Stop Making Sense

March 15, 2012 § Leave a comment

Once you hear the thwack of the other shoe dropping heavily to the floor, the unmistakable finality of the long dreaded thing actually happening, the knot in your stomach dissolves. It is replaced, no doubt, with emptiness, with grief too, but the fear is gone. Sometimes I feel guilty for thinking this, but my parents’ deaths, in a way, freed me. Not that I don’t miss them or love them; I love them and miss them with the fearless abandon I never could in life.

First, there was something like missing limb syndrome, where you still feel pain in a limb that no longer exists as part of your body. It was physical. Sometimes it still is. My insides are like a David Byrne costume in the eighties–a skinny man in a suit way too big, too structured, swimming in fabric. I have finally realized what is supposed to go in there. This never occurred to me before.

When you live up next to someone else’s addiction, life is fear of fucking up. I shot for perfection, as I am told many people in my situation do. I can spot you, by the way, I know who you are by the way you catch every heirloom tea cup before it falls, like the girl ninja in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’m your kind. I too, am very good at anticipating what other people want and need. I spend my life thinking what people might say next, what they might do, and how I would answer, if in fact someone chooses route A. I am ready for route B, too. This is sometimes wearying, sometimes a party trick.  I am sure there is a name for it in self-help books, but I am not interested in reading them.

I am not so good at anticipating anything about myself. That is the very small good of all this: focusing shamelessly on myself, on anything, without regard to how my desires might ignite chaos. Hence, I guess, a blog. Don’t think that this is cathartic, though. Not in the sense that it could fix me. I just finally have the time to sit still long enough to process what feels like a hundred years of thoughts. No teacups are falling.


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