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All about my failures
 
 



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post #186
bio: kristen
perma-link
8/15/2005
14:13

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So, obviously the umbilical cord has been cut.

Am I a grown-up? I would define this as standing on my own. It scares me. Everything scares me. This would be my primary issue is standing on my own and not working it out so that others provide for me.

I don't have a good history of this. I have supported myself before, but it was with the company of fellow friends who were in the same boat as myself. I've always made a marginal income except in new york.

Is it lunchtime yet?

I'm an office worker.

I suck at it because it seems soul sucking. Don't get me wrong, I do the job - just not with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. Mitigating factors such as pleasant interesting co-workers would be nice. It would be nice to have a job where I can use my comfort skills such as writing and designing. I used to be a whiz at powerpoint and word. Now when I get tested on them (temp jobs), I realize I'm behind the times.

So my one skill - jobwise - is office work. I suck at it. I'm lazy. I do it. It is like other peoples' ability to always waitress.

I'm a late bloomer I keep telling myself. I am something fabulous stuck in these neurosis I keep telling myself. I need therapy I keep telling myself.

However, the only thing I want to do right now is hide in a hole and wait for it to all be over.

I've done this tons. Mark's sacrifice.

The cord is cut. For reasons I won't go into, it's a psychological cut - not a verbal dictate or a key taking drama. It's just a realization that the shit has come out, so you do the math.

Scared out of my gourd. This black hole I've realized is the yawning chaos - the unknown - the unknowable.

When Mark and I worked: we had a huge friend network. We drank a lot. We lived near safety nets. Mark was gone a great deal. I had pot. We had plenty of money. We socialize with people we had known for five years plus.

I fell in love and remembered what the drug felt like - became an addict again.

Since we've fallen from the successful relationship wagon: mark didn't work for six months. We drink a lot. We had no one to feeb with but each other. We socialize with strange -la- people. We live five days from base. We used unemployment checks to pay rent. We were depressed about our future.

It's strange how life works out. If Mark had been working four months ago, what would it have been like? Had we our friends?

It's all changed and gone and different, and I'm scared that I'm too fucked up for life.

All these invisible bags that I carry with me?

Or am I free and grown-up and getting through and something fabulous will happen around the corner?

Unknowable.

Better.

Alone is sad. Sharing journey much preferred.

It's all me.

Not even a tabula rasa, but rather one with invisible ink.



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