Maybe the main thing I need to get through my late-October doldrums is to find some way to render my entire body a giant, itching, writhing mass of nerve-endings and unhappy skin-cells. (Yes, the Itch is still here. I thought it was getting better, and I suppose on one level it sorta is--but it's certainly not 100% better! I finally caved and made an appointment with the allergist for next week; I was told "no antihistamines for three days before the appointment (Tues morning) so the next few days could be a bit....unpleasant.))
Anyhow, unlike in most years, this anniversary has crept up almost imperceptibly, owing to the upheaval of work and the crazy-making-ness of The Itch. I'm amazed that thirteen years have passed since I lost my beloved JP; I'm amazed at how insignificant those years have been, how little I've accomplished, how little of these thirteen years I remember as compared to the four years that I knew him. I'm amazed that I've done nothing of consequence, that I'm in the same sort of rut I would have expected to find myself in if I'd never even known JP.
Needless to say, I'm fairly unhappy with my life as it currently stands. I have a lot of changes I need to make, and not a lot of drive right now. More drive than I've had in the past, perhaps, but still not quite enough to overcome the inertia of my massive gravitational field.
More to the point: I'm scared.
There are so many things I could do right now, things that could potentially change my life for the better, but two fears stop me from pursuing those life-changing possiblities:
1) What if I fail? and
2) What if I DON'T fail??
On some level, as much as I hate the rut I'm in, I think I'm also a little bit afraid to leave it. I'm not sure whether that knowledge is a good thing or not; all I know is that I have not only slowed down on doing things that interest me, in many cases I've slammed the brakes down to the floorboards and come to a wrenching STOP. There are days--the bad ones, obviously--where I feel like I'm just sitting still and waiting for my clock to stop.
That's not me, though. That's not who I am. (An aside, apropos of nothing: I'm fundamentally amazed at how many people think they know who and what I am, and how many of those people are completely wrong. The other night, when Tim was here, talk turned to religion, and he told me this: "You know, it really bothers me a lot that you're an atheist." He went into great detail about it, how he really cares about me, but he can't agree with my beliefs here, and so on and so forth...and he even refused to allow me to interrupt to tell him the fact of the matter: um, Tim? I'm not an atheist. Agnostic, sure; pissed off and confused at the celestial "plan", damn skippy; but no, not an atheist. "Ohh, yes you are," he said. "You've said many times that you don't believe in anything." (Okay, no I haven't. Where did this COME from???) I'm not sure where being angry at whatever god/gods/system you believe in can now be conflated with disbelief--though I'm thinking this is just more of the current fundamentalism sweeping the country and the world--but in order to be angry at someone/something, one first has to believe it exists. Try to explain that to Tim, though.)
Now, where was I? Ah--yes. The rut.
I'm trying to put a positive spin on it. I have a good job, for starters (please ignore the quiet mumbling in the background; I try to remind myself that every job, even the best, has its irritants--but unlike most places, the irritants are increasing every week, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore them, though I'm still doing pretty well at it). I have a great place to live; I've been frustrated lately by the degree of clutter and mess (not much storage space, lots of things to store) and so today I undertook two of the more-vexing projects I'd been putting off: first, the laundry mountain, and second, a full dismantle-and-clean of the entire bedroom. The dust factor has dropped substantially, thanks to that, and the bedroom looks like a sane person lives there, for a change. I've still got three dryers-full of laundry in the works, but the worst of THAT task is over as well. In short, I've spent the day trying to attend to the good things I have; trying to concentrate on where I am and how far I've come, instead of what I've lost.
But in the back of my mind, I also know: in thirteen years, I haven't yet been able to create, or even to imagine, a life as full or as happy as the one I had with JP. I could do everything right for the rest of my days on earth, and I doubt it would do me any good. Most of the time I can ignore that truth enough to be okay with it; most of the time I can distract myself. That, at least, is progress. It makes of life a fairly pointless exercise, of course; it's difficult to work toward a goal with any sort of enthusiasm when you realize that even when you reach that goal, there won't be anyone to share it with. It's twistedly funny, when you think about it: I am now in a situation where I am pretty much capable of creating exactly the life I want, in terms of material things, goals, etc--but no matter what I choose or choose not to do, whether I choose Perfectly Good Life #1 or Perfectly Good Life #2; no matter which of many wonderful and desirable outcomes I could bring about in my life, no matter which of my own happily-ever-afters I decide to make...it will be happily-ever-after and alone.
And that? Sucks. It sucks, it sucks, it sucks, and nothing is going to make it not suck; and the even BETTER thing about it is, I know this nearly for a fact: If I was pretty, I wouldn't have to worry about being alone, not for a minute. I'm one of those women who a certain kind of guy would go crazy for--I'm smart, funny, weird, adventurous--but because my exterior doesn't measure up, all those traits are pretty much worthless. I seem to be harping on that notion quite a bit these days, but it's a pretty big realization to come to--that the only thing really "wrong" with me is how I look. (Not to say that I'm otherwise perfect, understand; but nobody even gets to find out what my personality issues might or might not be, because they look at the exterior and don't bother to look deeper.)
I'm trying to learn to shrug it off; to look at the good things in my life and be happy for them, and for the fact that I can bring other good things into my life as well.
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