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electriclandSomething happened this weekend inside my head, and I'm not sure I can explain it very well, but I'll try.
I'll start with Rob, who is always a good person to start with:
OK. I believe the certain truth is this: I spend far too much time pretending everything's fine. Even online, to you, a bunch of people I don't even know, but who are honest enough and generous to show me the occasional warts on their lives. Two separate people (to whom I occasionally presume to give Life Advice) mentioned this week that I always seem really together and serene, and I thought: what the fuck? How can that be? When at least half the time I feel lousy at my job, antisocial, selfish, disorganized, lazy, socially inept, rudderless and boxed in? Isn't the gnawing little pit of fear in my stomach obvious to everybody around me? apparently not...
The answer is, I'm faking it. I don't know where or how I got this notion that it's so important to seem like everything's finegreatwonderfulhappy in my life. Scarier still is that faking it seems to have become so automatic, I didn't even realize I was doing it. Maybe it's just that talking about my problems feels like pointless whining that nobody will care about? If so, why do I feel I have to live up to standards that are so much higher than those I set for anyone else?
In my third year in university I did the same thing. Up to then I'd never encountered a concept I couldn't grasp immediately. When I finally did encounter something I didn't understand (Phys Chem II, I believe it was, or possibly Quantum II, or possibly both), I was completely unequipped to cope: I didn't know how to study or ask for help or admit I wasn't managing, because I had never had to do any of these things. I lost both my scholarships as a result and apparently learned so little from the experience that I did the same thing the following year, only with even more courses. Took the year off, got my head together, went back to finish up with a 3.95 GPA in my final year. Go me!
And until this week, I thought I'd stopped burying my problems like that. But clearly I haven't. The various symptoms of depression, the rotten sleep habits, the fact that I haven't actually written any fiction in, what, five years?, all passed me by. Or rather, I noticed and proceeded to ignore them. Smile, talk about my plans for the future, post the good stuff, bottle up the bad. But what the hell am I keeping this journal for anyway? What is the point of lying by omission to all of you?
My point, and I do have one: I pledge to you, my random and occasional readers, that I'll do better. If I'm upset or worried or inclined to beat up on myself, I will try to post the evidence -- at least once in a while.
Don't worry, I'm not cracking up. I actually feel a lot better than I have in ages. Read on...
spent most of the weekend driving. Was going to leave Friday night but it was pissing rain and freezing and I left work late and all in all it seemed better to stay in. So I reread One for the Morning Glory in the bath, with a dictionary so I could look up the co-opted words I didn't recognize, but I need a bigger dictionary.
(What? It's out of print? Shocking.)
Got on the road late because there was a branch down on some wires in front of Kelly and Jean's... that and I was slow getting moving in the morning.
And then I got all confessional... head up to the top of the post again if you want the recap...
Uneventful drive, got in around 4. Spent Saturday afternoon showing photos of Scotland to my parents. Saw Hollywood Homicide with J and K, then back to J's apartment for birthday presents (hers) and Scotland photos (mine and K's, followed by J's from several years ago). Also 3 sips of noxious strawberry zinfandel which we voted undrinkable, and a glass of quite nice ordinary zinfandel (I love summer wine). Then sleep, far too late.
Sunday: brunch, then down the street to see L's new apartment. She was just getting out of the shower so I came back a couple of hours later, and we chatted on her back porch (since she has no patio furniture yet). I'm jealous, she has a garden, or at least space for one (although her neighbours have ripped down their back porch and not done anything with either the debris or the displaced household goods, so that's a bit of an eyesore).
The conversation was really quite ordinary: our jobs, travel, our plans for the future, her moving out, family expectations, convention, professional respect, fear. That was when she mentioned that I always seem serene, and I joked about it and explained that I'm really not, and a bit of how I really do feel a lot of the time. And it helped. I don't know if I can even explain how. I think it's because she's found something she wants to do, and she's doing it, and I needed somebody to show me how that's done.
Fixed Daddy's Internet connection (a whole other story... and the moral, kids, is "never ask old family friends for tech support". But I'll tell you about it some other time).
Met K again to discuss Toronto Trek. Was getting quite ridiculously late by that time to set out for a 5 1/2 hour drive, but I kind of get a kick out of that.
Stopped at the first service station, the one in Belleville. My mind was still chewing over the afternoon's conversations, but being me I had a tacky paperback I'd stolen (well, she was done with it) from Mummy, and I was midway through it, and I thought I'd just read another chapter, and one thing led to another and I sat for 2 hours in the parking lot finishing the damn thing.
And I don't know why at all, but the combination turned something over in my head, and I spent the next four hours reinventing a book I'd started writing five years ago and never managed to get past the second chapter of because it kept running off in places I didn't want to go, and I needed to do better by my heroine. And then I stopped writing altogether. But now it all works, somehow, and I hope I haven't just jinxed myself by saying that... but I'm going to try and get it written. I think I can now.
Thanks for listening, and good night. No more epiphanies, nothing to see here.
I'll start with Rob, who is always a good person to start with:
Scorpio: Writing in Sky & Telescope magazine, Roy Gallant described how long it took for scientists to consider the evidence for meteorites. Until the 1800s, "the scientific community scoffed at those who believed stones fell from the heavens, though meteorites had been seen to fall and had been collected since ancient times by the Chinese and Egyptian…As stones continued to rain down from the sky, learned scientists explained them away as condensations of the atmosphere or concretions of volcanic dust." Let this be a cautionary tale for you, Scorpio. There's a certain truth you've been dead set against believing, let alone seeing, even though the evidence for it has been steadily growing. This week indisputable proof will come pouring in. Don't pretend it's not there.
OK. I believe the certain truth is this: I spend far too much time pretending everything's fine. Even online, to you, a bunch of people I don't even know, but who are honest enough and generous to show me the occasional warts on their lives. Two separate people (to whom I occasionally presume to give Life Advice) mentioned this week that I always seem really together and serene, and I thought: what the fuck? How can that be? When at least half the time I feel lousy at my job, antisocial, selfish, disorganized, lazy, socially inept, rudderless and boxed in? Isn't the gnawing little pit of fear in my stomach obvious to everybody around me? apparently not...
The answer is, I'm faking it. I don't know where or how I got this notion that it's so important to seem like everything's finegreatwonderfulhappy in my life. Scarier still is that faking it seems to have become so automatic, I didn't even realize I was doing it. Maybe it's just that talking about my problems feels like pointless whining that nobody will care about? If so, why do I feel I have to live up to standards that are so much higher than those I set for anyone else?
In my third year in university I did the same thing. Up to then I'd never encountered a concept I couldn't grasp immediately. When I finally did encounter something I didn't understand (Phys Chem II, I believe it was, or possibly Quantum II, or possibly both), I was completely unequipped to cope: I didn't know how to study or ask for help or admit I wasn't managing, because I had never had to do any of these things. I lost both my scholarships as a result and apparently learned so little from the experience that I did the same thing the following year, only with even more courses. Took the year off, got my head together, went back to finish up with a 3.95 GPA in my final year. Go me!
And until this week, I thought I'd stopped burying my problems like that. But clearly I haven't. The various symptoms of depression, the rotten sleep habits, the fact that I haven't actually written any fiction in, what, five years?, all passed me by. Or rather, I noticed and proceeded to ignore them. Smile, talk about my plans for the future, post the good stuff, bottle up the bad. But what the hell am I keeping this journal for anyway? What is the point of lying by omission to all of you?
My point, and I do have one: I pledge to you, my random and occasional readers, that I'll do better. If I'm upset or worried or inclined to beat up on myself, I will try to post the evidence -- at least once in a while.
Don't worry, I'm not cracking up. I actually feel a lot better than I have in ages. Read on...
spent most of the weekend driving. Was going to leave Friday night but it was pissing rain and freezing and I left work late and all in all it seemed better to stay in. So I reread One for the Morning Glory in the bath, with a dictionary so I could look up the co-opted words I didn't recognize, but I need a bigger dictionary.
(What? It's out of print? Shocking.)
Got on the road late because there was a branch down on some wires in front of Kelly and Jean's... that and I was slow getting moving in the morning.
And then I got all confessional... head up to the top of the post again if you want the recap...
Uneventful drive, got in around 4. Spent Saturday afternoon showing photos of Scotland to my parents. Saw Hollywood Homicide with J and K, then back to J's apartment for birthday presents (hers) and Scotland photos (mine and K's, followed by J's from several years ago). Also 3 sips of noxious strawberry zinfandel which we voted undrinkable, and a glass of quite nice ordinary zinfandel (I love summer wine). Then sleep, far too late.
Sunday: brunch, then down the street to see L's new apartment. She was just getting out of the shower so I came back a couple of hours later, and we chatted on her back porch (since she has no patio furniture yet). I'm jealous, she has a garden, or at least space for one (although her neighbours have ripped down their back porch and not done anything with either the debris or the displaced household goods, so that's a bit of an eyesore).
The conversation was really quite ordinary: our jobs, travel, our plans for the future, her moving out, family expectations, convention, professional respect, fear. That was when she mentioned that I always seem serene, and I joked about it and explained that I'm really not, and a bit of how I really do feel a lot of the time. And it helped. I don't know if I can even explain how. I think it's because she's found something she wants to do, and she's doing it, and I needed somebody to show me how that's done.
Fixed Daddy's Internet connection (a whole other story... and the moral, kids, is "never ask old family friends for tech support". But I'll tell you about it some other time).
Met K again to discuss Toronto Trek. Was getting quite ridiculously late by that time to set out for a 5 1/2 hour drive, but I kind of get a kick out of that.
Stopped at the first service station, the one in Belleville. My mind was still chewing over the afternoon's conversations, but being me I had a tacky paperback I'd stolen (well, she was done with it) from Mummy, and I was midway through it, and I thought I'd just read another chapter, and one thing led to another and I sat for 2 hours in the parking lot finishing the damn thing.
And I don't know why at all, but the combination turned something over in my head, and I spent the next four hours reinventing a book I'd started writing five years ago and never managed to get past the second chapter of because it kept running off in places I didn't want to go, and I needed to do better by my heroine. And then I stopped writing altogether. But now it all works, somehow, and I hope I haven't just jinxed myself by saying that... but I'm going to try and get it written. I think I can now.
Thanks for listening, and good night. No more epiphanies, nothing to see here.
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 11:21 am (UTC)Weakness is something dispicable somehow in my eyes, at least when I see it in myself. I know it should not be so and I should be happy with all of my strengths and weaknesses... but that's a damn hard road to walk. So when reading your line about "pointless whining that nobody will care about" and the general feel of your post ... well, its hard to describe. So I'll steal from those who have already responded, Its nice to know somebody else out there is as screwed up as I am :)
I look foward with baited breath to your posts about how somebody as massively together as you are feels they aren't making it :)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-23 06:24 pm (UTC)I don't know about being happy with all of my strengths and weaknesses, but accepting would be a start. Accept, forgive, learn to do better.
Thanks, flippant child...
Re:
Date: 2003-06-23 07:01 pm (UTC)I'll hope that I'm not too flippant, and somewhat less annoying than a nails on a chalkboard.