unfinished

I am seized once again by the need to do something. Something meaningful, for my children. And once again, nothing seems sufficient -- because nothing is sufficient. Because no matter what I do, I can't shake the belief in my gut that they're simply not paying attention, our only time together is over and they're gone forever, and all my antics are an empty charade, and if it's only to placate myself then what the fuck is the point? Why not just give it up, just let it go?

My efforts feel ill-timed, amateur, self-indulgent. Look, Self! Look how much I love them! Look world, look! Look how I miss what I never really had! Look, baby! Look how I would have cared for you. Look at what you're missing! Why didn't you stay? Why was I not enough for you?




Ah.



There it is.




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* pause for tears *

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I tried to make a painting today, but I didn't finish it. And I feel defeated, I feel like I failed, because I couldn't finish this little 8x10 painting that I had envisioned in my head. And even though I know "real" paintings might take days and weeks and even years, I still feel like I failed. Maybe it's my long history of unfinished creative projects, haunting me. Clothes, blankets, stories, scripts, drawings, paintings, films, piano, guitar, original music... Oh, and babies.

I've still never quite finished a baby.

barriers

I wish I knew how to explain how I feel. Wish I believed there was someone who would understand me, if I could.

tremors

I look at the links I've gathered for the post below, and I know that on a good day I think they're sooo funny. I wish I could say they never fail to make me laugh, but it turns out that's not true. In all honesty, I am very overwhelmed today and don't know if I will be able to crack a smile for anyone. Or if I am able, I don't know that the smile won't dissolve swiftly into tears. I fear my behavior might be rather erratic today, that I might scare people, might scare myself. I feel so many dark emotions, rumbling right below the surface, looking for a faultline, creeping ever nearer to a weakened place that will crack me wide open. I have to go to work now. And I am afraid.

exacerbated

Time for some whinging. Feel free to tune out.


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I hate my job.

Hate.

Hate, hate, hatehatehate!

Normally, I would quickly add: "But I am thankful that I at least have a job.
I know I'm really lucky."

But do you want to know a secret?

I'm not thankful. I'm not thankful at all.

And I don't really think I'm lucky. (By what stretch of the imagination am I lucky?) I think my life sucks and it's never going to get any easier and why can't someone just take care of this shit for me? That's what I really think. I think I am always going to be poor and I'm never going to be able to pay back my loans or get my own apartment or travel or do anything fun, ever.

I am so tired of working in stupid stores selling stupid shit to stupid people who don't actually need any of it. I am tired of mean bitches talking to me like I'm an idiot, or some kind of lowly servant girl, or a subclass of human. I am tired of busting my ass for a measly $8-minus-taxes an hour, while my lazy coworkers hide in the breakroom or go outside to smoke or leave early without telling anyone. (M says I think I'm better than them -- but I don't think that. I know it.)

I am tired of being so goddam agreeable all the time.

I am tired all. the. time.

They keep telling me I need to smile more.
My first thought is always, unexpectedly, "Fuck you."


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I fear that there is no justice in the world.