Thursday, July 18, 2013
SM Johnson ~Thursday Morning Coffee ~ Life, Earth, Whatthefuckever
I promise myself a post for Thursday Morning Coffee, and so.... here we be. I suggest you just stop now and go find something much more entertaining to read (might I suggest StumbleUpon?), because nothing good is going to come of this sobbing whining self-pitying hopeless garbage.
It all started with a tremendous knock to the head. The details of this are unimportant and implicate someone who already feels terrible about it, so never mind.
The resulting weirdness (after the literal collapse to my knees and a curl-in-on-myself reeling sense of disorientation, and a keening wail from intense physical pain) was a complete and total mood shift and a whole lot of crying.
Initially, I leaked a few tears while holding an ice pack to the resultant goose egg, but once everyone else in the family scattered to their own projects, the tears turned into sobs that just wouldn't quit.
Yeah, this is attractive.
A good while later I forced myself to stop crying, although I still felt like crying, and attended the weekly (in theory) family meeting in which we develop a food menu for the coming week and then argue about who should go to the grocery store. I cried while writing out the grocery list. Not sobs this time, just silent tears.
I cried IN the grocery store when I couldn't find our usual brand of toilet paper.
And when I texted my friend that I hurt my head.
And at the checkout when my impulse buys popped me over the amount of cash in my pocket and I had to add writing a check to the confusion of deciding about paper or plastic.
The list goes on and on, really.
At some point I decided this crying thing needed to be over, so I made it stop.
But I've been carrying the heavy throat and chest ache around for days, and my mood really isn't better. I'm just slightly better at pretending it's better.
It doesn't help that I took a day to read Night Magic, because it's a terrible and horrible and wonderful and beautiful book, and if you haven't read it, you really should. Especially if you are Dark, because it's so fucking blessedly painful. Charlotte Vale Allen has written other books (many of them) but this is THE book, the one that reaches into my chest and my guts and stirs things around and makes a whole lot of beautiful fucking mess in there.
And obviously THAT's exactly what I needed, right about now.
To read something that makes me ashamed to think I should ever attempt to write books, to think I walk around arrogantly assuming I could move anyone like that, and what a useless, hopeless time-wasting effort it is, because I can't ever get what's in my head to come out exactly right on the page. And so what do I do? I go read MORE people whose awesomesauce blankets me with despair. Because that's a completely rational thing to do. Sure it is.
And then there's this person on Tumblr, theoriginsofus, who somehow landed in my feed, I don't even know how, but I wish this person would get the fuck out of my head, because his/her words are too simple to be so powerful, and it makes me crazy to read so many of my jumbled thoughts all typed out and orderly on someone else's feed, and especially with a consistent misuse of "your" and "you're". (Yeah, grammar bitch, that's me).
But... all that being said, if you are into torturing yourself through emotional self-examination, I definitely recommend stalking this person. You're going to love the way theoriginofus hurts your heart.
And THEN, to top the whole day off, I get into a conversation that I definitely should not have, although how I could have possibly avoided it, I don't even know, and something important to me seemed to implode as a result and I have no idea whatsoever what to do about it or how to fix it. One ought not to have tricky conversations after a head injury leaves one already pretty fucking emotionally fragile. Right? I think I have eons more to say about that, and how inappropriate my whole dependence-on-this-person has become anyway, but I don't think I CAN say any more without making another fucking mess of myself. So there.*
The worst part is that my stomach hurts, and I can't hide my restless anxiety from my husband, who is kind enough to be kind about my mourning something I was lucky to have for even one minute.
Is it EVER better to push someone away because someday it might end? Are we happier if we self-protect in this manner, or are we constricted then within ourselves, creating pain where pain didn't have to be? Or at least didn't have to be, yet? I like to think I'd rather seize the day, love the motherfucking hell out of it, and let tomorrow come... tomorrow.
Have a safe weekend, my darlings. Mine will be busy - possibly even so busy I'll have to stop weeping and just get on with the muddling business of living on Earth.
*PS - Talking. Best. Fix. Ever.
And even though I know everybody has to fix themselves and I can't fix anyone, this is still one of my favorite songs ever, Coldplay's Fix You. (Warning, naked boys are featured in this video. Specifically naked Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor, from Queer as Folk).
And.... since I went there (Coldplay and QAF), you might as well have Brian and Justin's relationship backward, to the very lovely tune of The Scientist, also Coldplay. (I don't think there are naked boys in this one, but there are definitely kissing boys).