Molten Boron

I gotta start writing more often. Maybe get things thought about in text in smaller chunks. Less blockage. More fiber.

I decided last Friday — out of the blue, just woke up and decided — that I’m going to go to Dragon*Con this year, after all. (Assuming I can get off work; shouldn’t be a problem.)

I want to lose some weight before then. That might be a problem. Every time I’m in a position to get some exercise, I just kind of… “too much work, I’m going to take a nap.”

I guess I want a motive with certainty, but I don’t really know. Black and white, up and down. Depression leads to skipping meals, depression leads to overeating. Confidence leads to eating less, confidence leads to “occasional” splurging.

Nuts.

I feel sort of okay, now — which is probably why I’m so hesitant to post. I was half-way through typing the headline when I noticed that my mouse pad was covered with cat hair, and went to get a lint-roller to clean it up. So dedicated am I to not posting, it seems.

I want to get out all my thoughts, but I find so many of them to be overblown cliches. This tends to make them sound ridiculous out loud.

Been going down-hill the last few days, and I’ve been meaning to write about it. Apparently, writing (if that’s what this is) has become one of those things from which I’m capable of completely distracting myself. That probably means it’s good for me, and I should do more of it.

(Unless I’m wrong, and I just don’t want to get dragged down into thinking that away again because I’m okay right now, in which case I shouldn’t try to retrace the steps that led me to where I was…)

Talked to my family more often than usual this week, although it’s not a lot: a phone call each for my parents and sister. They tend to upset me, but it’s no fault of theirs. Part of it is that I associate them with my childhood, and with things that No Longer Are, and things that Should Have Been.

I left them a long time ago, and they’re not the people I left. Or maybe they are, and I’m not the person I was. I really don’t know, but everything just feels wrong. I love them all dearly, I think. I don’t see how I can be anything but a disappointment to them.

I’m supposed to go out to Cookeville this weekend. Some old family friends are in town, as well as a nephew and two nieces that I haven’t seen in a long time. I don’t know if I’ll actually go. I was certain I wouldn’t, but now that I’m “sort of okay,” it’s alright.

My job is infuriating. Had planned to go to the Saucer with some folks from work, but the… the constant fucking insanity at that place had me too pissed off to see straight when I left this afternoon.

I spent most of the trip home trying to convince myself that I should buy a bunch of liquor, leave the sliding door open for Shada, pour a bunch of food out for her… and try to drink myself to death. I wanted to talk to someone, to just spill all this bile out of me and cry until I fell asleep, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t justify talking to anyone. I went through everyone I could think of in my head, and didn’t want to burden any of them with yet another round of Jim’s-being-all-weepy crap. Because I know it’d just happen again. And again. And again.

I stopped at the little Italian place and sat in the car for a bit before going in. I ordered a sub; they’re pretty good.

There was a man and his daughter at a nearby table, reading something about insects. She can’t have been more than six or seven (surely not seven?), but she was pronouncing words like “metamorphosis” and “chrysalis” with no trouble.

I don’t know if I ever wanted children. I thought I did; maybe I assumed that one day I’d grow up and become my father, and a family was just part of that.

I might write more later. I can’t focus on this right now, and I don’t want to bring that mood back.

Been up all night after sleeping too much Friday. Going around in circles. As usual, I suppose.

Don’t want to bother anyone. Don’t want to be alone. Don’t want to go anywhere. Don’t want to invite people here just to bore them.

On the closing of doors… the number of potential subjects that can be discussed with various individuals is declining. This may be a natural consequence of growing up, or maybe just a method of withdrawal. I’m not certain.

For instance, it struck me a while back that the conversation I’ve been wanting to have with Donna for the past few months will likely never happen. Our future interaction will probably be largely superficial.

I talked to Karren last week. We chatted about stuff and things, about people and goings-on, but we didn’t say a word about how we feel or about why we hadn’t spoken for a month.

I’d like to hit McKay’s today, but I’m currently reading two books and haven’t even opened a third I bought some weeks ago.

I went to bed at a decent time… then finished a story in the latest ANALOG featuring blood-sucking mites, and spent the better part of an hour itching.

Something about “closing doors” occurred to me last night, but I don’t have time to expand upon it right now. Only mentioning it so I don’t forget.

Pompous-sounding things. Overblown. Actual importance unknown; feels large. Maybe isn’t.

Everything that felt brand new feels old again. SSDD. Doing same things, expecting different result.

I begin to develop a directon and get hung up on insecurity, uncertainty. Require approval, confirmation, acceptance. When obtained, reject it.

Seems to follow familiar loop. Want to do things by self, want help doing those things. Believe / don’t believe can.

Talked with therapist about purpose, meaning. Hard to think clearly about; insides of head go all house-of-cards. When idea balances upon idea to reach conclusion, train of thought easily derailed. (Also, metaphors easy to mix, confuses situation further.)

Goals currently under scrutiny include new operating system, new bed. Neither affect anyone else, improve anyone’s lives. (Obvious pitiful ain’t-gettin’-any implication not actually the point.)

The closing went off without a hitch Wednesday. Splitting up our insurance wasn’t hitch-free, but it was easily resolved.

Dad hasn’t seen Zoe since the day she got there.

Talked to Jenn yesterday. Didn’t talk about January, but talked.

I’m not entirely here right now… been sleeping all day. I meant to get out and walk for a while or at least do something… whoops.

Selling the house is getting closer. More aware of it.

This last week has been stressful. It doesn’t feel like it’s been so directly, but I can tell it is by my reactions to things. I can see the symptoms and the cause, but the connection is only inferred.

Sue did most of her moving today, and I took Zoe over to dad’s. I didn’t run into anyone at the house when I went to pick her up, and I guess that’s a good thing. It’s mostly empty, now. It’s not just no longer “our home,” it’s no longer even a “home.”

When I let Zoe out in the shop, she immediately slunk (slank?) behind a stack of lumber and hid. She came out a couple times, and I showed her where her food and water were. She sat on my lap for a bit and let me pet her. I hope she stays there instead of trying to run back to the house again.

It was just moving a cat, but it felt like the dissolution of the last of our family.

Shada and I are still together, but she wasn’t even a year old when Sue left. There are some good shared memories with her, but not as many. Not the “history.”

My mind doesn’t want to focus. There are things I want to get out and my psyche is playing games with my attention, insisting that something else (anything else) is more important than thinking this through.

It’s frustrating that even three years on, now, seeing the house empty and moving Zoe can rip it all back open again.

I think I did well tonight. Played a (very) little bit of Rock Band. Drank some, but didn’t get drunk.

Donna and her boyfriend are pretty touchy-feely. It might have bothered me. I’m not sure. The differences between Donna and Donna′ are more pronounced. Everyone acted normal.

It felt like… even though she’s still really important to me, there are other things that are important, too. I envy their closeness. I wish I could have straightened my head out and accepted Karren. It’s possible I just can’t handle someone loving me at all. Do I really just want to be left alone?

I may have just lied to myself all evening. Maybe I’m just trying to rationalize the “it’s okay, I just want to be around her” feeling. Damn.

It’s as if I should be crying my eyes out and wishing I were dead, but I’m not. That’s good, right?

Feeling “okay” isn’t my natural state. I want to crash just to get it over with.

I’m sorry if this is scattered; still a little fuzzy in the head, and tired.

It was nice seeing most of the gang again.

I’m going to a movie tomorrow with JB’s crowd. I haven’t seen most of them for a couple months. Donna and her boyfriend might be there.

I’m not thinking about her any less than I was before. Avoiding her (and people that remind me of her) isn’t going to get me over her. Maybe seeing Donna happy and close with someone else will do the trick… and meanwhile, I’ll see Ironman again, and hang out with some friends.

I feel like I’ve been an idiot, now. Well, I felt like an idiot before, but now I feel like one about this. I’ve been telling myself over and over again that the best thing to happen would be for all of these people to forget I exist–and so I shouldn’t be reminding them.

I wonder if I’ll still feel like this tomorrow afternoon. I can see from here how it could all crash, but I hope it doesn’t.

I don’t know what’s so great about resolve, anyway.

Woke up this morning with a litany of awful things in my head that looped around until I got to work; just drilling over my faults.

If I argue them out with myself here, will that help? Or will it just reinforce them?

I’ve been wanting to write about this all day, and now I can’t find the right words for it. All of this morning’s thoughts still feel valid in a sort of incidental way, but they’re just not bothering me as much right now.

I have more difficulty learning new things than I used to. I wind myself up into a ball when there’s any chance that I’m going to be judged or tested. My imagination has ossified. My motivation and initiative are the walking dead.

These are true.

Part of me wants to change them. I want to exercise more and be more social and do all the things I was trying to learn to do last year — and I lose my nerve. It’s easier to slow down, to stop. It’s safer.

That’s not what I want to believe.