Gravity. Brevity. Reality.
Something has been pulling me down lately. Possibly it's work and the new pressures of wanting and needing to perform better than I have in a long time. Possibly it's the fatigue and mental stress of worrying about A not having a job yet. Possibly it's just that no matter how I try, I can't shake certain aspects of who I am that simply just weigh me down.
I've had a couple of really hard weeks lately. Weeks where there have been moments when I came thisclose to emailing S. Luckily, in the moment of weakness, I was able to start madly texting my closest friends so that I could be pulled back from the abyss.
Gravity.
It's weighing me down. I know if I venture too close, the laws of science will take me over the edge.
Why would I want to reach out to S? I know it won't change anything at all. Here are the only reasons I can figure out.
He was my escape. When 'real life' got hard, it was comforting to have S to play with, to laugh with, to give me a break from the yuck of life.
Even as I type this, I know I sound like an ass. Everyone has a yucky life in some way or another. Everyone wants to escape from time to time.
I guess the good thing is that before, I let myself be pulled under and now, at least, I know that isn't the answer either.
Another reason I am frustrated is because A still doesn't have a job. I want to ask daily what, if any, progress he's made. But I know that is ridiculous. All that will do is create resentment. And yet, at what point do I get to really voice my thoughts on his unemployment? How long is long enough? When will it be time to go out and get a job, any job, so that we can pay our bills?
The thing is, now I'm scared to talk to him about things. I don't want animosity, I don't want arguing. I don't think I have any tears left to cry.
I'm tired again and weary. This gravity is pulling me down.
In 2010, I turned 40 and spent a great part of that year figuring out some serious stuff in my life. Newly 42, I'm still on the path of discovery but feel I've come quite far. This tiny space is my save haven, one of the only places I can come to work through my worries, fears, exaltations, and endeavors. Thank you to those who've helped me along the way and those of you who stop by to read my crazy thoughts. Enjoy!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Finding Forty, Day 425 Crazy, Stupid Love.
The impending beginning of work is consuming me. I've been working hours each day preparing my classroom, reading about best practices in teaching, spending money I don't really have to spend on materials and supplies to make this new job easier. It's almost, exclusively, all I think about anymore.
In many ways, I'm happy to have a distraction, a new passion, a healthy outlet for my obsessive tendencies. I'm still scared, though. Prepping a room and your mind is vastly different than actually teaching, day in, day out. And yes, I've done this before, but this time, I want to really, truly, get it right and feel great about what I'm doing more often than not.
During the evenings and on the weekends, when I can't be in the classroom, A and I have struck up an old habit of ours, which is watching television or movies together. This summer, we've probably seen more movies with one another than we ever have in our history. When I was unhappy and searching for reasons to prove we were incompatible, I used to point out that watching t.v. was a 'pretend' togetherness. Sitting in the dark, next to someone, wasn't really being together. How wrong could I have been?
Each night, climbing into bed together, we lay side by side, sleeping. If that's not being together, I'm not sure what is. Sure, there is love making or pillow talk, but most of the time, it's two tired, haggard bodies sharing a space. Nothing more, other than the togetherness of that.
I'm sure loved ones who hold a bedside vigil with a sick partner would argue the togetherness of such a seemingly solitary event.
I was wrong.
I love going to the movies with A. Yesterday we saw Crazy, Stupid Love. I knew it would make me cry. The previews hinted at far too many familiar plot twists and story lines to leave my wretched heart alone. And cry we did. But I haven't had much of a chance to talk about it with him. Or I've been too scared.
Even though we are moving on, there are some wounds that are still too fresh, too raw to pick at just yet.
It was enough to just curl into bed, with him reading beside me, close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
In many ways, I'm happy to have a distraction, a new passion, a healthy outlet for my obsessive tendencies. I'm still scared, though. Prepping a room and your mind is vastly different than actually teaching, day in, day out. And yes, I've done this before, but this time, I want to really, truly, get it right and feel great about what I'm doing more often than not.
During the evenings and on the weekends, when I can't be in the classroom, A and I have struck up an old habit of ours, which is watching television or movies together. This summer, we've probably seen more movies with one another than we ever have in our history. When I was unhappy and searching for reasons to prove we were incompatible, I used to point out that watching t.v. was a 'pretend' togetherness. Sitting in the dark, next to someone, wasn't really being together. How wrong could I have been?
Each night, climbing into bed together, we lay side by side, sleeping. If that's not being together, I'm not sure what is. Sure, there is love making or pillow talk, but most of the time, it's two tired, haggard bodies sharing a space. Nothing more, other than the togetherness of that.
I'm sure loved ones who hold a bedside vigil with a sick partner would argue the togetherness of such a seemingly solitary event.
I was wrong.
I love going to the movies with A. Yesterday we saw Crazy, Stupid Love. I knew it would make me cry. The previews hinted at far too many familiar plot twists and story lines to leave my wretched heart alone. And cry we did. But I haven't had much of a chance to talk about it with him. Or I've been too scared.
Even though we are moving on, there are some wounds that are still too fresh, too raw to pick at just yet.
It was enough to just curl into bed, with him reading beside me, close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
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