Posts Tagged ‘busy work’

Fifteen Minute Blog

March 1, 2019

That’s about all I got tonight.

Fifteen minutes.

I almost decided to not write, but then I thought, when am I going to have the opportunity again?

I mean.

PhD full tilt boogie.

38 hours a week at my day job.

I’ve also clocked 13 hours at my internship so far this week and I have a client tomorrow as well as three on Saturday.

This is it.

Take the moment.

I could, sure, do some homework.

But.

Well.

I’m pretty on top of it right now.

I wrote a paper over the last two days at work as I was left pretty much alone during the afternoons at work with the baby (who’s really not a baby anymore, 26 months tomorrow) who has been taking these great big fat three-hour naps.

I can knock out a lot of work in three hours.

It’s been a huge gift.

When people ask me how I’m doing it, that’s really the key right now, homework while the baby naps.

Of course I do homework at other times, but the three hours really gives me a way into staying abreast of the work.

I have plenty to do the next couple of days as well with school work, new module’s opened in one of my classes, which means obligations to post discussions and respond to others.

I have done the readings so it shouldn’t be too bad and if the baby naps well tomorrow and the mom’s out of the house, I’ll get it done.

I’m staying busy.

Maybe, sort of, on purpose.

I will say I was a little surprised today to not be as upset and sad as I thought I would.

Then again, when I have slowed down from school, work, clients, dealing with my car being in the shop for six days, OHMYGOD do I love having my car back, I have broken down pretty quick.

I’ve been very careful since the break up to not listen to certain music.

I’ve gotten caught once or twice when I was in a ride share on my way to work and the driver had something come on the stereo that knocked me for a loop.

Cue wearing my ear pods on all drives to and from where ever I was going.

As well as making sure to listen to music at work that’s very upbeat.

I’m sure there’s more grief to grieve.

I lost my best friend and we have a no contact agreement.

I have felt lonely  and lost and sad.

I have also felt some freedom I wasn’t expecting and some relief that it’s done.

Walking around last week for five and a half days knowing that I was about to break up was harrowing.

Just the relief of not having to do that is tremendous.

I haven’t looked at photos either.

And I’ve not gone looking through texts or emails.

Maybe I’m packing too much swaddling around myself.

I don’t know.

I just know that the first time we went through a break up it was so horrendously sad I walked around for days, weeks, feeling like I had been beaten.

And I couldn’t stop crying.

I have had a few moments of unbearable crying jags, but just not to the extent of last time.

I was also not practiced at the breakup.

He and I have gone through it two times officially from my side and once, in a sort of conditional way on his side.

Third times the charm I guess.

Oh.

I do sort of still hope that something miraculous will happen.

That he will decide to alter the things I asked him to alter and we’ll be together.

And I know I can’t wait around for that, it probably won’t happen, and I can’t live my life hoping.

I have to live my life in faith, I know that.

The situation I was in was untenable and I went on in for almost two years.

I’m lucky to have known the depth of love that I had but I also went through a lot of pain.

A lot.

Things were just never quite what I wanted.

Fuck.

Now I’m teary.

Shit.

I thought I’d make it through.

Oh well.

My person reminded me that it wasn’t that there was a lack of love if anything that was what made it so terrible to do, we were so in love with each other.

We’d frequently call the other the One, or soul mate, or magic, or love of my life.

So, it’s rather heartbreaking that we couldn’t get around the issues that broke us apart.

I could wish it different, but I couldn’t make it happen.

And man.

Did I try.

I really tried to be super flexible and not look at things with black and white thinking but in the end I wasn’t getting my needs met and he and I both knew it and he was guilty and sad for it and I was upset over it and it wasn’t working.

God I wish it had.

Ugh.

Now I know why I wasn’t wanting to blog.

I knew that I was going to process emotions doing this and now I’m typing and crying and the heart ache is there and it doesn’t matter what I’m playing on the stereo, it’s all love songs about him anyways.

Well, that was fun.

I just precipitated a crying jag with my head on my table.

Ugh.

I can’t really avoid myself and my emotions when I’m writing, they just naturally come up.

Sigh.

And I can have some compassion for the part of me that doesn’t want to feel and has kept mighty, mighty, mighty busy not thinking about it.

I am sad.

I am tender.

I miss him so much.

Fuck.

I miss you darling.

I miss you so bad.

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Long, Slow, WINDY

October 28, 2013

Night of the soul.

His words rang in my head the whole bicycle ride home, they had been ringing in my head since he said them.

Leaky tears on the corners of my eyes.

Relief.

Given time and given silence.

The truth of my situation comes out.

What happens when I open myself up.

First to those I have to, a kind of unwilling willingness to change because I can’t do it on my own and my heart is breaking and my mind is falling apart and I have thequickbrownfoxjumpsoverthelazydog running on repeat in my head.

Or I am screaming in my head.

STOP IT

STOP IT

STOP IT

The IT was stopped and thus begins this long slow unwinding of self, layers of bandages, sheaf’s of skin, wounds open to the air, a desperate desire to cloth myself in the savvy filling of all my days so that there is not time to stop.

No time to breathe.

Fortunate for my ego, my friend ducked into a corner store to grab a bottle of Pelligrino and say hi to the shop keeper who had just re-opened his store after a bad fire last year at Valencia Street and Duboce.

The tears siphoned down my face.

I don’t want to be right.

And as it turns out I don’t want to be happy either.

Surprise.

I want to be safe.

In some cocoon of white bunny fur, with my eyes closed and soft sunlight creamy on my face.

Sounds like some heroin, or is that just me?

I want to not hurt so badly from the hurt that I have put up with since forever that I am ready to cocoon myself away in the busy.

The busy of writing and taking on more projects.

MORE.

(Side bar–I am re-thinking very seriously the Nano Wrimo thing, aside from the fact that the acronym bugs the fuck out of me, I don’t want to be told how to write my next book.  I don’t want to write on my laptop, I want to write long hand in a notebook and so I will go get myself a new one tomorrow, I tried today, but the day, she escaped with me and that was blown by the wind elsewhere as well–I already have a fucking discipline for hells sake, I don’t need to beat myself into having another.)

The busy of trying new things.

“Oh, yeah, well, I am just going to do some cold water open ocean swimming next week, I need a warm swim cap,” I said to my friend as we cruised the aisles at Sports Basement.

I did my best to not pay attention to his incredulous look.

Or in the act of purchasing the damn thing that I got so overwrought with impatience that I almost chucked the fucking cap in a bin and dashed out the store.

“Stay here, it’s not that long a line,” he said, “what is up with this?”

ARGHHHH.

Running away from myself, the intimacy of being with people.

And running right the way to it as well.

Cram, cram, cramming as much as I can into my schedule.

The irony of it all is that I spent a lot of the day thinking about the principle behind the joy of living.

I was not living joyously.

I don’t let myself do that so well.

I could be wrong, but I recall every crossroad, and the paths that we laid, I hope you’re happy at the end of the day, I hope that you’re happy today.

I realized that I have been so busy, literally figuratively, that I have not let myself just accept things they way there are in their own spectacular way.

“It’s written all over your face, all over your actions, in what you do and how you say it, you….”

“I,” I said interrupting him as the light dawned bright, a shaft of sun out of the West, the sun saying, good-bye the fog is coming, the wind is on its way to clear out the cobwebs of your soul and old habits.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship,” I finished for him.

Although I desperately want to.

But my actions, oh, don’t they say so much more than my words as I try to be so involved in projects and things and stuff that I have left no room for anyone else.

I am so afraid of intimacy and being hurt that I build up this wall of stuff to keep you out.

Out I say.

Out damn spot.

Out.

Stay the fuck out of my heart.

Yet, I bleed, here on my screen, all over my friends, as they put up with my epiphanies and attempt to give me perspective, on my family, on the men I date, or pretend that I am available to date.

“What’s wrong with right now,” my friend said to me a few months back as we sat in the yellow gold sunlight flashing through the high trees in South Park.

What is wrong with right now?

What is in next week that is going to change the way I feel or how I think.

God knows I have tried.

I am so scared of being afraid of fear.

Does that make any sense?

I am so used to being by myself that despite the fact that intellectually I think I would be better off with a partner, I isolate myself to protect my little habits and needs.

What would happen if I let enough time in to let you in?

I am going to stop booking myself out so far into the future.

I am going to let myself have time.

I am going to let myself accept that there is no better me.

There is no better place.

There is no better body.

There is no better love than what resides right here, right now.

There is nowhere to go.

I am right here.

I accept this flawed human.

Me.

I do not need to move on.

I can stay.

Let the wind in, blow out my soul.

Slough away my sighs.

Open me up.

Again.

Oh, damn it.

Once again.

 


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