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Late September, sad feelings creep up in me and by November, I'm drowning in melancholy. Annual Depression. I feel like I'm wrapped in mosquito netting and only see out through tiny gray squares boxed in black. I try to hang tight, knowing it won't last. But there I go, analyzing my entire life and finding all of the holes I fell through and all of the roads I didn't take and mourning scars that didn't heal, the people I left, the people who left me, the road I'm on and how inadequate I am for the journey, and how always a year into major decisions I want to un-decision. How I'm not a good decision-maker. How I want to go back and start over. Completely start over.
I thought about my poor decision-making ability after last week; faced it. My car had a flat tire. It waited for me in the early morning frost, but I didn't see it. I backed out and there was a funny dull rumbling sound, like when driving over crusty ice. Out on the street, a bumping duetted the crust-cracking. I knew. Didn't want to know, but so what, knowing something never makes it go away.
I called Les Schwab Tires for womanly flat-tire rescue. Waited. A half hour went by. Then it occurred to me (as it does every November) that I've never relied on anyone for anything. My do-it-myself attitude borders on sickness. Yet. People have not--often enough to create my asking-for-help phobia--come through for me like I want/hope/expect they will. Part of November is knowing my aloneness, and how it stacks up beside my lack of togetherness. How this happened because, because.
I went out and changed the tire myself. I'm ** years old and finally changed a tire. Didn't even get my pants muddy. Didn't curse, didn't bruise my hands. I got greasy and happy. Yeah, I checked the car manual to see how the crank and jack fit together. How to place the jack. Then I went by instinct, not feel, and the accomplishment was worthy. I'm Real, I said.
Later, I drove to Les Schwab and bought four new tires. I always buy new tires when I get the first flat, obeying this as a sign. But I didn't interact well with the man behind the counter. He spoke fast, mumbled and I couldn't bring myself to ask him to repeat, or speak up. He said, "ultra," and "special buy" and tried to sell me on siping service--tire slashing that you pay for, to get extra traction he said. His impersonal blue eyes skimmed mine, evasive, and I felt rushed, uneasy, unsure. So I didn't ask questions, but made a snap decision based on not wanting to bother him, and my feelings of inadequacy in a man's world, and my wanting to appear smart and in control.
After the quick sale, I left, drove to a store. Came out and really looked at my Celica. The tires looked strange, tiny, out of place inside the hubs. The significance of "ultra" hit me. A sports car looks hideously unclothed in regular-sized tires.
I went back the next day and upgraded to ultras. It cost me an extra $54 for my hurried decision, straight out of my Christmas allowance.
I make decisions based on my feelings. All the time. Not based on stopping, getting quiet and methodical, prioritizing; waiting. Thinking.
Feelings are emotions, and are separate from reality.
Feelings cause unplanned pregnancies.
Feelings cause you to tell your boss to shove his job up his ass...when you need that job.
Feelings feed you a pound of chocolates when two pieces are enough.
Feelings say I do, walk you down the aisle to a land of hope, lift the veil, then they tear you apart when you find yourself alone in a double bed.
Why not feel, stop, think, and then feel what is actually real?
I want to divorce my feelings. They are getting in my way.
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