so yeah, I'm still alive, in case you were curious.
I don't even really know what to tell you. sometimes it's hard to write. the reasons for that are legion. good/bad. sometimes it's just laziness.
still not sure what to say, actually.
a million years ago now, I had a mostly restful thanksgiving week off, in which I puttered around, rode my horse (one pathetic time), hung out with friends, went for a few runs, and worked that symphony job which turned out to be something I had never done before but managed to accomplish anyway. I think that maybe one of the best skills I've learned over the years is how to say, "well, I've never really done this exact thing before but I've done A, B, and C and it's basically the same so sure, I can do that," and discover that it's true.
then I came back to work and it's the usual pre-holiday rush to get orchestra parts out the door before I leave for the east coast, except this time it's two shows I'm working on instead of one, because our march show has to kind of be built from scratch. long story. and boring.
I don't know if I'm good or bad, happy or sad, productive or lazy, blue or OK. it's as variable as the weather. I do know that I went on a couple of really good dates with a dude I like but now I'm not sure it'll work out and that's made me feel very sad. and sort of down on my luck and also cripplingly lonely. like, cry in a ball under the kitchen counter on sunday night lonely. as usual I don't really want to go into it except to say that any one of you marrieds out there who acts jealous at the 'single life' or whatever really needs to reevaluate. because there is not a substitute for stability, particularly when it comes to knowing somebody will be in bed with you when you wake up crying from that recurring dream where all your family is making fun of you.
the buddhists are eternally right in their view about hope, which is that it is the root of all suffering.
crying under the kitchen counter on a sunday night after you have just put up and lit your christmas tree and then subsequently hit your head on said kitchen counter is really not an ideal method for passing a weekend. in case you were curious.
tonight on my drive home from feeding the horses, I was listening to judd apatow talking about his stupid new movie on npr and he was talking about being in his forties, and I was thinking about how 'being in your forties' felt so far away but now it's 9 years away and how fast life goes. and then suddenly the abyss opened before me, right there on redland road, and I thought about how all those years will go so fast and how one day I will be dead. and what will death be like, and how no matter what I want, I can't ever escape it. and then the yawning horrible terror of the inevitability of death made me so panicky that I had to roll the window down because I was afraid I was going to throw up. has this ever happened to you? I remember very vividly a day in college, my senior year, laying on my dilapidated old blue couch in the living room of my shared apartment and realizing with tremulous certainty that I was definitely going to die someday, and being so utterly engulfed in fear that all I could do was lie there and stare at the floor in a panic. the only thing you can do in that moment is completely shut your brain down.
but I mean, also I am going out with my best gals, and chatting on the phone with my mom, and crafting elaborate race costumes and standing out in the rain throwing hay to the horses in galoshes with holes in the bottom. I am somehow retaining my sense of humor. somehow all these sides are mine.
the dates were good. maybe they will keep happening. I don't know. I feel sadder about the potential loss of that than seems reasonable, but there it is. there is this thing I find myself fighting against, which is this strange therapist voice in my brain telling me that I shouldn't want love so much. which is completely ridiculous, because who doesn't want to love and be loved, and why can't I want it? but even my mom was like, "you've made a nice life for yourself, it's okay to be single," and I found myself thinking, "I haven't had a boyfriend in a year and a half, mom."
god, I'm suddenly that girl. I'm not really. or I am, I guess. I don't know.
I think it's time to cry under the kitchen counter again. I wish the christmas tree were bringing me more joy. I wish I did not feel this way right now. this year, man. it has not been my finest. quietly, unbeknownst to anyone, I bereaved the passing of the one-year anniversary of meeting G last year, what promise it brought me, how it lit everything up for a time. now it is so over and all I can find myself asking, over and over again, is: what was it all for? did it matter at all, to either of us? a year later I am no closer to anything than I was. I just feel more hurt and less trusting and lonelier, and sad.
I'm sorry for this one, blog. I didn't know how I felt until I started writing. if you want to know the truth, that's why I haven't been around.