It's been quite a long time since I came to MuseCrisis to face myself.
Today hasn't been the best day, and I'm melancholy. I may write, again, tomorrow, with a more hopeful reflection, but it may be no more true.
I want to escape, but my problem is me. I don't have to go away to find freedom.
On my way to work the other day, a car passed with windows shaking from the sound of the music. It was, perhaps, 8:20 a.m. Inside were about three guys and a girl. They looked bad. Sunglasses in winter, expressive hair cuts, chill colored clothes. They looked high as hell--joking and smiling. Their faces wore that out all night on the way to bed tired expression.
You know, I don't know what the hell they looked like or who was in the car because the windows were tinted opaque black. I just made all that other shit up because, when I saw the car, I remembered my freer days.
I live such a disciplined existence that I feel on the verge of self-destruction.
I want to ask for something I shouldn't have, demand something I don't deserve, abandon all the people who need me. I want to run, run, run, until I get to the coast and then swim, swim, swim, and when I get so far that I cannot swim, drown or be saved, and let fate make the decision.
Crisis!
Everything I want depends on someone else wanting it, too. I know that I'm being lied to and dicked around, and I'm tolerating it because I know that this shall pass. I know with a divine understanding.
I guess what I see, as I write, is that I am earning that outcome as those fighting it suffer its inevitability.
Hmmm...
Well, the draft of this post wrote about a web conference:
--sigh; interacting with people through TVs.--about handling student outbursts. The speaker suggested the strategy of highlighting discrepancy between goals and behavior. I feel like I am doing everything I can to not get what I want. I feel like the only path to empowerment is relinquishing all control to God. You want to talk about fear?
I feel like I'm about to wet the bed, ya know? You know that pee pee dream you have when you want to release your bladder, and you are dreaming you are just in the right spot but something is holding you back and the rightest thing to do is let go, but... you wake up, and it was all wrong? I, almost, wet my bed night before last. That's where I am.
But, now, I'm looking at that web conference differently:
Another point the speaker made was about switching the narrative. Even if it is untrue, sometimes it helps to recast events according to a happier script. Instead of people dicking me around, maybe I need to re-examine my assumptions about why they do what they do. They probably don't think of themselves as dicking me around. They are probably more afraid of me than I am of them. Why? Because I'm not generally scared of anything. I don't have a very healthy fear instinct.
And, maybe, doing what I ought to do, even when it doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere, is letting go. Surrendering may not involve changing my behavior. It may mean continuing unabated. After all, when Noah built the ark, every day before the rain came as a blessing. It gave him the opportunity to prepare. Surely, he doubted in dark moments, but when his spirits were lifted, he appreciated the bright skies as time to put things in order.
This change in narrative has made me reconsider a proposition before me, which had me a little vexed.
This guy I met in Negril invited me to stay with him in CA; I think I could go and stay forever if I wanted. Why don't I? If what I want is a new life, to be totally free, to let go of all of these burdens, why don't I just go?
When I drafted this essay out, I wrote those things out of a feeling of frustration and destined doom. I can't go out there and live with that man forever. I can't. He may welcome me, but I won't feel good about doing anything so rash, and it won't go well. BUT, I can go out there and visit him. He's offering me something I need. He's offering me the kind of caretaking I need. I don't need anyone to pay my bills. I need someone to play with. He says he can teach me how to surf. I want to learn how to surf; I love gliding.
Earlier I wrote:
I want to snap. Things are changing so rapidly at my gig; it's just not the career I started out in. I keep trying to give my all to it, and I wonder more and more why I'm devoting my talents and energies to a system that takes my gifts for granted. I can't excel in this field. I'm not cut for it. And I don't really care much about excelling, but, very soon, I won't even be able serve my people properly working this gig, and thereby I will no longer be able to give my talents and energies to God who does not take them for granted.
Being patient, long suffering, submissive, kind, honest, gentle--these are qualities about myself that I have long cultivated and treasured. These self same qualities entrap me, force me to tolerate situations that I do not have to.
But, when I switch the narrative, I have the clarity offered me by one of my exes. (You know I love my exes.) He reminded me that I have enjoyed this work, and it has afforded me the opportunity I have, now, to change careers. I have been taking classes for years, for free, and now I have enough credits to go to Pharmacy School, Medical School, or Nursing School. All I paid for that was activity fees.
I never would have been able to earn such a high GPA if my classes weren't in the same exact location as my job. I have gotten an excellent education because my colleagues have shared with me everything they've learned, their best teaching. And, part of the reason they have been so good to me is because they appreciate that I am being taken for granted in the position I am in and they want to see me free.
What folly! That is what I wrote an hour ago.
What folly.
I wrote:
Dying here.
Running away is never the answer. I suppose.
You know what?
I was right.
Today hasn't been the best day, and I'm melancholy. I may write, again, tomorrow, with a more hopeful reflection, but it may be no more true.
I want to escape, but my problem is me. I don't have to go away to find freedom.
On my way to work the other day, a car passed with windows shaking from the sound of the music. It was, perhaps, 8:20 a.m. Inside were about three guys and a girl. They looked bad. Sunglasses in winter, expressive hair cuts, chill colored clothes. They looked high as hell--joking and smiling. Their faces wore that out all night on the way to bed tired expression.
You know, I don't know what the hell they looked like or who was in the car because the windows were tinted opaque black. I just made all that other shit up because, when I saw the car, I remembered my freer days.
I live such a disciplined existence that I feel on the verge of self-destruction.
I want to ask for something I shouldn't have, demand something I don't deserve, abandon all the people who need me. I want to run, run, run, until I get to the coast and then swim, swim, swim, and when I get so far that I cannot swim, drown or be saved, and let fate make the decision.
Crisis!
Everything I want depends on someone else wanting it, too. I know that I'm being lied to and dicked around, and I'm tolerating it because I know that this shall pass. I know with a divine understanding.
I guess what I see, as I write, is that I am earning that outcome as those fighting it suffer its inevitability.
Hmmm...
Well, the draft of this post wrote about a web conference:
--sigh; interacting with people through TVs.--about handling student outbursts. The speaker suggested the strategy of highlighting discrepancy between goals and behavior. I feel like I am doing everything I can to not get what I want. I feel like the only path to empowerment is relinquishing all control to God. You want to talk about fear?
I feel like I'm about to wet the bed, ya know? You know that pee pee dream you have when you want to release your bladder, and you are dreaming you are just in the right spot but something is holding you back and the rightest thing to do is let go, but... you wake up, and it was all wrong? I, almost, wet my bed night before last. That's where I am.
But, now, I'm looking at that web conference differently:
Another point the speaker made was about switching the narrative. Even if it is untrue, sometimes it helps to recast events according to a happier script. Instead of people dicking me around, maybe I need to re-examine my assumptions about why they do what they do. They probably don't think of themselves as dicking me around. They are probably more afraid of me than I am of them. Why? Because I'm not generally scared of anything. I don't have a very healthy fear instinct.
And, maybe, doing what I ought to do, even when it doesn't seem to be getting me anywhere, is letting go. Surrendering may not involve changing my behavior. It may mean continuing unabated. After all, when Noah built the ark, every day before the rain came as a blessing. It gave him the opportunity to prepare. Surely, he doubted in dark moments, but when his spirits were lifted, he appreciated the bright skies as time to put things in order.
This change in narrative has made me reconsider a proposition before me, which had me a little vexed.
This guy I met in Negril invited me to stay with him in CA; I think I could go and stay forever if I wanted. Why don't I? If what I want is a new life, to be totally free, to let go of all of these burdens, why don't I just go?
When I drafted this essay out, I wrote those things out of a feeling of frustration and destined doom. I can't go out there and live with that man forever. I can't. He may welcome me, but I won't feel good about doing anything so rash, and it won't go well. BUT, I can go out there and visit him. He's offering me something I need. He's offering me the kind of caretaking I need. I don't need anyone to pay my bills. I need someone to play with. He says he can teach me how to surf. I want to learn how to surf; I love gliding.
Earlier I wrote:
I want to snap. Things are changing so rapidly at my gig; it's just not the career I started out in. I keep trying to give my all to it, and I wonder more and more why I'm devoting my talents and energies to a system that takes my gifts for granted. I can't excel in this field. I'm not cut for it. And I don't really care much about excelling, but, very soon, I won't even be able serve my people properly working this gig, and thereby I will no longer be able to give my talents and energies to God who does not take them for granted.
Being patient, long suffering, submissive, kind, honest, gentle--these are qualities about myself that I have long cultivated and treasured. These self same qualities entrap me, force me to tolerate situations that I do not have to.
But, when I switch the narrative, I have the clarity offered me by one of my exes. (You know I love my exes.) He reminded me that I have enjoyed this work, and it has afforded me the opportunity I have, now, to change careers. I have been taking classes for years, for free, and now I have enough credits to go to Pharmacy School, Medical School, or Nursing School. All I paid for that was activity fees.
I never would have been able to earn such a high GPA if my classes weren't in the same exact location as my job. I have gotten an excellent education because my colleagues have shared with me everything they've learned, their best teaching. And, part of the reason they have been so good to me is because they appreciate that I am being taken for granted in the position I am in and they want to see me free.
What folly! That is what I wrote an hour ago.
What folly.
I wrote:
Dying here.
Running away is never the answer. I suppose.
You know what?
I was right.
