I love that … what?

“I love that…”

This is the writing prompt that Dianne has provided for me, the initial spark to inspire me to write a blog post starting with those words. I know what she’s trying to do, and I thank her for it.

Dianne is doing what she can to get me focused on the positive, and I understand her reasons for doing so. I’m sinking deeper and deeper into the negative and losing the fight to come back.

I honestly feel I’m resting in a bog of quicksand and the only thing keeping my head above water is doing my best to Not Move. For the past year it seems that every move I make just sinks me deeper and deeper. Deeper into different jobs that I like even less than the previous one. Moves that are ostensibly meant to provide me with more income either provided me with less, or pretty much the same. Financial failures finally breaking through the levees of minimal payments and adding water to the sucking bog. The dawning realization that I’m worse off now than I have been in over thirty years, and it isn’t going to get any better.

So what I “love” now are those fleeting moments that bring me temporary relief.

I love that moment before sleep, when I’ve set all the pieces in place for me to rest as best I can, when I can set my mind to pretending I’m somewhere else. Closing my eyes and trying so hard to come up with a dream of escape, or release. Daydreaming in those final moments numerous fantasies of flight or superhuman durability. Daydreaming of just not hurting anymore. Daydreaming about being rich enough to not only feel secure myself but to ensure the security of those I care about. Little figments of distraction to trick my brain into calming down and giving in to sleep. So far it’s still working, but I’m waking up earlier and earlier each morning with reality reasserting it’s crushing presence.

I love that morning hour on the weekends when I wake up with the usual tension and urgency of another workday to be faced, only to realize it’s the weekend and I can sleep in.

I love that moment over lunch where I can lose myself in a book, and I love that moment when I can pack up the remains of my lunch and close my eyes to crash nap for ten to fifteen minutes. I love the furtive little dreams that crash through my head as I let the pain medication sink in so I can make it through the last four hours of work.

I love that feeling of settling into a new show, watching numerous episodes each evening, getting to know the characters and watching the drama unfold. I love that sensation of getting lost in a well crafted fantasy world where the problems are either easy to solve, exciting to work through, or both.

I love that feeling of putting word to line, of etching my own fantasies onto paper, although I haven’t had the drive to do so in a very long time. It has been weeks since I have felt that desire and I’m not sure how to get it back.

Wait! What was that?! Bring it back!

Wait! What was that?! Bring it back!

Lastly… lastly I love that moment with friends where you can shed your armor and relax. I love that moment where laughter comes easy and it doesn’t matter what you have or what you do, they genuinely love you for who you are and are just as happy to have you there are you are to be there. I’ve missed that so very much in my little world, and it was so very nice to have it back last weekend. It’s so very nice to have that back in my world.


I have a button on my fridge, I bought it a while back when I was ordering Christmas presents from Think Geek. It says, simply, “I’m not deaf, I’m ignoring you.”
It was funny at the time, and sometimes at work I’d like it to be true, but in general… it isn’t.
I’m not ignoring you. I’m not ignoring any of you. This is just how I am. For all my ability to talk and write, for all my skill at explaining how things are or might be, for all my ability to tell a story… I am, at my heart, a lousy communicator.
My ability to tell a story isn’t talent, it’s compensation. I grew up alone for much of my life and, as such, missed out on some of the social tricks many people take for granted. I completely suck at small talk and other simple social conventions. I discovered, instead, that people will … think less strange of me if I entertain them with stories. Besides, the stories also keep me entertained in my own head.
But that’s a tangent for another time.
What I am saying is that I do not do well at initiating contact. I never call anyone except when I have some specific reason for doing so. I don’t leave my house unless I have a goal, someplace I already need to go.
I never start anything, I wait around until there’s something worth following.
The annual non trad is just the exception that proves the rule. If people weren’t constantly asking me about it I’d eventually just stop.
A number of people have been commenting lately that I haven’t been around, haven’t been calling. Rest assured, it isn’t just you.
I’m slipping, I think. I’m reverting to the sad solo life I used to have where, if it weren’t for Chad’s comic shop or the school’s computer lab, I would go for weeks without talking to anyone who didn’t call me first. There were communal watering holes I stumbled on and returned to for the human contact I knew I needed but didn’t know how to find.
Now all the watering holes are gone. I go to work, go nonstop all day, and drag myself home to distract and entertain myself for a few hours before finally dragging myself to bed for not enough sleep.
On weekends I nap. A lot. Which just makes that tired Monday morning all that much harder to face. If Mondays weren’t so crazy, so constantly-on-the-run busy, they’d be intolerably long. Luckily for me Mondays are days that never have enough time, the hours pass in a blur and I’m home again, on the couch, watching something on TV or playing another video game.
The thought of calling people occurs to me, all the time, but it… feels like effort. I can never think of a good reason to talk to people. It’s easier when someone is already there for some other reason, then some random thought will occur to me and I’ll bring up some obscure topic of conversation. But when I face the dialing buttons of a phone I have nothing in mind, nothing significant enough to be worth calling someone about. So I don’t.
I’ve always been like this. It’s always been easier to go with the regularly scheduled event, the common watering hole, whether it was the comic shop or the computer lab or the regular Monday night movie on an overstuffed couch. You didn’t need a reason to show up, the place was the goal unto itself. The resulting socialization came naturally.
I have no ideas, no plans of my own. I have tasks, chores, and obligations. The rest of the time is balanced between a library of distractions and the proverbial ticking clock, marking the passing hours.
I’d really like to think that finally getting the rest I need would prompt me to changing this, the constant surrender to inertia, but I fear it may be too late. I’ve been like this all my life, it would be a miracle for it to change.
And now I’m late for bed again.

Melancholy is:

Julie posted on her journal that she was “enveloped in the soft sheath of melancholy”. I, personally, am very familiar with that emotion. Or at least I frequently find myself in a mood that fits that description very well. It’s not sadness, it’s not depression, its not even being unhappy, really. I can be very happy and melancholy at the same time.

Okay, wait… *does a lookup* … melancholy is the wrong word for it, I guess, if you go by the dictionary definition. I’ve always used it differently, though, and I suspect I’ve acquired my own view of the word from it’s usage in the fiction I’ve read.

I don’t know quite what word would work better, though… longing? No, that implies, in my mind, that you’re pining for something that you can’t have, whereas I’m talking about reminiscing about the things that have past.

Okay, here’s a quick little exercise for you: think of someone from your past whom you loved, cared for deeply. Someone who meant a lot to you, even if you didn’t know it at the time. Someone who, for whatever reason, isn’t there anymore. Think about the good times you had with them, and how long ago that was. Smile at the happy memories even as you tear up at the sense of longing for something lost.

Feel that? That’s melancholy to me. Remembering all the good things that happened and, even though you’re sad they’re gone forever, you’re happy they happened at all, and cherish every memory as a fragile living thing that must be handled gently lest it bruise, whither, and die.

Why would I enjoy being in that mood? Two reasons, really.

One, it clears my heart of sadness, like bleeding a wound. If you’re sad oftentimes the only way to get past it is to express it. In my experience, at least. And if you can do that with happy memories, it’s like adding balm to that wound even as you bleed it.

And two, it helps keep those memories alive in my mind. I’m forgetful, often to my detriment, and I live in constant fear of forgetting all the good things that have happened in my life, and the people I’ve loved.

I guess that’s why I write a journal.

Heh, and even as I write this someone on my friends list on facebook has updated their status as being melancholy. Seems to be the weekend for it.

The waterboys will do it for me every time. Ronya made a new mix CD for us and used this as the second song:

“And a bang on the ear”

Lindsay was my first love
she was in my class
I would have loved to take her out
but I was too shy to ask
The fullness of my feeling
was never made clear
But I send her my love
with a bang on the ear

Nora was my girl
when I first was in a group
I can still see her to this day,
stirring chicken soup
Now she’s living in Australia
working for an auctioneer
But I send her my love
with a bang on the ear

Deborah broke my heart
and I the willing fool
I fell for her one summer
on the road to liverpool
I thought it was forever
but it was over in a year (oh dear)
But I give her my love
with a bang on the ear

The home I made with bella
became a house of pain
We weathered it together
bound by a ball and chain
Is started up in fife,
and ended up in tears (oh dear)
But I send her my love
with a bang on the ear

Krista was a rover
from canada she hailed
We crossed swords in san francisco
we both lived to tell the tale
I dont know now where she is
oh but if I had her here
Id give her my love
with a bang on the ear

So my woman of the hearthfire,
harbour of my soul
I watch you lightly sleeping
and sense the dream that does unfold (like gold)
You to me are treasure,
you to me are dear
So Ill give you my love
with a bang on the ear

It gives me that feeling. Every time.