TB 10/ 2014

 I found journal entries from 2014. And I want to reuse the notebook because I am thrifty like that, but I also want to hang onto the thoughts because I am clingy like that.

So, here we go. Digitizing, then throwing away the pages. Throwback series incoming:

10/18/2014

Hey. So. Another year's passed with no word from you. I'm doing this instead. Because hope is a treacherous bitch and I'm having real trouble connecting with people. And, well, if I can't get past it I need to find a way to live with it.

Maybe this can be living with it? I don't know. It's worth trying.

So I quit Pulse. Seven months ago now. Jesus. What a tedious dramatic thing to have done. But I'm happier now. I'm performing in Rocky Horror with a different company - an arts collective. And that's something I'm happier about around Wednesdays. I dance 3-4 shows a weekend depending on the weekend.

Exhausting. Sometimes I toy with the idea of losing 20 pounds, lying about my age and auditioning for cruise ships. The ultimate detox. No internet. No cell phones. Just...being there for six months. Eating. Sleeping. Performing. Exercising. Journaling.

I don't know, though. Might not be the right type of energy to be expending. Performing so much is such a lot of out.

Preschool is such a a lot of out.

But I get restless when I'm not dancing. Maybe exhaustion is not so bad.

I've rekindled my library card. Read Planet of the Apes. It was horrifyingly sexist and species-ist. Nice to have read only for the sake of discovering what the movies were based on. Am now re-reading Norwegian Wood. Next a book of Flannery O'Connor short stories.

Have been watching American Horror Story. There's something oddly soothing about the way it explores horror themes. Just so...campy. Very little is actually scary.

Maybe it's just that my capacity for shock is worn out. Some bullshit with chemicals and receptors.

I think the reason why Norwegian Wood was you. I connect Watanabe with you very strongly, but don't know why and don't remember why I loved the book so much in the first place.

We're moving again. My roommate, Alyssa, is moving to Seattle, I think, in a few weeks. She's becoming a travel nurse and going through what I guess I'm going to call a quarter-life crisis. Jesus, when will it end? I'm still going through mine.

We're moving closer to downtown. Closer to Scott's job. Maybe a little closer maybe the same for my job. Cheaper, more suitable place. When will that end? So much moving.

It's all very bad timing. Smack dab in the middle of Rocky so I can help very little. No good saying "make time". The time simply is not there. And when it is, I'm exhausted.

So much to do for work. So much energy for Rocky which technically I will get paid for - so also work? Modeling has been frequent lately too. Ugh I wish I had more exciting stuff to tell you. I lie.

I'm just happy I can tell you.

These things take practice and I'm out of practice.

Yours,
Clara

10/22/2014

I was lying in Savasana and trying to let go. One is not supposed to think in Savasana. But I do. Because...I can, I guess. But thinking how backwards things are. Scott's been out of town for three days and I've...really liked it. He's stuck in Bethel for two more days and I'm not sad about it. I'm not sympathetic to his worries about brown water.

I mean...that happened at the house (in Texas, growing up) all the time. Wait 'til it runs clear, then drink it. Or buy bottled. Or iodine pills. Terrible lack of sympathy. It's terrible. I'm so cold.

But. It's been, like pretending I'm single again. Or living alone at least. And I think I like it. I'm a little more irritable at work, but that may be a fluke, not as a result.

Anyway, I was thinking how I would move to Mississippi now. And how backwards my last few years have been, then. Timing and insecurity. Timing and insecurity. I can say that because I'm not really writing you. Pretend.

OMG. May it please, PLEASE, help.

So. Uh. 

I registered with UAA. I think? I need to pay them but they never asked for my credit card information. Means I will have to go down to Admissions and sit around a bit next Wednesday. They only way to get things managed in a digital society is to sit around and be physically present until your problem is resolved. People ignore your email, but ignoring your body is quite hard.

Rocky is being.... /eyeroll

On Monday they asked if Wednesday and Thursday we could perform for some fundraisers. Love the thought. Don't love the last-minute-ness. I plan my life out at least a month in advance. There are some exceptions, but.... Some frustration. Irritation. Imaginary conversations in my truck.

Have made great strides packing. Am a little sad that it's true (has been since childhood and is still) that if you leave me the fuck alone I can get great things done.

...and that's all for now. Watching anime. Thinking about Great Teacher Onizuka. And missing you.

- Clara

On Having No Manners

 My mom tried. She really did! I know, sort of, how to do The Things. 

I know that I am supposed to bring something when I go to someone's house for dinner - or anything else.

I know how to write thank you cards.

To RSVP in a timely manner.

To thank someone after a lovely evening and make sure they got home safe.

To set a table and indicate with flatware that I'm done at a restaurant. Not to stick my chopsticks upright in the rice.

And yet.

I don't, always. 

And I suppose that to be damning.

2023 the YEAR WITHOUT A SUMMER APPARENTLY.

It's supposed to be cloudy and rainy for the next ten days. 

Great for skin, horrible for morale.

If I could go to Mexico or Hawaii right now? Dude, I would.

I was supposed to write something about internalized misogyny. But I think it might just be a few sentences, really because it's probably not misogyny writ large it's probably just being biased against myself and then penduluming back against because my body and brain want to survive and won't stand for that shit long term.

bananagram

 Today was a day for cleaning and Instacart and, I guess, revelations. It's been "the greenest winter" we've had in awhile, which has meant cloudy skies most of the morning and afternoon with the sun breaking through in the evenings. Around 8, 9:00 PM. These would be beautiful skies for watching the stars in the lower 48.

But I'm trying to simulate a cozy evening, so I have the blinds drawn and inside lights on.

My parents have set off on their (final?) trek back to Texas to gather the last of their things and bring them up to Alaska. With everything that's happened in the past few weeks, there's mainly been radio silence.

My dad being careful not to make eye contact or initiate conversation on the fishing-trip-that-wasn't. Them asking me to watch their orchid and check the house daily via text message after setting off on their trip.

Today was better, but yesterday I was stricken with the feeling of wanting to throw up for most of the day. Hiking helped. It's overall better with the kids now that I'm not working at the preschool anymore.

I am more patient, but most importantly better rested and somewhat better at spotting patterns. There are lots of moments where I can stop, pull the camera back and realize: You're overwhelmed. You. You are.

Feeling angry and like shutting down when we're on a hike and so close to the car but they can't cross the portal to the trail to the parking lot to the car doors to the car to the - they need the visual cue of you walking away to realize that it's really time to leave. And that particular thing? Sucks when there are fucking bears about.

Because bears don't care. Look at 'em. They don't care.

Or at the library when it's crammed full of kids of all ages and mine are doing just fine really, but it still feels overwhelming because I know it's adding to the overall chaos, and I think I'm constantly being judged by the adult blurs walking all around me (blurs because I acknowledge they're as tucked away in their versions of reality as I am in mine - they don't really take me in; probably). And what do you do, really?

Query: how do I set boundaries in situations versus just carve out space to...exist? There's this vacillation between being angry that the boundaries are being violated, and being scared to set the boundaries in the first place, and being tired because of the previous two things.

My mother-in-law slipped and fell transitioning from a stool to a bed. She asked me not to tell S. A bit of an unethical conundrum. I think I've settled on: she's an adult, she can choose when and if to tell S. I don't want her to get hurt, but I see she is making modifications so as to be healthier and manage her mobility issues. Her reluctance to tell him could be: an urge towards independence (he's told her that we're moving in as soon as she falls again), not wanting to deal with his reaction (he's having a hard time with the idea of them getting older and this comes out in, yup, anger), not wanting to acknowledge that it's happened at all. She said she forgot to tell her doctor about it and it happened a few days ago.

Maybe I made the wrong decision - I quite often do.

Goodnight party people. Time to deal with car tires, bike tires, and dress rehearsals tomorrow. <3

Dear Tyler Wright:

 Hi.

I am 100% sure no-one is reading this, so it's pretty safe to write you this. If you ever are reading this - hi! Please email me. It's the same. More about that towards the end if you'd like to skip to that.

I'm not sure if I miss you, yourself most. Or if it's the idea of you. Or if you are the place I go - the place I've always gone since I was 19 - when I need a safe place. Maybe you always will be. 

It's not that I'm not dealing with the problems in my life. I am. But I don't have that safe place, you know? Outside of my own imagination? I'm on a fishing-trip-that-wasn't in Valdez that turned into a therapy session that is now journalling that will soon be a couple of other things, of course.

There are lots of things I wish I could talk to you about. I'm watching Shiny Happy People. My parents haven't really let up with the same expectation we (I think?) grew up with. The one about my husband "guiding" me. 

Honestly - most of what I've been hearing lately about myself and my choices have been critical. I've grown in lots of ways, but I'm still rejection-sensitive. Nevertheless there's the feeling in my gut that I have - that I've always had, even during meltdowns - that I'm not wrong. However, I acknowledge the decisions I make are not always the writ large best decisions. 

But, for the most part, they are the ones I believe are right at the time. More about that later. Apology incoming. And who could say any differently about their own decisions, really? How shitty to say "you make bad decisions" over and over and over again! Always is such a lot of times! Also - not a very constructive way to approach me, the grown-ass woman who <<insert aspects of Shiny Happy People here>>.

That being said, I'm trying to be open to the opinions of my husband. My parents. My in-laws. I'd say my friends, but I need to do a better job connecting with them about what's really going on. Without burdening them, I guess. Or even with burdening them. That's how connection works, right?

God I miss you.

We had a conversation in which I think I said I tried to think about calling my parents and interacting with them as a reminder of what I never want to be. This is largely still true. I was just so busy working through my childhood trauma as employed in early childhood for a decade that I kind of lost track of that thought. Well, I'm right back there now.

Having this time to...process, basically, before I start grad school in the Fall is necessary. Having this time to, potentially, work out how I want to express my beliefs to my child rather than just leaving her with my parents (who are treating her essentially the same way they treated me and my brother; a little softer, but the soul of it is the same - and they are teaching her about the Christ) or my in-laws (who are treating her mostly well, but I mean, you know, are very much of the school of thought that emotions are Not Okay To Express Or Talk About).

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Or, maybe always? I seem to have moved past acceptance to the other side (yay, more grief). And I am sorry. These feelings are complex. Sometimes far away and sometimes sitting on my shoulder. I think you are always going to be a part of me - a part I wish I could talk to, but can't. The most adult part of me puts their hands gently on my shoulders and tells me it's deluded to believe I ever could. Other parts believe. It's a time-consuming interplay.

I'm very hopeful that you are happy, living a fulfilled life, and that your days are filled with things you like to do and people you love. That you aren't stuck in call center hell, or getting ground down by middle schoolers.

Maybe you're tangled up in memories I can't touch - the ones of my older half-brother who died. The ones I can't remember. But I can remember you. And what it felt like to be your friend. And then in secret love with you. And then in not-secret love with you. And then.

Sorrow doesn't even begin to encompass it. I'm sorry that I was such an asshole to you. I regret how I spoke to you. The terrible things I did. Not staying an extra day. You deserved so much more and better - especially given what a wonderful human you are and were - and I hope you have that now.

...this is a letter I can't send. I have no way of contacting you. And that's its own sort of preemptive response. Silence is an answer. A wall is an answer. Me not wanting to hurt you is a factor. There's this image of reaching out and every touch lacerating you. I don't want that. 

But I do fucking miss you. And I wish you joy.

- Clara

Oops

I don’t want to succumb to the feelings about wanting to be sucked into a portal where none of this ever happened. I never happened. 

But shunting myself to the periphery feels attractive. Doing the work so I can have some time to call my own. And say, “I fucking deserve this.” 

I also need it. But do I DESERVE it?

At Ichiban waiting for an order. And its been a slow night. But lots of time for thinking. 

I just don’t know what to do. Writ large. 

There’s nothing to be done. Until after the Summer, anyway. I thought sobriety might help. But our daughter’s birthday was on Sunday. 

We’d discussed it. He wasn’t sober. And the day prior he’d even clarified that I didn’t mean weed - I meant alcohol.

And he was slurring at the end of a three hour party. And couldn’t drive home.

I’m just irritated. It would have been better to just pour the rest of the

I’m driving tonight (my last night driving; he had a point there), and he texts in the middle to ask if I’d shoved something weird down the garbage disposal.

…no? I was the one who fixed it last time? Maybe one of the kids shoved something down it.

it's giving bpd

I'm wrapped up in the afghan crocheted by the parent who was most definitely in an abusive relationship with a man who struck his child way too hard. I think they're still together. CPS was called. I called them. Me. When I was pregnant she crocheted me this gorgeous pastel afghan. Truly beautiful. She said not to thank her, that it was something she did while watching TV. I hope she's okay. I guess I could find out. She works with Leel's best friend's dad.

Making plans to call my friend who is getting her doctorate in trauma therapy. If she has the bandwidth. I'm kind of hesitant. That sounds like: "Free therapy please." 

I guess I could just call my therapist. She said check-in's were fine.

Incense going. Sandalwood.

Not much sleep last night.

Just more sadness.

I'm so scared of what the future holds.

This moment, four days after my last day at work is exactly what I thought it would be.

The consuming work is what hides the hard parts in other sectors of one's life. 

For instance, when I quit Pulse in the way-back, that's when things were supposed to get better. My relationship would be better! Scott and I would finally have time for each other! 

But what really happened was that the distractions that were being involved in that psychodrama threw all the problems at home into high relief. I won't get into that right now. I'm just making generalizations.

I saw him Instacarting on Thursday; no acknowledgement. He really dodged a bullet with this one (points two thumbs at self)! In actuality he's not one of my regrets, though. That ran its course boy did it.

Having a solid decade of therapy under my belt is useful in that the habits built there are the only things nudging me towards self- or other-compassion when under nigh constant attack. 

Oh, and the boys are coming tomorrow. Sorry, boys. Things are not better here than you left 'em.

Javelina

 Today and yesterday have been...oppressive. To say the least. The weather's been dark and chilly; reminiscent of the Year Without a Summer. But the grass is growing, so there's that.

There's a version of glitter crash going on. There's my tendency to fill every available space with things. And things to do. But, naturally, not often the things that most need doing.

I honestly still don't know what's going on with my marriage. While I do, in fact, concur with the idea that this is probably not good for either us or the kids long term I'm not sure that ripping it apart right now is the best. There's the Margaret Cho bit that comes to mind every time: there's never a good time. There are parties, children, vacations planned, the you pushed really hard for the optional school that was so far away and now you're trying to get away without participating in any of the drop-offs. And who wants to let you just...get away with that?

Ugh. I just, like, most of the moms I see on the internet (not as often in real life; which is a great testament to my friends' abilities to either not marry assholes or tamp their own anger waaaaaaaaaaaaaay down) have a lot of anger about being unappreciated. Not only in the You Do Most of the Executive Functional Household Running Tasks Way (which is hard for me for lots of reasons anyway, and I wouldn't say I'm great at it but my partner appears truly incapable of it) but in the my partner spends a lot of his bandwidth telling me You Are a Bad Mom Way. ...which I'm not.

I've thought about it. Lots! I have mom guilt about lots of things - don't worry. But! I'm not actually a bad mom. We have food groups, we have outside time and screen time, I play with her, etc. and she knows she's very very loved and so far appears to be a #decenthuman. 

But while I have asked my partner to write things down that he's asked me to do that he feels I'm purposely not respecting his wishes about this morning was the first time he's actually done so. Last night I was making dinner and asked Leels if she wanted to help cook (putting salt in water that was just put on the heat, but not yet warm). Well, S didn't like this and yanked Leels out of the kitchen. He set her on the couch and came back to the kitchen to yell at me: "Do you really think this is a good idea?" Angry face. Finger jabbing down at me. 

Well, she did get burned. Three years ago. One time. On Easter. When both my mom and I were in the kitchen supervising her. My mom physically closer to her. Making rice krispie treats that his mom had given us. To make together. Since that time? No. She hasn't. 

Granted, it was pretty bad that time. Second degree. But even so, his first instinct at the time wasn't to comfort Leels. To perform first aid and make sure she was okay. It was to scream at me. While I was running the cool water over hands and comforting her. Then he scooped her up and took her to, I thought, the emergency room and told me not to follow them. Because that's where I said he should take her - if it was truly deserving of the verbal abuse. 

He didn't. I gave them some lead time. So I could cry and shake it out. Then I went to the Providence ER. They weren't there. He wasn't answering my phone. I drove by his mom's house. They were there. 

This morning - after I gave him a blowjob - he left this note on the stove: 

"The STOVE is very HOT and can hurt Leels AGAIN. Please do not let her near it when it is on."

It's fair to say that I shouldn't have let her "help cook" when she was two. It was also three years ago. And she's very aware. And thoughtful. I had a medical terminology textbook that had a picture of a second-degree burn in it and she asked to look at the picture and talk about her experiences, how to be safe next time, etc. To my irrational system there's also the thought that I was not the only adult in the kitchen. And from there it dominoes into times that blur together. 

I can't pick them apart anymore but I know they include getting yelled at for going down the stairs to the car in the winter multiple times despite there not being another way to get to the car and never falling and the child's father not finding it urgent enough to get up in the fucking morning and help but definitely urgent enough to spend precious moments of his life yelling at me about [side note: there was an event from his previous marriage that prompted this behavior - but you don't get a free pass to be shitty forever but not modify any behavior on your part that could help your child out or prevent injury or whatever], getting yelled at for the house not being clean enough and that's why our child kept getting sick [side note: only one cleaning. Primary parent. Breastfeeding. Working full time and part time.]. There are more, those are just the two foundational ones.

Listen, look: I'm not perfect. He's not perfect. I struggle with asserting myself and after I hit about 28 I got to be pretty fucking patient. The problems are complex. I believe he really does love his kids. But he's not doing the work on himself and every woman in his life is a huge scapegoat.

The reasons that make it a nightmare to co-parent with him won't go away if we were to separate; they'd just get worse. And I don't want to dump parenting duties on his mom - because that is one hundred percent what would happen. He still wouldn't be stepping it up with the parenting. He'd just outsource it to her. 

I'm gonna go numb out by doing homework and taking a table apart.

UGH. I want the SUN.