I’m not sure which matters: did I fail or did I choose badly? If I go down the path that says I failed, then I sort of feel okay about it. That means that I can try again and do some things differently. Or it means that I can’t accomplish the task. It’s too hard or I don’t have what it takes to accomplish the task. Okay but not really. If I am incapable, I feel like that says a whole raft of things about me that I don’t want to believe are true but that may be true nonetheless. I’ve failed before. It doesn’t kill; maims just a little but I survive.
But if I chose badly, I find that almost insufferable. If I chose badly then everything I’ve learned up to now, everything that I thought I knew about myself and what I want and what I know is wrong and how can I choose again knowing that?
And then there’s the thing about doing the same things over again expecting a different result. Point of fact, I’m not expecting a different result, I would be actively working for a different result. Is that enough? Does that make a difference?
I have this moving image in my head of myself right now of this broken entity dragging and gathering shards and pieces of myself around me. I want to put myself together again but I can’t. The pieces themselves refuse to go into the places I try to shove them. As if I refuse to be remade the way I wish to remake myself. IF I cannot remake myself the way I was, into what will I be remade? The pieces I have are the pieces I have. Anything I throw away will leave a hole, won’t it?
And so I just keep dragging my broken self around trying to find a place to put myself together again or trying to find a path to be on that accommodates this broken thing I am without crushing anymore of me than necessary. Stay or leave?
end of another year without you. another year treading water in the doldrums. spin another vision girl its the only thing that has ever worked
As of today, the plan is to see if I can get a referral for this job that is like the job that I am doing from the guys that I am doing the job for. If I can go perm, I can go ahead and move out. I can just pick a place.
I dream of being alone in my own place, responsible to or for no one. I can move about in my pajamas unthinking of who I might disturb or who might be concerned about my movements about the house.
I can get up and go back to bed without worrying about any one questioning how long I’ve been lying down. I can get up and go to the bathroom and not worry about who smells what. I can be my sad self in peace as I find my way out of it for better or worse.
I can xbox to my heart’s content. I can do nothing or half do the many somethings that I have started and stopped.
I can learn how to eat again. I can be surrounded by my books again. I need them. I want them. I miss them. I miss what they represent without having realized they represented anything before.
I want to be alone so I can choose not to be.
I’m currently adrift. Don’t know how to negotiate it except by acknowledging that I am adrift. I think this makes me a complainer. Although “complainer” makes it seem like I think there is someone other than myself responsible for my state. I’m mostly complaining to myself about myself. I think I’m doing what I can to change my current state. It just feels like nothing is working.
I think I am frustrated by my inability to make an impression and I do blame that on my interviewers while still trying to find a way to improve myself so that I can demonstrate that I can do the job.
I do complain that their questions don’t prove what they want it to prove; part truth, part sour grapes even when I get the job. This current position does a third of what it appeared to require from the job description and interview questions.
I want to stomp my foot and cry “not fair”. I am aware that such a cry has never (well once) done me any good.
Currently, I am simply convinced that I suck and will suck until I get a stable job. And even then, I’ll probably still suck.
Still depressed. Don’t know what the future is going to bring. I am currently failing to plan so my plan is to fail. this isn’t an original thought. I heard it on a YouTube clip of Hannah Gadsby interview and it sticks with me as my current state of affairs.
why not plan to fail? really? my plan to succeed failed. Success looked like getting that degree, starting a production company with Xi, being with Xi; Xi died. That plan failed and I wasn’t planning on the failure so why not plan to fail?
Rumor is that the current contract I’m on is going to end September 30 or there abouts. Fine. It just means that I can’t dick around anymore about finding a new job. because I have been dicking around. I can get through the day. and It’s not enough but it’s what I can do. get through each and every one of these days without her in them 737 days I’ve gotten through successfully.
There was something else I wanted to write but whatever it was is gone now.
Trying to get myself together. I’ve talked about the fear that accompanies me with everythung I do and think. It makes it difficult to make decisions. Each choice is threatened by fear of potential outcomes, fear of not having enough information to be “right”, fear of what happens if I make a choice and everything falls apart.
So I’m depressed and sad and tired of it all and the choices that I need to make only make that worse. I can do anything, but I can’t do everything. And making one choice, could make other choices unavailable, or cost money and might result in debt without result if something goes wrong.
Im so tired of being afraid.
And also, my dogs are dead. I don’t have dogs anymore. Lily died first. She got ill and I couldn’t take care of her. What little money I had, I used for the vet but it required more than I had. I took her to the vet dirty and afraid and sick and I left her there. I wish I hadn’t done it that way. I wish I had stayed with her. She couldn’t get up and I couldn’t carry her. I think I did the best I could; I regret that I couldn’t have done better.
Bruce died a couple of weeks later. His spine was injured or naturally degenerating and he was losing the use of his rear legs. I wanted to deny it was happening because I was afraid of the cost; afraid that it was fixable if I had the money. It wasn’t fixable and I didn’t want to know that either, really. But he was in pain and soon wouldn’t be able to walk. I was able to stay with him though and watch him leave.
Heartbroken doesn’t feel like a sufficient enough description.
I think about my self all the time now. How I never hear your name any more. I used to say it at least 100 times a day – your full name because you would smile when you heard me say it or at least I remember it that way. Your smile. I want to talk to you, talk about you; hear about you, hear from you. I think about how much I miss you; how my life is emptier and lonelier and scarier than I thought could be possible for a life to be. I think about my life without you in it. Not like before, I thought of you in the world; had a hope always that I would see you again. I would think of you and think of how much I had liked you; was okay that you rejected me; still wondered what you were doing, where you were. Occasionally, looking for a sign of you somewhere.
I think about that moment I saw you again. I remember how the people in the room disappeared and there was just you. I stared at you. I walked your way not sure if you were you; not sure if you would know me. I said your name and barely anything else. You gave me your number. Nothing could stop me from using it.
And now it is a world without you in it. and I spend way to much time thinking only of me. without you.
I realized last night that I have never on my own picked my place to live. It’s been found for me or provided by others. I’ve lived with the people who found my home until they’ve left or I’ve left. Usually if I’ve left, it’s because we both left the place. I’m okay once I get the place but I feel overwhelmed by making the choice of where to live.
I don’t usually think of myself as an indecisive person. Although since Xina died it seems that I just let decisions make me. Sort of hang on until I have to let go, then hang on to the next thing until I have to let go of that. It’s clearly not a good decision making process. I feel anxious, unsure and disenfranchised.
I’ve been without my stuff for almost 3 years now. August 2015 seems like a whole lifetime ago. July 31 2016 seems like it just happened.
How do I make what I know useful? Maybe it’s just not as useful as I think it is and I should find something else.
We used to argue and I would shout when it seemed like I wasn’t being listened to but that just made her double down on not hearing me.
I would be rational and responsive until I was bullied or ignored and then my voice would get loud until I shut down.
That won’t work for what I want now. i don’t know what else to try.
After giving it additional thought, I’ve decided that I am actually using the “follow road” life feature. I just think the road I’m on sucks. I don’t like the view. I don’t like the options available in the surroundings. My desired goals are a long way off but being on the road will get me closer even if it is a sucky road.