Soliloquy 1/20/07

There is a drive in me to find people to connect with. Yet somehow my efforts are often futile. I am the unconnected, the untouchable one in a society that shuns the atypical. And yet what choice is there? It is between finding something to connect with, if not someone; and sitting in a rusted broken down automobile staring at the railroad tracks knowing that the freight trains just aren't fast enough. Oh tragic despair! Of what is the stuff of neurology that leads me to this place where
even the loners dare not go? I who was once so full of promise watch as my dreams slowly turn to dust.

As my dreams dwindle, obesity takes over and balloons obscenely-- trapping me in folds of putrid flesh-- until I am unrecognizable. Diets failed. Lifestyle changes failed miserably. This is who I am today. I define myself by numbers on a scale. Society defines me by my non-existent paycheck.

When I was working, I had arrived several times but I hated it. Now that I am not working, I no longer have teary outbursts or meltdowns. I am old and my body is falling apart. "So where are you working now?" Fuck you. Thanks for still believing in me when I don't believe in myself.

And fuck you. And fuck you too. The stupid VESID morons told me lies. They strung me along for three years. Three VESID "counselors." The cunt I used to smoke pot with when we were co-workers. The man with a handshake like a dead fish. The new one with no discernible personality. All of you left me to rot. And I let you do it. That is my largest failure.

My get up and go and my AC-shun Ac-shun drum drum A-C-T drum drum I-O-N were casualties of sheared neuronic pathways and synapses which no longer have any electrical charge. "Get out of bed," my elderly aunt tells me over the telephone wire. "Get dressed." I do. I just keep forcing myself. Any alternative is worse.

Waiting. Waiting until I feel well. Waiting until I feel well enough to. Waiting until I feel. Waiting until. Doesn't work. I know this as truth from my past. I remember.

And so I get up. Get dressed. Spend time on the computer. Take care of the dog, cats, frogs, fish. Blog about my reluctance to do housework and my severe procrastination. And then I force myself to do something. Anything. Sweep the floors. Pick up. Move things around. Spent too easily, I sleep. Get up again. Force myself to do more. Buy the newspaper. Look for a part-time job that I might be able to stand doing. Call the 55b/c personnel office to ask what I can do to expedite the getting of a state job.

Perhaps dreaming isn't so elusive after all. Hope is not dead entirely. I lean over, adjusting the ankle braces against my white athletic socks. I breathe. And I begin the task at hand. Building my life anew.

sapphoq healing t.b.i.