is going to be fun.

I have lists.

So, I'm listening to *NSync on Pandora. Are you? If not, you can just say BYE BYE BYE to enjoying this blog. If you don't appreciate the sweet sounds of JT + JC + those other ones, then you won't appreciate the content of this blog.

Woah. Pandora just tried some BSB on me. That's not happening. Immediate thumbs down. Annnnd back to *NSync.

Anyway. Back to Mango talk. Synopsis of my life starting NOW.

Lately, since my life is so strange, & I'm constantly struggling with depression, I decided to make goals for each week. It sounds really lame & like it came out of a self-help book. BUT I CAME UP WITH IT ON MY OWN. I realized at some point that there was a discrepancy between the things that I like to do and the things that I actually do. I have more confidence when I do things that are "self-nourishing". So, I've been riding my bike daily, being creative more often, reading for pleasure, cooking/baking things from scratch!, being involved in the community, and so on! It's a nice mixture between doing introverted things for myself and doing active things - outside of my brain. It's really great. I'm paying attention to events going on in Yellow Springs, too. I will not let WINTER BLUES bring me down!

I had a really great conversation with Caitlin tonight. We talked about everything and nothing. I haven't kept many friends over the years, but I know that I will always have her. She's a really great person, and I feel very lucky to call her my best friend. *tear drops*

In unrelated news, I've begun my work at the domestic violence resource agency, as the development intern. It's exciting! My "boss" has put me in charge of a huge program that will be implemented in 2013 - it's quite flattering that she trusts me with this! Being a part of that team has been lovely. Everyone is really dedicated to their jobs, and I admire them.

I could definitely see myself working for a non-profit. However, who knows what the future holds. Hopefully I will get a job at a museum post-graduation, doing similar development items! And perhaps touching art &/or artifacts.

And.
Well.
I must confess.
That my lonliness.
Is killing me.
Now.
Don't you know I still believe?
That you will be here?
And giving me a sign?
Hit me.
Baby.
One. More. Time.

Tomorrow I hand in volunteer apps (I am a maniac) & go to Columbus in the evening. My dad was jealous about Joe + my adventure to the Rock + Roll Hall 'o Fame (so many abbrevs), so he asked if we would join him on Saturday for another trip! So, Columbus for us. Northampton for Lars! It's going to be a good weekend for all!

That's it, I suppose. I've only completed 3 of my 8 minutes this evening. GOTTA RUN.

Christmas & Other Items

It's been a while since I've written. I used to write quite a bit while living in the Boulders. Sometimes I miss those days, sometimes I don't.

Christmas has come & gone. & What a strange Christmas it was. It was my first Christmas since BIRTH without Lars. My mother & I are in a fight - so we didn't speak on the day. Honestly, though, a lot of anxiety has dissipated with the loss of that relationship. I started thinking about the constant abuse I received from my mother, recently, since we haven't spoken in so long. I remember being 10 or 11 years old and having a spat with her. And only minutes later, I hear her on the phone with a friend, gossiping about me. Telling him/her about what I'd done to her. To reiterate, I was 10.

My father isn't any different. So, that's probably why my Christmas wasn't great, anyway. I spent it with him.

The closer I come to entering the "real" universe, the more I realize how important it was that my parents made a space for us (sibling + I) in their lives. If you don't have a place in your family, it's hard to find your place in the world. I'm really terrified. Especially since, because of the wretched abuse I've endured, I'm terrible at creating and maintaining friendships. So, when I say I'm terrified, I don't mean that I'm afraid I won't find the right "career" path. I'm afraid I'll always lack a sense of community. Of belonging.

When I miss the Boulders, it's because I had a few communities going on there, surprisingly. I had Smith friends, UMass friends, family (Lars + Jeffrey + Sylvia + Bryan), and all was mostly well.

I visited the Burrow yesterday. For Lars, the Burrow is the home of the Weasleys' in Harry Potter. The Weasleys' are a wonderful, loving family of witches & wizards, living in a very fort-like home. Google info about it, at your convenience. Anyway. I went to see the Muppets movie & then we were invited to the Burrow. It was actually our friend's family home. Three kids, mom, & dad. Very fort-like home. By the way, the three kids have NEVER watched television (& they aren't like 5 - they're real humans). That is partly why the family was so functional. Anyway, it made me happy & sad.

I just want to be nice to people. & I want other people to be nice to people. For some reason, that's a lot to ask.

I'm going to the Columbus Museum of Art tomorrow, so I'm currently brushing up on their exhibits & some of the artists. I'm excited to visit it. I miss artsy things in my life. I've just become so concerned with the way my life is/is not taking shape that I've moved away from things that I love.

Perhaps I will even publish some of my jokes to youtube. Who knows. The biggest thing is that I want to get home. I want to be done with this place & get back to the place I belong.

Anyway. Enough of that. I'm signing off. This wasn't a great comeback for mango, I KNOW. Next entry will (hopefully) be more fun.

Sincerely,
WhenLlamasGoBad