I cannot write. I cannot draw. I cannot sew. I can only knit. I knit until my hands are sore, til my knuckles ache.
I am argumentative. Cranky. I feel the swell of heat as I start to disagree. I find myself tearing off sweaters that normally I would pull close to me. I had to take off my tights and wear summer flats that I keep in my drawer at work, you never know when you need comfy shoes. Crap. I know what this means.
My ovaries hurt. The cysts are painful, not sure why they always bother me in the fall. The one on my right side a sharp pain causes me to take a breath and hold my stomach. I cannot control it, a student asks are you alright. Yes I say. Sorry. Breathe. breathe.
I am a waste of creative talent right now. Nothing I attempt is any good. My writing is trite and stupid. My fabric and buttons collect dust. My paints slowly and surely dry up. My yarn wraps and pulls inch by inch, hour by hour.
But here is where I am. I feel a strange thing. I feel kind of unfazed by drama from the drunk boy camp. Although I find myself getting pulled in, I only partly bite the hook, pulling back. I find my heart hard and cold like steel. Alcoholism is frightening, ugly, and I see now that people who are crazy can make empathetic people crazy too. My empathy is in a box on a shelf with drunk boy. I even went from being a social welfare liberal to a very hard edge drug test them and make sure they are clean and sober before giving them a check conservative. It disgusts me how that camp literally sucks money from the tax rolls. Or more accurately drinks the money. Accused of being hard hearted, I say yes actually I am, but only when it comes to the absolute dregs of society these pathetic people have drunk themselves into. Accused of being high class and snooty, I laugh and say actually no I am not, I tell my sister and another friend and both laugh. YOU? snooty? classy? I think not. They say it takes courage to walk away from people with such a deep seated problem, but it took no courage at all, nor did it take strength. It took only disgust. I have come too far to lose what I have built for my family, by myself, for other people’s severe problems. Maybe the feeling is serenity. I say that prayer many times a day. Maybe it is finally sinking in.
I find that when people are under stress they tend to turn on you, and try to create problems and drama. I am an easy target, I respond, I get worked up. I see that right now and realize I have to take a deep breath and let it spin down turn by turn into a stop. Notice it, notice my initial reaction and then slowly let it go. It is a learned behavior, I have had lots of practice. I have been schooled well in it. But I want to reject the lessons. They are unhealthy habits born of unhealthy habits. My daughter texted me earlier this week, very angry with me for something I didn’t do. I answer her back, I explain what I think happened, why I think things got a little messy. She gets it, she understands. But then I find myself saying this is really just more of the same, drama meant to control and manipulate out of fear, out of stress. I feel a fire snapping inside of me, like a lighter lighting, or a match catching. I see it, I know why it is there, I know what makes it burn, but I have to stop. I tell concerned parties, please, leave me out of it. I don’t want to be involved. Do not gossip about me, its the only way I know how to keep myself from getting caught in it again.
I am stressed though. I feel this weight, I can feel my blood pressure is rising, and I see now why I have issues with it. There has to be an outlet for it. Meditation right now is like stew, with chili peppers, on boil, it just makes the broth hotter.
I knit, and knit and knit. It is all I can do. I look at my even stitches and careful pattern. At least there is one thing that I can do without pissing someone off, and finding myself in a mess of someone else’s making.
This leaf wrapping that has held me close, is starting to feel a little tight.