I miss you

i’m all armored up
again, this time
anchored in place
because this is where you
were last
this is where i was
before you slipped away
this is the last place that made
any kind of sense
before you came
and helped me turn
myself inside out

everything
is raw without you
to soothe balm on the
wounds we exposed

I am not here

Sometimes, I’m not sure I exist. I forget that people can see me. Living so far behind my eyes that the person that walks around in this skin seems to be someone else. She is the person that goes through the motions of life. She is the person who eats, and breathes and drives and looks for work, while I sit back, way back inside her head and try not to get in the way.

But then we go out and I am reminded that people can see me and even more so that I want to be seen. I want to exist closer to the world. But I can’t seem to get hooked in.

Is there really a gap?

I am interested to understand if there really is a skills gap or if there is a mismatch between what is called a skill and what is not. If employers think a specific software is a skill, they may be overlooking employees who have the knowledge and experience to shrink the gap between knowing the required software and meeting the business need.

Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone – LaLa Land

You can only get to the good of the movie by sitting through the 1st half of it. Only after the second half, does the 1st half fit. It makes sense in the end. And becomes a really good movie. But the first part felt so self-conscious and aware of itself and the movies musicals that came before it.

I’m a fan of musicals so I wanted to like it. Ryan Gosling can sing and his voice is really nice. Emma Stone was okay as well. The music composition had to do more heavy lifting than should have been required. The music was gorgeous and absolutely made itself the third character in the film. Thank goodness for that.

Open Broken

I’ve been here before
openly broken
any number of roads
available around me
all of them scaring the shit
out of me for their own special
and non special reasons like
some roads have heights I’m afraid of
or spiders or boredom or bosses
or ease or cleaning or stupidity
and I am standing here open
and broken and
well the first time
I desperately wanted to run
my car into a wall
I was choosing that road
then next time I buried myself in work
looking for work, measuring work,
hating work, getting good at work
I chose that road
now, here, again
ambition, motivation, determination
persistence, love
have left me tired and drained
and openly broken
now again, these fucking roads

It’s not just sad

It’s not just sad. Though I most often use that word. The word “depression” has lost some of its meaningfulness as a way of explaining what this beast is that accompanies me.

There’s this scene in Cool Hand Luke where Paul Newman is fighting with George Kennedy and he’s being pounded but he won’t stay down. Luke can barely stand, hardly raise his arms anymore but he won’t stay down on the ground and let it be over. Sometimes my depression is like that.

There this scene in Mash where Painless the dentist decides that he would rather die than go on living. Hawkeye and the gang plan a funeral charade for him. Painless preps himself, climbs in the coffin, takes his pill and waits to die. Lt. Dish “helps” him out in the midnight hour and Painless wakes up the next morning and goes about his business like the evening never happened. Sometimes my depression is like that.

There is this scene in the Color Purple where Mr. runs Nettie away from Celie and Nettie stands in the road as he pelts her with stones. She screams, with her arms raised and hands open, she screams “Why!!?? Why?” Sometimes my depression is like that. It’s not just sad.

Sometimes I ask why; sometimes I’d like to just lay down and die but most often I just keep getting up barely standing, worn out and beaten. I am unwilling to lose to the beast. It can walk with me if it must, but it won’t ever win. Just so you know.

Time and Space

There are days where gratitude for Xina in my life are enough to shove her absence aside for a moment and there are moments in those same days when her absence stuns me into silence.

why? what’s the point?

I can’t decide if I need an answer to this question. I am doing a lot of sitting. Thinking. I keep doing things that I think I should do to get to the next thing I will be doing. Then all of a sudden, I feel the question “what’s the point?” And I can’t come up with a suitable, sustainable response.

what’s the point of continuing to pay the mortgage on this house. why not just let it go and shoot myself in the head? then no more questions about what’s the point. or figuring out what to do next so that I can keep paying the mortgage on this house or any house for that matter.

move from here to some other place I’ll have to keep up with. doesn’t matter if it’s a tiny house, or an RV or a condo. the same things I do here, I’ll have to do there so what does it matter?

I know this is exacerbated by my not having some outside entity directing at least part of my day to day hours. I know this is about my having to be in control of everything that I do and having some of the things I do not mean or amount to anything. I can’t figure out what are the important things anymore. Even if I find something important, doesn’t mean that it or its importance will last.

I can’t kill myself so I have to figure something out.

I love books

I love books, have always loved books. When all else appears to fail, a book never does. Inside is a story. Someone took all the words they needed and organized and ordered them to tell me something I wanted to know. Without even knowing that I existed.