Life as an Extreme Sport

The Day The Saucers Came

wisdom and folly

I like the whimsy and longing and realness of this – a place I think that we have all been. Perhaps it resonates because it has been so recent for me.

The Day the Saucers Came – Neil Gaiman

That day, the saucers landed. Hundreds of them, golden,
Silent, coming down from the sky like great snowflakes,
And the people of Earth stood and stared as they descended,
Waiting, dry-mouthed to find what waited inside for us
And none of us knowing if we would be here tomorrow
But you didn’t notice it because

That day, the day the saucers came, by some coincidence,
Was the day that the graves gave up their dead
And the zombies pushed up through soft earth
or erupted, shambling and dull-eyed, unstoppable,
Came towards us, the living, and we screamed and ran,
But you did not notice this because

On the saucer day, which was the zombie day, it was
Ragnarok also, and the television screens showed us
A ship built of dead-man’s nails, a serpent, a wolf,
All bigger than the mind could hold, and the cameraman could
Not get far enough away, and then the Gods came out
But you did not see them coming because

On the saucer-zombie-battling gods day the floodgates broke
And each of us was engulfed by genies and sprites
Offering us wishes and wonders and eternities
And charm and cleverness and true brave hearts and pots of gold
While giants feefofummed across the land, and killer bees,
But you had no idea of any of this because

That day, the saucer day the zombie day
The Ragnarok and fairies day, the day the great winds came
And snows, and the cities turned to crystal, the day
All plants died, plastics dissolved, the day the
Computers turned, the screens telling us we would obey, the day
Angels, drunk and muddled, stumbled from the bars,
And all the bells of London were sounded, the day
Animals spoke to us in Assyrian, the Yeti day,
The fluttering capes and arrival of the Time Machine day,
You didn’t notice any of this because

you were sitting in your room, not doing anything
not even reading, not really, just
looking at your telephone,
wondering if I was going to call.

I’m Not Big and Scary

life and living

Honest, I’m not.

Except for that bit where, apparently, I am, if I get hurt/upset/angry. Seems the going opinion is that I puff up like a snake and get very hostile, defensive, cold and bitchy, and that this is the sort of thing that makes me look like I’m pulling a Jekyll and Hyde. Although I’ve become more cognizantly aware of this, it’s still hard for me, because while it seems like a “wtf” reaction to those outside my head, I’m inside my head, so I have causation linked to my reaction (and causation changes interpretation).

I haven’t been terribly impressed by my behaviour since Wednesday, and to lesser degree since last week. I’ve been very, very tired – between Saturday and Wednesday I only got about 13 hours of sleep, and I know that, after several weeks of sleeping badly, I finally reached my breaking point and emotional walls tumbled, judgment failed, and I became cranky (to put it mildly). But I’ve also been thinking about the comments I quoted here, and they play into everything, too.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about those ideas of self-denial, and feeling like a fool, and a sucker, when you’re around people who perhaps don’t have those same impulses towards self-denial. I’m not sure I’d place myself firmly in that camp, but in the last 18 months I really have been living my life very differently. One of the major differences is how I interact with the world – I very tongue-in-cheekly call it my “shiny happy Kelly.” I, for lack of better way to phrase it, exude love and affection and openness to the world. I know I have an infectious smile, and I use it to the very best of my ability. I laugh loudly, long and hard, and take as much pleasure as I can in other people and life.

I wear my heart on my sleeve these days. I give affection and love to people, and I try to do it as freely as possible. But I’m not perfect, and I still occasionally snap back into the person I was for a very long time – the one I might label the 12 year old goth girl, practiced at sulking and wearing sunglasses as a visible shield to keep the world away. (I don’t think it’s coincidence that I grabbed a pair of sunglasses to wear, yesterday, for the first time since late summer.) A friend very bluntly but accurately pointed out that I’d been in the role of victim for a good chunk of my life, and she thinks it’s easier for me to go there, sometimes. She’s right. When I’m in that role of victim, of playing the martyr, well – it’s a role I played lead for 1/3 of my life, and in many ways I played the secondary martyr for another 1/3-1/2. I know the rules innately and intimately; I can do it with my eyes closed. I know what notes to hit and when – it takes very little thought, and in that ‘naturalness’ comes comfort and security. It’s what I know.

I’ve been trying very hard to break out of what I know, not the least of because I like myself when I’m shiny-happy-Kelly. I feel best about myself when I wear my heart on my sleeve and give myself freely to others, no strings attached. I love the way I feel, and the way it makes other people feel. I very emphatically do not like the hurt and misery I cause both myself and the people around me when I revert to that 12-year-old-goth. I don’t like being immobile in bed, staring at the walls and wallowing in perceived hurts that are overblown, don’t like being a misanthrope, and hate that my actions hurt the people that I care about. But I still trip into that person sometimes, and have to dig myself out when I get there.

I wish I could strike some sort of balance, where I can be the person I like being without reacting with fear at certain situations and curling up to protect myself. I’m getting better about seeing when I do it, and I’m becoming more aware of what it is about my behaviour that is so Scary (and self-fulfilling), but I still do it, and that frustrates me. I know that some of the answer lies in practicing Buddhism a bit more and better than I have been (after all, it gets much of the credit for getting me to where I am now), but it’s not the entire answer, and I’m not certain what is.

So Much for Friday

...and everything else, life and living

So far today I’ve managed to oversleep, cut myself twice (at two wildly divergent times, on objects you wouldn’t think sharp enough to cut), get a good, cathartic three tears shed, and resigned myself to not going out until later.

I was planning on attending the funeral of a friend’s mother today, but just couldn’t get myself out the door. A funeral, combined with not knowing the deceased, combined with just feeling horrible, seemed like an increasingly bad idea. Still, part of me feels guilty for not being there to see my friend.

And, continuing proof of God’s ironness…
It’s like they’re opposite points of the pendelum, only I don’t control the swing. I can’t be in contact with both, only one at a time. Maybe magnets is a better analogy…

Stupid Tears

life and living

Today was one of those days that got exponentially worse as it went on, culminating in actually breaking down leaving happy hour. No hello, no goodbye, no smiles, no contact – just a dead zone. How much of it was my own wall, how much wasn’t? Hard to say…I texted something snarky. Then I got home and realized that I could either pull the same cancel at the last minute stunt tomorrow, or actually call tonight and explain that I was willing to postpone, but that during the meeting time specified a friend’s mother was being buried, and I felt I should go to that.

I also explained that I felt like the vibe was go away, not wanting to speak to me, and that I would just assume no more working on thesis, no watching the Super Bowl with them, etc, until I was contacted. And I admitted that it hurt. A lot.

I’m going to bed. I’m afraid of how much more worse it’ll get if I don’t.