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Sunday, Mar. 14, 2004 / 3:18 p.m. ~Apply Brakes Upon First Appearance of Feeling~ Don't they say it like that, doctors, don't they say, "Tell me where it hurts", followed by, "Describe the pain for me", and it's easy the first one, "Here, right around here, and down a bit", and then his fingers are there, touching where you just pointed, and he presses harder than you, he is eliciting a response, so you say, "Aiiii!, yes, there, that is where it hurts", and he says again, "Is it a sharp pain?, is it a dull ache?, it seems sharper when I press... here...", and you say, "Yes, goddammit!, stop, I told you it hurts!", and you've gotten it out of the way. He has a handle on your pain now. That's not so hard, is it? Yet aren't there different types of pain that no one can describe? I could say that I lay on the sofa, I could tell you what music I put in the CD changer, I could tell you how many times I listened to a particular song, that I decided it is my theme song, that I laughed at that, and that I lay in the opposite direction of usual, I didn't face the TV, I didn't watch any TV, I looked outside from there, I looked at the sky and the trees and I worried that when it would get dark I would have nothing to look at. I closed my eyes and I analyzed the sounds I was hearing, I heard every added peculiarity on the album, and I heard the entire album twice, three times, then The Smiths, "Singles", and I thought how I needed a pad of paper, and a pen, and I was going to quote all my favorite lines, I was going to post them, online of course, somewhere, and so many hit home then, so many summed it all up, didn't they? I fell asleep, and each time I awoke all I could think was, "I'm not drinking water, I'm going to be dehydrated, I need to be drinking water, I only had coffee, and wine, I should be drinking water, but I can't put anything in my body right now, I can't open my mouth to drink, and do my eyes even see?", and I switched to radio when I'd had enough, the man who's been playing 'jazz classics' for over twenty years on our NPR station, and I hated the music he played, I finally hated it, I slept, I woke, but I hated it and turned it off. Cats came and went, and I even said, at one point, very loudly, "Get off of me, I am not a piece of furniture!", but I heard myself say it, like it wasn't my mouth that made those words, and I thought it was clever, and amusing, and where did I get that, how did I know to say that? Not a piece of furniture, that's good, that's so much better than just "Get Down!", or "Get Down, NOW!", I like to give reasons when I'm scolding or chastising. Not just "Get away from there!", but "Get away from there, it's hot boiling acid, your entire face will be removed if you take one step closer!", not that that is ever the case, exactly, but that's the gist. It's important to know WHY, always. There is a why here. Oh, there is a reason, and I could write it, but I can't let on. No, no one can know how weak I am, no one can know my own personal Achilles Heel, but we all have one, now, don't we? We all sit and cry for different reasons, we all feel it's the end of our personal worlds, at different times, for different reasons, now don't we? I could tell my best friend, if I had a best friend. I could say that I am far too fragile to be here, that I am fresh, ripe for open wounds, that all of it scabs over in time, but I like to set myself up, I like to hold out a piece and say, "Here it is, take it, oh, you don't want it?, cut it up, burn it, slash at it, make it hurt some more, it hurts so good, make me feel pain that you feel, hurt me, hurt me, I love it, it's what I need", metaphorically of course. I recently was listening to an interview on NPR, whilst doing some incredibly monotonous computer work, at work, and the subject of the interview was a woman who's become somewhat of an authority on religious histories, a writer, and she was interviewed in conjunction with the release of that new Jesus torture film, but, this is my point, she was asked about a nervous breakdown she'd suffered, and simultaneously it was mentioned that people don't really use that phrase anymore, do they?, that 'nervous breakdown'?, and the interviewer, on "All Things Considered", probably the ever present Terri Gross, asked what it was like, what were her symptoms, how did this 'breakdown', of sorts, manifest? And the woman said the first sign was that she found herself crying, all the time, bursting into tears. There was more, of course, as there always is, but she was with friends, in England, and they also had tremendous laughing jags, wherein they'd burst into laughter instead, at the silliest of things, no real good reason. So it was, the mood swings, I suppose, and then the resultant crying phase. No, I've never been there, not exactly, it's never lasted more than a day or two, and I have such concrete reasons, it's never that I can't explain it, only that I would prefer not to. It's always some perceived injustice, really, or some lack of something, something missing, something within myself, or something external, hard to say at this point, but this, last night, I won't admit the details, I may put it all out there usually, but there is always so much that only I know, it's never all revealed, but this was a reaction. Someone I once knew used to have this problem with me, told me I 'react', that I need to 'act', not 'react', but if I'm the observer, which it turns out I am, the documenter, the chronicler of all things I see and feel, the one who is usually doing the listening, how can I do more than 'react'? Words are powerful things. I knew I had a deadline, Monday morning must be normal and usual. I can be what I need to be, by then. My Saturday and Sunday can be spent as they are/were, and no one needs to know. They can ask, "How was the weekend?", and the response won't be much different from the usual response to any personal question lobbed whilst on the run, ask, keep walking, don't wait for answer, but I answer, but you're walking, and you are missing it, "Fine, yours?". I have a new theme song, I should play it for you. It's fantastic. I think I'll play it every time I start to feel anything. I think it will be my reminder not to feel, ever, anything, for anyone. It will be my brakes, to be applied jarringly, to sort of jerk me into place, again. Cost of the War in Iraq
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