Monday, December 22, 2008

What I meant to say

Perhaps I could have managed yesterday's post with a little more class and a lot less whine.

I am okay. Things are okay. I guess. No one new has gotten sick or died, and I haven't racked up any more catastrophes. I am okay. Except not, which I will now try to splain.

A few weeks ago I decided it was time to exhale and clean up the wreckage of the past four years. I gave it a name: Season of Badness (SOB)*. I declared the season over and attempted to reclaim my former personality, reorganize my life, and rejoin society without reference to the SOB. I got off my ass, flossed, exfoliated, applied a little elbow grease to my inner beauty and resolved to leave SOB behind.

It so didn't work.

My first clue was that with just a moment or two of reflection, I discerned that good intentions notwithstanding, I still required one (and sometimes two) of four things in order to sleep: a) alcohol, b) anti-histimines, c) xanax or d) piles of prescription sleep medication. Not applying one (or two) of the above to my brain is 100% certain to end in me being awake literally all night. Not sleeping at all. And no, it's not because I am busy twisting the heads off the voodoo dolls. I do not lay awake thinking about "it". But sleep and I have not been together in, oh, four years.

My second clue was that despite every good intention of groveling my way back into the good graces of all my friends, I persisted in failing to call any of them. Note: if you knew me in real life, you would know that I have not been able to handle even perfunctory friendship responsibilities, such as returning phone calls, showing up at the gym, and expressing interest in other people's affairs. For about a month after the funeral, I kept up with my friends. And then I went underground. And since they have seen this kind of behavior from me before, they don't track me down. They know I'll be back around when I have enough emotional chee to at least feign interest. But no amount of flossing or exfoliating makes me feel capable of behaving like a normal citizen. So I am awol from my friends for, oh nearly six months. That even includes some of you who live in the computer.

Oh and that final clue? That would be that I wake up (please note this would be after I intoxicate myself by one means or another) in the middle of the night crying. I apologize. There is no way of reporting that information that doesn't sound ass-dragging pathetic. (Just be grateful you are not my boyfriend).

So what does all this data tell me? Does it tell me that the weather hasn't changed? Does it tell me that SOB is not yet over?

Oddly, no. The weather has changed quite a bit and the flossing will surely get me on the lower half of the waiting list for heaven. My skin looks much better, even if I am no more nice a person. SOB is definitely over.

The data, in short, tells me that reclaiming my former personality, reorganizing my life, and rejoining society is not going to work. Whoever I was before the SOB is not someone I can be again. That me is over. And while you might assume the news would be distressing, it isn't really. More than anything, I am just confused.

When I say I am not okay, therefore, what I am saying is that I do not know who I am anymore. I can't go back to the way I was, and I literally do not know how to proceed with the post-SOB season. I don't know how to behave, and I don't know what to think, and I don't know what to do. So do I hate everything, like I said? Not exactly. I just don't know anything anymore and it's disorienting and scary. Just go with it for now. I have to go with it, too.


* Pronounced "Saab" - only at the end you have a huge ass and brain damage from all the crying - not the European luxury car we would all prefer.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Come back later maybe

Things have been chaotic, even on the best of days. Rest assured, there IS a fairy and there WILL be a post describing her. I will also describe (sorry) my deteriorating brainal health and my intense desire to trade lives with someone, anyone else. Even six months later, this has proven too much for me.

I will post when I am feeling better. That's not now, obviously. And probably you are wishing I had kept my mouth shut until I had something else to say besides, "I hate everything." I don't know what to say except please lord Jesus get me through Christmas and I will try to feel not like by New Years.

Gracias.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Elevator music

Why do we call it elevator music? When was the last time you were riding in an elevator and had the pleasure of listening to familiar melodies piped into the elevator car as you ascended or descended?

Never, right?

So why do we call it elevator music? Why?

We hear elevator music when we are on hold with the credit card companies or the IRS or the brokerage holding our shrinking IRA accounts. We hear it in department stores but never in department store elevators.

From whence did this term come? Seriously. From whence?

A big step forward has been made in the reclamation process. I have not had the time to describe it yet, but I will describe it on, I think, Wednesday after my first appointment with the archetypal therapist (who thinks and behaves just like a little fairy and has thoughts and opinions similar to those one might expect from one). She is a piece of work and a half. I'll describe her for you Wednesday.

Love,

Aelalea

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Where I have been

One odd thing about this new blog is that I am not officially signed up with Blog365, which makes me less spastic about making sure I post every day. I know I should be anyway. But I am busy busy busy. Plus privacy issues related to the place I live plus my determination to keep my anonymity this time causes me some confusion about what to post. I am choosing not to over-analyze today.

I spent the weekend at my brother's house. I do not have authorization to post pictures of my brother Buzz, his wife Leta, and their son Liam. But here is their fireplace, which has, I am almost certain, no right to privacy.



I also finished my kitchen, but you've already seen pictures of that. You probably have not seen, however, my new knitting/yoga area. It is the landing of third floor. It used to look like this:




Now it looks like this:



Here is my yarn stash:



Yes, that is a canvas shoe holder. Yes, I am working with what I have. Yes, this place is far more livable now that it's clean. And yes, the pool table is now usable.



Today marks the end of the "Make situation livable" initiative. Tomorrow, I will describe my next initiative: the "Aelalea Reclamation Project." (Just throw in my old name there if you are still thinking of me in that way). (I still think of me in that way most of the time too).

Have a good Wednesday.