Funtainted
Can I ever have one without the other? I want to feel one pure, untainted emotion at a time, instead of having one and looking forward to or dreading another. Why is everything partitioned in blocks of anticipation? Always looking towards, always waiting for. I’d rather just exist if it’s all the same.
I feel sorry for things, people, myself. I feel sorry that we cannot be better, be more. This in itself is a symptom of the condition described above, I think.
I want to smell your house instead of smelling my arm in desperate attempts to remember. Scent lingers, then fades. Everything fades with time, they say. I feel desolate and inconsolable. I refuse to listen to reason, bar the negative variety.
This throat lump, this quick-beating heart, these sweat-slick palms, they’re no good for me. These butterflies are the wrong shape, the wrong color. I swallow hard out of habit, but some things refuse to be repressed on occasion. The physical notes denote a muddled mental state at best. The body and the mind eat each other and wrestle each other and console each other and begin again.
I’m sorry I can’t write for you. I never could, I pretended. There’s too much going on up there, it clouds my view. And even if I could see beyond the mist, what’s to say I could report it accurately? I despair needfully and needlessly and play with words hopelessly to pass the time listlessly when there’s no time. And wait, keep waiting and waiting.
24 January 2008 at 5:54 pm
OK, I know exactly how you feel. I think it may be lack of chocolate.
24 January 2008 at 9:56 pm
Z’s right. *scoffs half a bar of diabetic chocolate, but no more because of its certain, ahem, unpleasant side effects*
Ahem. Where was I?
Oh yes. Such self-knowledge is a remarkable thing. Treasure it.
Also: if only we could all “play with words [as] hopelessly” as this. If this is hopeless, then may the gods help the rest of us.
Furthermore: that was at least three comments in one. Sorry.
24 January 2008 at 11:47 pm
I like it when you pass time putting words together like these.
25 January 2008 at 12:56 am
this resonates. it is definitely not hopeless. and if it helps, you are not alone.
25 January 2008 at 12:00 pm
It seems we can’t have one without the other and time passes whatever.
It’s like a big open space and sometimes there’s comfort in that.
You describe it pin point beautiful . I want and hope your colours get back to the way you need them and the butterflies righten themselves.
25 January 2008 at 2:16 pm
Z: You’re right. I had a handful of peanut M&M’s earlier and feel almost human again. (Still, better go for another handful just in case, huh?)
AUW: I dread to think what the side effects might be. And also, please comment a minimum of five and maximum of a gazillion times on each and every one of my posts. Thank you.
Lillipilli: Eh, I like it, too, if I’m honest.
Everydayophelia: Hello and welcome. I’m glad you found something familiar. I try to keep in mind that I’m not alone, against all evidence to the contrary.
Isabelle: Thanks, Isabelle, I hope that once in a while, my butterflies flutter and sparkle like yours.
25 January 2008 at 7:31 pm
This reminds me of the first time I was ever (only time I was ever?) in love. All week I’d look forward to seeing him, and I’d leave his house the next morning on a psychadelic high. Only to be deflated a few hours later into an inexplicable despair, which would last until I saw him again. Talk about ambivalent; I never want to feel that again.
In some ways, I think the cycle was all about the inability to capture my own desire from another person. The same way you can’t write, because you think the clouds are a weather report but in reality they’re a mist of projection. It’s sort of a helpless loop, of being caught in a time that is neither anticipating nor regretting nor enjoying, but nowhere.
Watch “Vertigo” with your chocolate.
26 January 2008 at 2:59 am
Marcelle: I keep wondering whether you’re extremely perceptive or whether we just connect somehow. I’m thinking it’s probably a bit of both. I’ve never seen Vertigo, though. Now I’m very curious…
26 January 2008 at 7:34 pm
If we all communicated from ‘down in me’ like this, there’d be less sense of isolation and fear of being different, on top of the angst that seems to me to be a quite rational response to life.
Do you know Virginia Woolf? She’s too associated with the genteel, but she presents characters as responding to life and the moment in a way that occludes mundane ‘facts’ and creates poetry from viscous but intense and essential emotions, rather like you do on many of your posts. Her writing helped me a lot.