Ride The White Pony

 The horror ... of Seabrisket | Main | I'm the new Berlin Wall, baby Â

August 08, 2003

No riding the bikes drunk, and no playing with the guns...

The other night I shared a bed with some spiders. I didn't really mind them, and I tried to be polite, but I think the abundance of red welts on my feet and legs would suggest that they were not thrilled with my presence. Oh well. You can't please all the spiders all the time, and that night all the spiders were in my bed.

I should be sleeping now. I've certainly consumed enough chemical aids to ensure that I be slumbering peacefully at this hour. But I am very much not asleep. So, what the hell is going on? I honestly couldn't tell you why sitting in my bed and absently picking at my nails is a more exciting prospect than sleeping is. If there happen to be some spiders in my bed here at home, then those lucky bastards have that bed all to themselves at present.

On an unrelated note, I've noticed that lately the state of my bedroom has been mirroring the state of my life. There seems to have been an explosion of some kind, where everything I know and own has been belched up from the depths onto my floor, my bed, my dresser. In order to restore some kind of order to this chaos, I must sort through it all and either box it up or throw it out. As much as I seem to do each day, the quantity of crap everywhere appears undiminished.
So it seems to be in all aspects of my recent days. Along with the boxing up of my worthless material goods, I feel as though I am endeavoring to box up my relationships, too. The time that I spend with people I love in these last/next days is most likely the last time I'll see them before I move, and potentially the last time in a long time. It was hard to leave Tardball on Wednesday night, with the sinking feeling that it would go on next week without me, and knowing I would probably not get to see most of the participants before then. Or after, really. I've been meeting lots of people for coffees, lunches, etc. for a chance to see them, and be reminded of how I'll miss them, once more before I go. But sometimes it seems like such a formality. A pre-boxing ritual where I can make sure I know that I can pack what is there:

"Yeah yeah, leaving in just a couple of days. Pretty nervous. Oh, thanks! Yes, please come and visit, I'll miss you. *kisses* You take care, ok?" ...and into the box they go.

Some people and relationships who have been unearthed in this explosion of my life go into the trash bag. Like my old clothes and knick-knacks, I could potentially revive, keep, and love this relationship if I only had the time and the energy. Mostly the time. But, since I don't, I simply give it up, consciously choosing to lose contact or remain that way, and know it will soon be forgotten like my dusty notebooks and dolls. It makes me want to throw up, a little.

I can't know what will happen to this metaphorical box of people once I actually am gone. I can hope, at least, that it won't sit unopened for too long. If that happens, I know that my fears of other people will make it really hard to get back in touch. I know that there are some people I won't lose (I hope), but I do know that I am going to lose people, many people, from my life as a result of my vacating the area. Sadly, I don't feel quite ready to do that.

Part of me wants to just give in to this fear that I have - that everyone I know up here will disappear from my life, and I will have to start without them. Part of me wants to just believe that right away, so that I can't be shocked or hurt by it, if it does happen. I'm so ridiculously attached to so many people that I can't imagine what I'll do without them. I'm a bit pissed off at myself for being so attached, and feel like if I don't change my evil ways I will never be able to move anywhere or accomplish anything.

With that said, I can crawl back into bed, with my potential arachnid guests, and bemoan my sleeplessness to them. I am confident, at least, that I can know and understand what I am feeling right now. I don't like it at all, but at least I feel like I know what is in my head, for once.

The bitter taste in the back of my throat won't go away. I've tried everything.

Posted by kati at August 8, 2003 01:05 AM

Comments

Posted by: robyn at August 12, 2003 01:06 AM

Posted by: jason at January 22, 2004 08:04 PM

Posted by: Mike at January 24, 2004 10:48 AM