Tuesday, July 9, 2013

After a Three Year Hiatus...

A good friend of mine has inspired me to try this old blogging schtuff once again.  Let's see how far I get this time.

I spent a few minutes reading through some of my older posts and two things came to my attention.  One, I am actually not a bad writer.  Two, depression is a frightening illness.

It was tempting to delete some of the more harrowing and depressing posts on this blog before making any effort to revive it.  Reading some of those old posts was chilling, but instructive.  So much in my life has changed since then.  Mostly for the better, and a few things for the worse.  But rather than see that as some type of cosmic declaration about the value of my life I've come to recognize it for what it is:  just the way shit happens.  The most significant achievement I have made in my life is that I have learned to give myself a break.  I have learned to be grateful for the person that I am.  I have learned that there are quite a few people in my orbit who think I am worth knowing, and these are people I love and respect.  I have learned to keep myself surrounded by people who will continue to appreciate my value, and thereby allow me to give them the same due reward.  It's a reciprocal honor and it's friendship at its best.  What would I be saying about these friends if I were to continue to be so dismissive of their willingness to invest their time and emotion in me?  It would be a mark of poor friendship, and even poorer humanity.  I don't want that.  Not any more.

You only get so much time in this world to do so many things.  And many people won't have the type of life they envisioned or dreamed of having, but they still manage to remain content or happy.  Simple pleasures are indeed their own reward.  I would like to do what I can to ensure that whatever remains of my life is invested procuring of life's simple, yet satiating, moments.  And from here on out, I can do so without thinking the worst of others, but most especially without thinking the worst of myself.    

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Neurotic City

There is a line from Colum McCann's novel Let the Great World Spin which I often find myself turning over and over again in my mind. I may be paraphrasing a bit, but essentially the line is as follows:

"It takes courage to live an ordinary life."

This is true. Very true. But I would take the sentiment one step further. Living an ordinary life sometimes requires more than courage, it requires compromise, forgiveness, and ultimately acceptance. And even if you manage to find all of these things you are not guaranteed peace of mind or happiness.

Introspection is a restive compatriot, but the alternatives are often just as frightening. For all of the voids I see in my life I know that I would very much prefer to be the deep-thinking, solitary, literate soul that I am, than pretend to care for things and people I do not. Pretending is more punishing than facing the truth and it often requires that one sacrifice what little exists of their sense of self. And my sense of self is already frayed. I'd like to keep what little remains of it for me and me alone.

There is no requirement that I must be someone who people understand. There is not even an understanding that I must understand myself, but I would much rather understand myself than engage people who fail to bring anything to my growth as a human being. Because even if I am no success, even if I have nothing to show for 33 years on this planet, I intend to spend each and every one of my days learning and experiencing something new about this world I live in, and I will commit myself to that until the day I stop breathing. Even if it's only between the pages of a book or in the pages of my journal, I intend to delve.

Life doesn't reward one for being good, and life surely doesn't reward you for being giving. It is what you own and what you can do that matters. That will not change. I imagine I have probably already lived half of my life and I don't expect to own or do much more with the time that's left. What comes of a life lived without some minimal thresholds or standards of accomplishment? Oftentimes one's only consolation is the knowledge that emotional abstraction and intellectual complexity (even for all of your lack of conventional value) are the only things which make you worthwhile. All I have is my thoughts. It is a task to understand and accept that just because we live in society does not mean that we are all meant to be social animals. I feel stifled by the idea of friendships, perhaps it is because of late I have mostly known false friends. There is shame in failure, but there is also no harm in being indifferent. I used to think I was a "people" person. I used to believe that being a "people" person made for a more interesting life. I no longer believe that. But maybe that's because I know I'm not equipped for what's standard in "interesting" and "worthwhile" lives (i.e. friends, love, marriage, children, homes, vacations, all of those things).

I still believe there is good to be had, I'm just beyond believing myself destined for any taste of it. My life is not ordinary. It's something else, maybe something worse. It is dull, diminished, and distracting. But it's mine.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Keep f*cking that chicken...

Originally I had hoped to blog about something positive or upbeat, but the reality is I have nothing positive or upbeat to dwell upon. Life is stinky shit on a stick. I won't focus on the usual suspects (hating Austin, hating Texas, hating Austin, hating Texas), and just focus on the fact that I have never felt more empty and dead inside in all of my life. This is is even worse than feeling suicidal, which, for or better or for worse, I am not. Simply put, I am just bored with my life. B-O-R-E-D. I am down to my last $20.00 and while I would love to spend it on four bottles of cheap CVS wine and remain in a tannin-soaked stupor, it feels more appropriate to save the money and buy those bottles of wine on New Year's Eve to celebrate yet another wasted, shitty year of my life. And that's what I'll do. I'll just wait until December 31st to get blitzed out of my mind and cry myself into another shitty year.

There aren't many bright spots. The few bright spots I had previously used to cling to sanity and security have been washed over by reality and let me tell you, reality is a motherfucker. The reality? I am an embarrassing excuse for a human being. Unemployed (again!), destitute, living with my mother (who really can't afford to have her useless 33 year old daughter living in her home for that much longer), and essentially uninspired by everything. I had wanted to feel good about my life, even if it's not much of a life. But I don't. I hate everything about it. Stifled, suffocated, and sorry. That says it all. I am stifled, I feel suffocated, and I am a sorry excuse for a human being. What happened? I really did think I would be better than this. I really did think I would have a chance, just one fucking chance, to be worth something in this world. People try and tell you that "positive" thinking and optimism are good for you. I could not disagree more. Optimism, positivity--those things are a part of a grand delusion. The world is not built to reward you for your "happy thoughts." It's about taking care of those who play the game and know the right people. And I am not one of those people.

I'm tired and disappointed. Tired of my mediocre life and disappointed in myself. While I may not be interested in hastening my demise, I'm beyond caring about feeling alive. My life is about going through the motions (wake, sleep, wake sleep) and I'm bored. I'm over it.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Here's to morning coffee.

And why am I praising my morning coffee? These days it's the only thing I look forward to with any consistency. I hate the overrated shitty little hipster mecca I am forced to live in; I am unemployed; I have no money; and I hate where I live. Wait. I said that already. Well, it's true. I can't think of the last time I had something I was genuinely excited about. Even the weather continues to suck balls. It's almost fucking November and the temperatures are still near 90 fucking degrees! What bullshit. Lest I find myself diving deeper into the murkier depths of psychological despair I try and find tiny things, little existential bites, to hold onto; because if I don't, I get very scared of where I might end up.


This morning I received yet another rejection for a job. It was a data entry position that any monkey could do. The interview and interviewer were half-assed and the job did not require any specific or significant intelligence to speak of; even so, the position was awarded to someone else. When I inquired with the employer about what they found lacking in my qualifications they simply said, "We just chose to go in another direction." I've heard this before and it's not in the least bit helpful. What it really means is, "We have the ability to be completely arbitrary and selective in our process and feel no need to share any information with you which might aid you in acquiring work." At this point I'd be fine with hearing, "Well, the other person had bigger tits and was way hotter than you." Or, "We don't like your hair." But when you receive no feedback whatsoever, none, it leaves you feeling more demoralized than ever. So, I have come to a new conclusion about my job search: I am not going to search for a job any more. What the fuck for? The only way you can get decent jobs in this town is to fuck the right people. That's not a lie.

I'm too old for that shit. And I'm not fuckable.

I still want to escape this shitwaste vat of overrated garbage and I will...eventually.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Here, but not present . . .

I spent an overall splendid Saturday with my youngest and bestest of friends. We went for a swim in the horrid heat. This is a sign that my love for him is deep and unrelenting as I never, EVER, get into what could be considered "swimwear." (Of course, I don't even own a swimsuit. I wore some really ugly shorts and a t-shirt, but you get the point. I don't do water. It's a shame really, because I love water. It's my body that's always posed the problem. Hell, even when I was marathon fit I never wore what could be considered revealing clothing.) As we walked hand in hand to the pool my young friend asked me very pointedly, "Tiffany, are you gonna leave?" I paused before answering. "What do you mean?" He peered up at me, "Are you gonna leave Texas?" I had to remind myself that I was talking to a child, therefore it would do me no good to venture forth on my usual rant about the suckworthiness of Austin, Texas and how it is in fact a veritable lifesuck and not the cultural, commercial, or artistic mecca its PR army has endeavored to portray it as. Instead I answered, "Yes. I will leave Texas again." He then asked me, "Why? I like Texas. There are lots of nice animals here." I couldn't really disagree with him seeing as how I myself have managed to meet quite a few nice animals. Nor did I extend my remarks with my usual addendum, "Hell yeah I want to leave Texas! And Austin! For good!" I was very quick to tell him, "You know that you will come and visit me no matter where I am, right?" His response? "Okay. But you have to come see me too." When he is older I will tell him that nothing in the world will ever keep me from him. Nothing. As far as I'm concerned I'll be at his graduations, wedding, and whatever commemorative moments for which he feels he compelled to welcome me. This little boy runs through my veins. He is the closest thing to a child I will ever know. One day, when he is older, I will tell him as much. But for now, I held his hand that much tighter in mine and we spent a hot Saturday enjoying one another's company, splashing about in a small apartment pool, and things were fine, just fine.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

32 . . . and a little blue . . .

So today is my birthday and it has now been one year since my father passed away. He's been on my mind since I woke up this morning. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit to crying a little bit. It's been on and off. I miss him. I miss him something awful. I have stop to ask myself, "Will it always be like this? Will each birthday be a mixture of melancholy and merriment? Will I keep counting the years until it's my time?" I hope not.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Long time no blog . . .

What can you do? Life happens. Even if that life is really no life at all.

I am still monstrously underemployed (though I can actually tolerate my coworkers . . . with one notable exception), I still hate where I live, I'm still broke, and I'm still just me. I'm just trying to keep myself distracted. If I spend too much time thinking about my life and how really pathetic it is I get to the point where I don't ever want to leave the indoors. Clinicians call it depression, I call it a reality check.

I have been spending a lot of time lately thinking about love, romantic love. Not because I'm especially interested in the concept, but because as I grow older more and more people I've known and excised from my life are finding their way into domestic arrangements. A lot of people are married these days. I recall having a conversation with someone a few years ago about how I was just never one of those females who would imagine the perfect wedding. I know such women exist, I've been friends with a couple of them. Even so, I was never party to the fantasy. Marriage is fine, but love is so much better. I've only had small tastes of love, but what I tasted was enough for my lifetime. It didn't fill me up and when things went sour it was difficult to remove the sour taste from my mouth; but I'm still one of love's biggest advocates, even if I never want anything to do with it again for as long as I may live.

I'm alone. I've always been alone. And it feels as though I'll probably always be alone. But strangely this doesn't bother me nearly as much as it used to when I was younger. I have gotten over the supposed belief that if you aren't attached, married, or having sex on a regular basis, you must surely be miserable. Meh. There are so many other parts of my life that are royally fucked up that it would be the cruelest thing imaginable to try and bring someone else into this nightmare of a life I've been forced to settle for. I'm not so cruel. It's largely one of the reasons why I avoid friendships, old and new, by any means necessary.

Another friend I no longer know once told me that I could expect all of my married friends to be divorced within 10-15 years. It had happened to her and a few of her friends. I shook my head, "I hope not. That would make me sad. I want people to have good love."

And that's no lie.