I hate days like these, days that find me stuck up in the office with just enough time to let my brain start wandering, days where my brain wanders its way to Ani DiFranco, the type of woman (to borrow/re-work a line from Mark Z. Danielewski) I rarely think of and never visit, and thinking about Ani always ruins my day because, on some small level, I realize exactly how rarely I really burn for anything in my world.
In thirty seconds of watching DiFranco explain to George Strambolopolous why she refers to her baby's father as her "baby's daddy" rather than... "boyfriend" or... "partner" I was more inspired/ignited/turned on in a completely non-sexual way than I am by anyone who actually inhabits my world.
And it's one of those things that is at the same time amazing and incredibly destructive. Amazing because it makes me want to tear out of this office and go wage peace and write books and drive fast, and destructive because I know, a. that's not going to happen and b. I don't have anyone right now who makes me want to do that.
Knowing that, though, knowing that the impetus to do anything that will stand up as being really worthwhile is going to have to come from somewhere inside myself, and not some masked stranger I seem to keep waiting on, is an incredibly impactful piece of knowledge. At least, it should be, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't felt exactly like this countless times before.
The little plastic castle is a surprise every time.
And the thing that bothers me most, I think, is the fact that as I'm typing this, I know exactly who the people are that I feel are stifling me. Whether or not they actually are isn't the point, because unless someone changed the rules on me when I wasn't paying attention, we're living in a world where anything is questionable, and none of those questions have answers that make any sense unless you're drinking a very specific brand of kool-aid, a brand that constantly changes based on the questions asked.
Lately, it feels like I've been drinking whatever anyone hands me, even if it is in just a red solo cup, and even if I didn't see them pour it, and even if they're telling me they've dropped poison in it. Some self-preservation switch somewhere inside of me doesn't seem to be functioning, and it hasn't been since that first time I graduated, just about five years ago.
I left home looking for... something, and surprisingly, since I had no idea what I was looking for, I haven't been able to find it. That search has left me empty-handed, except for a long string of broken promises and cell phone contacts that eventually are going to amount to nothing.
That's how I work, if you haven't caught on yet. I am something of a study in impermanence, while at the same time staying exactly the same. The chunks of space rock that make up the rings of Saturn are consistently expelled from the formation and replaced, but the planet and the moons remain the same. The problem is when you forget which group is which.
And I think I've done an incredible job of forgetting lately. My priorities have become so twisted there are times when I look at myself in the mirror and am shocked at who I find staring back at me. This is the point where I drop the phrase "cognitive dissonance" and Cara does the c.d. gesture and I melt a little bit because it's moments like that where life makes sense and I feel like I'm in the right place.
In the relatively fictitious world of television, there's allegedly a saying "this won't play in Peoria." Essentially, the concept behind it is that if something's not going to go over in middle America, it's not going on anywhere. The office is quickly becoming that to me. If you can hang there, and really hang there, not just get the two-second tour, if you can chill on the modular couches and take the boarderline harrassment that makes up a huge chunk of the grad school existence, then you are really and truly "in," I think, and that's a litmus test almost no one actually gets to take.
And I like it that way. It's the one thing I've been keeping close to my chest, and the couple times someone has been asked to rise to that occasion, they've stepped up, big time. Just like they always do.
There's been this mantra in my family, mantra's not the right word, let's go with... theory. There's been this theory in my family for some time now... and it's been one of those things that's just kinda sat there. It gets brought up every now and then, we joke about it, and then it fades away.
I think it's starting to take hold, though, and that's entirely scary. The scariest part of the whole scenario is that it feels like it makes sense. I explained it, really explained it, to new people for the first time today, and it's one of those situations where once you step back enough to tell the story to someone else, it seems like there's only one way it can end. Aaahhh.
So, it seems like the only real nextt step is to load up the car and tear off into that strange night. But I have interviews tomorrow, and i've an appointment on tuesday.
