Monday, February 25, 2013

Sitting around pretending to be alone

Well, I knew this was a mistake.

I thought, hey, I've got a chance for some alone time, some time maybe to write a blog post. I know, I'll head to Bagel Central and suck down a cup of coffee and an Orangina and maybe think some thoughts, maybe write some stuff.

I've had a lot on my mind. I thought I might have a moment to put some things in perspective, pound out some of the things that have been preying on my mind.

First thing I notice, an old boyfriend. It's been such a long time it's no big deal, but whenever I see him I always think, oh, right. Hello, old boyfriend.

The second thing that smacks me upside the head once I find a nice open little table to settle is that one of the ladies sitting directly in front of me is LOUD.

One of the things I really hate, and by hate I mean FUCKING HATEHATEHATEHATE GODDAMN IT!!!!!  sorry, one of the things that sort of peeves me ever so slightly, people who talk so fucking loud you can't hear yourself think, because they think what they are saying is SOOOOO important, funny, profound or whatever that they will generously ensure that everyone with in a 1/4 mile radius can hear them.

There is a bearded fellow sitting pretty close by who is audible above the din, but he's not intentionally so, it's just that his voice has a deep timbre, he has a good laugh too, and he's not grandstanding, so while I am distracted by the sound of him, I'm not distracted further by my irritation.

Have you ever noticed that people who understand that talking too loudly in a public place isn't cool start to talk even more quietly than necessary almost in an effort to subtly influence their companion, as though the various volumes of their conversation will be averaged together and in the end when all is said and done their combined decibel level will fall within acceptable limits?

The loud lady and her quiet companion have left, thank the gods, to be replaced by a couple young women younger than myself who murmur conspiratorially to one another over onion bagels and lox. I hear one say snidely "God, Bangor is weird." a few moments later the other says, "Don't be so hateful" in a tone that says, tell me more, you delightfully hateful friend.

The fellow with the beard and the gorgeous voice has gone too.

A rather nutty woman with a little one has arrived, she's really not functioning in a regular way, she's loud and panicked looking. I worry for her little guy. Everything about her demeanor says she's not well, and she's making a big deal out of being The MOM, she's talking to her son in a tone loud enough for all to hear, telling him things she wants us all to know. She's at turns over stern  and over loving. His life must be a roller coaster.
She's practically shouting and then the pathetic irony when her 2 year old hollers the way all 2 year olds do. Shouting Mommy shouts, Camden! Inside voice!

It occurs to me that I've found the table located over the heat vent. The quality of the warmth is like dog breath and under other circumstances, say if I was sitting with my best dog friend, it might be a comfort. However my anxiety is pretty high anyhow, the surroundings don't really lend themselves to soothing or calm, and I sadly have a way of sweating profusely when I'm nervous. So, location location location my location is less than fab, I've got my nervous sweating and now totally legit overheated sweating going on too.

I'm glad I remembered my deodorant.

This may be the theme of my post today. What? What is the theme of my post?

It's not the deodorant thing, although others have proven the subject a worthy one for an entertaining blog post, but the theme for me today is we are always part of the daily chaos whether we participate or observe, and maybe I'm reminded too of the myth of solitude, we're all connected we're never really alone. That and the fact that our voices carry.

Saturday, February 23, 2013

I am feeling really shitty.

I'm listening to Lonely Boy by the Black Keys compulsively. That's a good sign.

Thinking that Jack White would do well to toss aside his very awesome band and pare back his sound.

Do it for me Jackie White, do it for me.

Now I laugh hysterically. Because I'm a little speck that's why.

And also apparently sort of crazy.

One of the big signs of depression is not enjoying stuff that used to be fun. I am there.

Feeling adrift, unmoored, uprooted, spilled, spent, done in and done for.

Not really.

Really feeling like nothing at all.

This is a slight improvement. Compared to the feeling I'd been having recently, the feeling of a 9 volt battery on the tongue feeling, nothing is better.

Maybe there is some surcease ahead.
Been thinking about bullying in schools, and reading to kids, and Roald Dahl, and public school teachers, and family, and childhood depression, and all sorts of things, but haven't had the energy to write stuff.
But maybe soon.

The fact I can enjoy a kick ass rock 'n roll song is always a good sign.


Thursday, February 14, 2013

The song that will keep my heart beating another day

There is music

What else is there to say

I'm pretty close to cracking up.

My ability to function well enough is compromised and I am in danger of falling below a certain standard of acceptability.

There have been times when I've been so depressed that if breathing wasn't autonomic I wouldn't have bothered to keep up with the inhalations and exhalations. Too much effort. Too much trouble.

I'm not depressed, not really. But I am emotionally wrought, physically exhausted, and I feel as though I'm being swept away in a wash of what the fuck.

I feel like I've been pushing walls, or am I holding them up, I don't remember anymore what I'm doing.

After a while I get all numb and tired.

That's where I am tonight.

Something about Chet Baker. Makes me feel better. His voice even more than his playing moves me. It's very try to describe it makes me sound like a bigger moron than I am. So I won't even go there. If you listen to this and you feel it, you know what I mean. If you don't, eh.