Mycelium running is a book in the store that i've been flipping through when I'm so bored, I willingly read books about how mushrooms save the world. Bradley's garden is as full of different kinds of mushrooms in the fall and winter as it is of flowers and herbs in the spring and summer: all thanks to the constant applications of horse shit his beds receive all year.
Over the past thirty some-days, I've gone from feeling confident and excited about my job to viewing it as a temporary gig as the shop is bleeding funds, and something that I feel bad for having, as I do more knitting on the clock than coffee girl stuff. I've gone from feeling grateful and blessed by new enthusiasm and understanding about my romantical relationship to wanting to run fast away from it, far enough to be gone by the time I come to my senses. I felt so content with my relationships with my family, so uplifted after seeing them all for mother's day, but now, I feel heart broken at the distance between us, the time between encounters.
To be honest, I don't know what it is, or was, that dumped a pile of poop on my parade.
I ducked out of the friday 13th open mic night, saying that my uterus was cramping my style- but really, I'm feeling like I Hate the sound of my own voice, and while the encouragement from lovelies all over was lovely- is lovely, I do not enjoy singing or pretending to want to be a musician as much as I just wanted to have a thing.
I just wanted to stick it in the earth like a compliment lightning rod, like a premade box so that I could be categorized by people more easily.
I feel a fight with 'red coming up. Its been building for a while as it tends to when I feel crampy and do not keep up on the dishes and entertaining him with compliments and attention. < a note here, how the eff do you people stay married for so long when everyone is constantly feeling either un appreciated, or like the work horse or like the maid?> He found my covert internet research on narcissistic emotional vampires, and how to love them. I think it hurt his feelings because he brought them back onto the browser and left them there for me to find.
My beautiful parents remember my remorse upon getting caught. I feel like hiding, but I don't know when he'll be home, so I could be in for a long, ridiculous crouch in the closet or car on the beach.
I don't even know how to have this conversation.
So I think you're in love with yourself. Maybe I'm inlove with Myself- and I'm just deflecting because I have nothing better to talk about and the sound of your voice all the time talking about your kickassness makes me feel threatened?
What do I look like, the goddamn wizard of Oz?
I listen to Cracker play Get Off This, and I have to say, what I just wrote about music is cranky and incomplete. I want to crawl into the fibers of music and live there. The world of sound is more real to me than the bed of manure I'm choosing to lie in now.
This too shall pass.
Even when it feels so familiar, and we get flashes of past failure in our intuition, this is a new moment.
I believe we live in many dimensions always weaving them together. I believe the work is made from the stuff of nature, which heals it's self, and which does not interfere with things like the freedom to choose. Our choices make dropped stitches, different patterns, new and unimaginable shapes. But the stuff of nature facilitates and inspires. Nature comes at you on it's own terms, and doesn't mind if you do not agree with it, but it will mend the work, and continue to keep the fabric alive even when you are not able to.
My cappuccino friend likes to speak of these things as one river, any time we start to get into the big ideas about life and all that shit, he grunts and huffs something about me being on a completely different parta' tha' river. "Yeeah". He gets my fiber analogy though.
Maybe Fred will someday look back and say, that chick had a point. And I now know how to better communicate my loving feelings toward my ladyfriend.
Maybe he will always refer to me as That crazy you-know-what, which I am sure is how most of my use to be's do.
Maybe we can shed our egos tonight and just be around each other like the old days.
I'm sure he will be tired and cranky as I am, as he was shoveling horse poo all day in the humid breeze-lessness.
Maggie has been ever so neglected lately, and staying home while we all leave to play. Maybe I will take advantage of our seasonally lingering afternoon glare, and take her for a little walk to the beach!
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