rain rain go away..
I had originally written a long winded entry describing my anxieties about my most recent choice for transplant.
after reading the entry I opted to spare my small audience the neurotic dribble and just beat right to the point, which is this:
what the fuck am I doing, and when will I give up on this notion that the grass is greener someplace else. I learned this lesson years ago, and still I can't seem to help the inevitable course of actions which have left me nearly thirty years old with one suitcase full of clothes, no home, no career, and no close friends.
the paradox here and what seems to be the underlying problem here, is that the further and faster I go, the further and faster I get from my real objectives. this in turn has left me in a place where the only direction left is forward, which does nothing but propel me further away from where I would like to be.
(it looks as though I have traded on long entry full of dribbling neurosis for another, but I feel the need to expel a bit so I think I'll keep going)
this whole revelation in self identity is not new. I've known for years what it is I need to feel some sort of complacency. the very basis of my first big move to california was laid around the concept that I was leaving what I didn't want for what I thought I did. what followed was a series of mistakes and errors in judgment that pointed me in the wrong directions under the disguise of 'adventure'. don't get me wrong, the adventures have been spectacular .. and I've managed to achieve what most people only dream of doing. my point is that I think I've had enough and I want to get back to being a 'real person', and I'm not sure how to go about doing it.
I already know that I will not stay in hampden virginia. I already know that I will arrive there and feel like I made a mistake. I already know that I will feel uncomfortable with whatever arrangements I can make there. I already know that by next spring I will be looking for a new place to have my things shipped to.
so why do I feel so compelled to go? the myth of 'rebirth' and 'self realization' has already been exposed. I no longer believe that going to a new place will provide me with a chance to reinvent myself, and give me the chance to gain some measurable level of self satisfaction. so why do I keep going?
I think the answer lies back in a deeper level of that paradox I mentioned before. I am unhappy. I have been unhappy for a long time. I know that if I stay here I will not be able to achieve the sort of happiness that I need to keep me getting up for work every day (probably due my own social inadequacies, but I'll just leave that one right alone for now).
what I'm left with is the realization that no matter what I do and where I go I will not be able to achieve anything past my own neurosis. that scares me more than anything ever has in my entire life, and keeps me running at full tilt towards fuck only knows what.
it's like when my brother was two and he grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and cut his finger. the idea seemed harmless at first .. give a little squeeze to see what happens then let up. then a little cut is made and the terror evaporates any further cohesive thought. what's left is my brother sitting at the kitchen table squeezing for all he's worth because he's so scared he can't make himself just let go of the scissors.
that's kind of how I feel right now. I'm packing my shit into little boxes to mail to virginia and I can't seem to make myself stop. I know that this is the very root of my problem, but I'll go ahead and run the packing tape over the flaps anyway.
I'm just tired. I just want to sit down. I just want to be anyplace but where I am right now.
thus the cycle continues...
I had originally written a long winded entry describing my anxieties about my most recent choice for transplant.
after reading the entry I opted to spare my small audience the neurotic dribble and just beat right to the point, which is this:
what the fuck am I doing, and when will I give up on this notion that the grass is greener someplace else. I learned this lesson years ago, and still I can't seem to help the inevitable course of actions which have left me nearly thirty years old with one suitcase full of clothes, no home, no career, and no close friends.
the paradox here and what seems to be the underlying problem here, is that the further and faster I go, the further and faster I get from my real objectives. this in turn has left me in a place where the only direction left is forward, which does nothing but propel me further away from where I would like to be.
(it looks as though I have traded on long entry full of dribbling neurosis for another, but I feel the need to expel a bit so I think I'll keep going)
this whole revelation in self identity is not new. I've known for years what it is I need to feel some sort of complacency. the very basis of my first big move to california was laid around the concept that I was leaving what I didn't want for what I thought I did. what followed was a series of mistakes and errors in judgment that pointed me in the wrong directions under the disguise of 'adventure'. don't get me wrong, the adventures have been spectacular .. and I've managed to achieve what most people only dream of doing. my point is that I think I've had enough and I want to get back to being a 'real person', and I'm not sure how to go about doing it.
I already know that I will not stay in hampden virginia. I already know that I will arrive there and feel like I made a mistake. I already know that I will feel uncomfortable with whatever arrangements I can make there. I already know that by next spring I will be looking for a new place to have my things shipped to.
so why do I feel so compelled to go? the myth of 'rebirth' and 'self realization' has already been exposed. I no longer believe that going to a new place will provide me with a chance to reinvent myself, and give me the chance to gain some measurable level of self satisfaction. so why do I keep going?
I think the answer lies back in a deeper level of that paradox I mentioned before. I am unhappy. I have been unhappy for a long time. I know that if I stay here I will not be able to achieve the sort of happiness that I need to keep me getting up for work every day (probably due my own social inadequacies, but I'll just leave that one right alone for now).
what I'm left with is the realization that no matter what I do and where I go I will not be able to achieve anything past my own neurosis. that scares me more than anything ever has in my entire life, and keeps me running at full tilt towards fuck only knows what.
it's like when my brother was two and he grabbed a pair of scissors from the table and cut his finger. the idea seemed harmless at first .. give a little squeeze to see what happens then let up. then a little cut is made and the terror evaporates any further cohesive thought. what's left is my brother sitting at the kitchen table squeezing for all he's worth because he's so scared he can't make himself just let go of the scissors.
that's kind of how I feel right now. I'm packing my shit into little boxes to mail to virginia and I can't seem to make myself stop. I know that this is the very root of my problem, but I'll go ahead and run the packing tape over the flaps anyway.
I'm just tired. I just want to sit down. I just want to be anyplace but where I am right now.
thus the cycle continues...
bettietwoguns:
frankly, the grass is greener outside maine. though i did have a well paying job there, here i have family--in the broadest sense of the word. here i'm happy.