Wednesday, June 16, 2010

lesson

I am slowly learning patience. This is not a lesson I enjoy; in fact it's something I wish I did not have to learn at all.

I waver back and forth - a year, or push it and try to do this faster. I know it will most likely end up being at least a year, but I really wish that wasn't the case. I've never been terribly good at simply waiting, and biding my time and knowing that something will come, something will happen. This is no exception.

Even when I push as hard as I can, he manages to bring me back of my own free will. I don't understand it, and it amazes me, to be honest. Not that it's not a good thing - just that it's unusual.

Oddly, I do not hate the work I do - I hate the work environment. If my department were to change, I would potentially even enjoy it. As it is, I am trying to make the best of a less than stellar situation, and work hard to be able to transfer to another department, and potentially kill two birds with one stone - transfer and relocate - new job, new state, same company. That, ultimately, would be ideal.

I have nothing new to discuss, even with myself. Life has blended itself back into grey and it's fine for the time being. I am neither miserable nor ecstatic. In some ways I am incredibly happy, in others I am so frustrated and unhappy that the dichotomy of feeling all of this at the same time is quite...unusual, I suppose. It wears me down, and I find myself tired more frequently than not, lately.

Such, I suppose, is the way of the beginning of mid-life. If you want to call the "venerable" age of 30 mid-life.

I really don't - I still feel like I'm in my adolescence.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

cold

Everything is wrong today, and I can't explain any of it. I want to crawl back to the safe, quiet comfort of my bed and sleep until everything in this world has ended. My eyes burn and my head aches; my heart inexplicably joins the clamor and discomfort. There is no damnation, no redemption - no ascent or descent; only this numbing, burning greyness. It does not matter what tomorrow brings or does not bring. Tomorrow could bring perfection and nothing inside of me is convinced I would feel any differently.

I doubt that even he will be able to scratch the surface - make any impression or indentation in the wall of ice that is shooting up to encompass my existence, to reach over my head, forming a dome into which none can reach - nor do I wish them to. Inside, I remain alone - imperfect, yearning, cold, and hurting for reasons I cannot articulate or fully understand. I do not wish to let anyone or anything inside with me; I want nothing more than silence and peace and blessed sleep.

Part of me recognizes that I should feel worried or perhaps uneasy about the fact that I simply want to cut off everything and everyone, but I cannot muster the energy to do so. Cannot feel bad that I am silent, withdrawn, uncaring. I want to wish things were different, but that is as close as I can manage to any semblance of caring, and it is a distant echo, at best.