A veritable flood under a city of bridges
Jan. 16th, 2005 03:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeanvieveA year and a quarter has passed since my last entry. I'm getting particularly good at silence.
But now I've had four friends and two family members accuse me of stoicism, of not sharing my life. And its true. There's a famous poem, to borrow a stanza burned for many, many years into my heart and mind:
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
There is so much pain and sadness in the world, that I don't like adding to it. Not when I'm strong enough to bear my own troubled heart. And I am learning how to be a workoholic. People are right, when you find a job you can do well, its easier to get lost in it. There is always more I could be doing, at any hour day or night. I work now when I'm mushing, when I talk on the phone to friends. Maybe I've blurred the line too much between work and life, but right now it is a crutch and I'm going to hobble along on it until the cast comes off, the break clean made whole.
I feel drained. For the past three or four years, really, I've felt the people closest to me have borrowed from my reserves of energy and good cheer, and I have not always received much in return of that same energy. Cheerful work done in my presence that demanded nothing of me. Happy calls just to be happy and then hang up. Though amusingly enough, its Amy with the 20 years of experience that seems to get it. (So many people underestimate her for being a chatterbox. She misses little.) And then the people close to me not liking one another. That has been always a trial, off and on. I feel like a market commodity, with constant bidding and public demonstrations. I had a month to hide alone, to find a little peace with just my furry poltroon, and it was glorious. No one to sulk because I didn't feel like going out, of spending time, of being with someone. No space alone, no time to scream or dance naked in my living room to the Gypsy Kings while dusting and reading a book. Or whatever.
I hate phones. Its odd, for how many hours I have spent late at night, desperate to be on them. Its a tool to be distant and still have someone to talk to, but my urges do not come during the day. All day I sooth, flatter, prevaricate, reassure, and play cheerleader to a team of salesmen and engineers. I like my job, but it does take energy. Being me. But friends call in the middle, and there is no time to stop and hold off the floods to talk to them. And when they require the same thing, they get lumped into the category of not wanting to do it. Love, hate. They get mixed up where phones are concerned. Hours and hours spent pouring out my life when I am most lonely, then they are an evil necessity to come up for air. To convince myself that I'm not, in fact, drowning in a sea of feigned indifference.
Sometimes its a matter of hurting people. I hate it. Likewise I hate making promises when I am not sure I can keep them. So I dodge, and the really good friends let me get away with it. See why I'm dodging. Others do not, and so push and push until I hurt them or must hide back in the cave again with my own thoughts. Makes those that shut up and pay attention all the more beguiling to spend time with, for what little time I am giving out these days.
Well, back to Denmark soon. Work travel is the best, because I don't think of anything else. I get to see Deena again, and perhaps this time wander to the wicked streets near that fine hotel. Deena demands nothing, and only offers cheer. I wish she lived closer. Frankly, I'm considering living abroad a time if it comes up myself. New sights, new sounds, a new language to drink in, all of these have such appeal.
I really wish I knew more genuinely happy people just now, to hear about joy and lighter things. Alas, the happy brigade is also mostly the pregnant brigade and there are limits to how long I can hear talk of babies, their accessories and symptoms. (Again, thanks Amy for not being bubblingly new mother, though I know you don't read these.) Three baby showers to prepare for. There are times I would not mind being a male. There are less stupid parties that one simply must attend. I wonder if we could hold a baby shower at a nice pool hall?
Well, new brain fritos to go through, new stories to lose myself in. And other books I have not finished, that also provide a little escape. I should get the detective one moving again, to get further. Maybe even get wacky this year and send something off to acquire a few professional rejection letters. Something to feel more creative. And watch money better this year, so I stop going deeper into debt every month. And get that cruise for mom planned. Because whenever I feel like whining, its too easy to sit down and look at other people close to me and have to shut up. They have it worse, and need the cheer and support. So I pick up my pom poms and go back to work.
My toes are cold.
But now I've had four friends and two family members accuse me of stoicism, of not sharing my life. And its true. There's a famous poem, to borrow a stanza burned for many, many years into my heart and mind:
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
There is so much pain and sadness in the world, that I don't like adding to it. Not when I'm strong enough to bear my own troubled heart. And I am learning how to be a workoholic. People are right, when you find a job you can do well, its easier to get lost in it. There is always more I could be doing, at any hour day or night. I work now when I'm mushing, when I talk on the phone to friends. Maybe I've blurred the line too much between work and life, but right now it is a crutch and I'm going to hobble along on it until the cast comes off, the break clean made whole.
I feel drained. For the past three or four years, really, I've felt the people closest to me have borrowed from my reserves of energy and good cheer, and I have not always received much in return of that same energy. Cheerful work done in my presence that demanded nothing of me. Happy calls just to be happy and then hang up. Though amusingly enough, its Amy with the 20 years of experience that seems to get it. (So many people underestimate her for being a chatterbox. She misses little.) And then the people close to me not liking one another. That has been always a trial, off and on. I feel like a market commodity, with constant bidding and public demonstrations. I had a month to hide alone, to find a little peace with just my furry poltroon, and it was glorious. No one to sulk because I didn't feel like going out, of spending time, of being with someone. No space alone, no time to scream or dance naked in my living room to the Gypsy Kings while dusting and reading a book. Or whatever.
I hate phones. Its odd, for how many hours I have spent late at night, desperate to be on them. Its a tool to be distant and still have someone to talk to, but my urges do not come during the day. All day I sooth, flatter, prevaricate, reassure, and play cheerleader to a team of salesmen and engineers. I like my job, but it does take energy. Being me. But friends call in the middle, and there is no time to stop and hold off the floods to talk to them. And when they require the same thing, they get lumped into the category of not wanting to do it. Love, hate. They get mixed up where phones are concerned. Hours and hours spent pouring out my life when I am most lonely, then they are an evil necessity to come up for air. To convince myself that I'm not, in fact, drowning in a sea of feigned indifference.
Sometimes its a matter of hurting people. I hate it. Likewise I hate making promises when I am not sure I can keep them. So I dodge, and the really good friends let me get away with it. See why I'm dodging. Others do not, and so push and push until I hurt them or must hide back in the cave again with my own thoughts. Makes those that shut up and pay attention all the more beguiling to spend time with, for what little time I am giving out these days.
Well, back to Denmark soon. Work travel is the best, because I don't think of anything else. I get to see Deena again, and perhaps this time wander to the wicked streets near that fine hotel. Deena demands nothing, and only offers cheer. I wish she lived closer. Frankly, I'm considering living abroad a time if it comes up myself. New sights, new sounds, a new language to drink in, all of these have such appeal.
I really wish I knew more genuinely happy people just now, to hear about joy and lighter things. Alas, the happy brigade is also mostly the pregnant brigade and there are limits to how long I can hear talk of babies, their accessories and symptoms. (Again, thanks Amy for not being bubblingly new mother, though I know you don't read these.) Three baby showers to prepare for. There are times I would not mind being a male. There are less stupid parties that one simply must attend. I wonder if we could hold a baby shower at a nice pool hall?
Well, new brain fritos to go through, new stories to lose myself in. And other books I have not finished, that also provide a little escape. I should get the detective one moving again, to get further. Maybe even get wacky this year and send something off to acquire a few professional rejection letters. Something to feel more creative. And watch money better this year, so I stop going deeper into debt every month. And get that cruise for mom planned. Because whenever I feel like whining, its too easy to sit down and look at other people close to me and have to shut up. They have it worse, and need the cheer and support. So I pick up my pom poms and go back to work.
My toes are cold.
