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Monday, May. 16, 2005 / 10:02 p.m. ~A Way to Do it All Differently~ My horoscope for tomorrow says if I step back I might be able to see a different way to do things, that if I'm feeling stuck, there just might be a way out, I only have to try to see it. My eyes are wide open. But I am exhausted. Too much stress, too much attempting to avoid stress, too much trying to get things done, and too much going along for the ride. I stayed up too late watching the documentary about the young hiker who amputated his own arm out of necessity, survival, and miraculously made it to safety just in time for the search and rescue effort to successfully complete their mission. I couldn't turn away, and I couldn't sleep, and I've been so restless, and so has the one cat, and we wake up all night, and all morning, and I had to wake early for a job interview. The staffing agent wanted to meet with me, and I've signed offical papers now, an I9 even, it is done, and she set me up for another interview tomorrow, with yet another large corporation for whom I really do not want to work, more contract work that could turn into something long term that would be just a job to work so I can live. This is not how I want to be alive. This is not what I want out of what's left. How much time is left? Is this how it will be spent? I almost feel like a person on anti-depressants, yet they keep wearing off, and then I start to feel again, and all the panic and anxiety and unhappiness take over, but then the drugs kick back in and it's an IV-fed rollercoaster ride of controlled emotions. Even the lows are controlled. Strength is paramount, but if there were one close person to lean on, one connection made, it would ease the pain. It's not that hard, it won't be, the drugs say it's not a big deal. But in reality there no drugs, and no close connections, no leaning, no pillar of strength standing nearby, just me, wavering, then standing tall, then collapsing in a heap. It's easy. But it's incredibly difficult. There are mundane details, but I'm tired of them already. Things are getting done, stress is eased, and the weather was compliant, beautiful, perfect and beautiful, dry, clean, blue skies, mid 70s, it was made to order, and I was in it, but lost. This was the problem. It's all about the cheese, she says, it's all about the cheese. Got to have the cheese, the bread, got to earn the bread, bring home the bacon, and dammit might as well add some tomatoes and mayonnaise and we'll make up a fine sandwich, a little lettuce too, let's not forget. It's about eating and doing what needs to be done to survive in this life I've made, or fallen into, one. I worry the cats aren't well. They're so old. And at night when Norma follows me into the bathroom and stands guard, watching out the doorway, making sure I'm safe, I think how much I'll miss her when she's gone, and suddenly I can't fathom a future of any kind. I'm sick, frankly, quite seriously, of all the uncertainty, not that any of life can be pinned down, but this constant state of flux and ups and downs and highs and lows and not knowing anything really, but the moment, and that it's a beautiful day, or there is a storm and it's raining hard, then it stops, this perfect analogy for all of it, is a bit hard to live through. It's hard, but it's incredibly easy, and it's really no big deal, but I want it to be settled, finally. I think my suit will suffice, opaque hose to cover my leg tattoos, shoes not terribly scuffed, a clean shirt, low key jewelry, and we'll see if I say any of the right things. It's so not what I want, it's so nothing of anything I'd ever hope for, it's just money, and I spent seven years working for the money, I want to sit in the desert and paint the clouds now. I'm ready for my time to come, I am. Cost of the War in Iraq
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