done gone crazy

There is nothing more powerful than human connection. The need to feel loved. Special. Important to another human being in some way beyond reason. What IS that? Why does it matter so much? Why does it hurt so much when it's not there?

Sometimes I try to reason myself out of it. I think, they're just FEELINGS... and what are those, really? I mean, they don't really mean anything. They're almost imaginary really... They only become real once you share them with someone else. Until then, they are only inside you, the same way a fantasy or a craving or a passing thought is. They don't change anything unless you allow them to.

You COULD let your life be driven by your emotions. By the pursuit of love, happiness, whatever that means to you. And really, it's nothing. Nothing matters. It's fleeting. Temporary. So why let it control you?

Does this make sense? What difference does what's in my head and my heart make to the rest of the world. Isn't what we DO more important than what we say or how we feel? Which matters more?

God, when I think like this, sometimes I just feel overwhelmed by the pointlessness of it all. It seems that everything and yet nothing I do matters. It's infuriating. What's it all supposed to be for anyway? Should I be plugging through life just pursuing my own happiness? Or trying to ensure the happiness of all those around me? (as it's in any way up to me)

If I save enough people from suffering, perhaps I will inadvertently save myself? What about when you find out that the things that will make you happy are bound to crush the ones you love? How do you put your own happiness above theirs? And can you ever really be happy, knowing your choices have caused pain for so many others? Do you choose the lesser of two evils? Or perhaps you simply choose NOT to choose... proceed as usual, hoping life will magically make all the hard decisions for you. When you know that any decision you make is bound to lead to suffering, sometimes the only choice seems to be avoiding the whole damn situation.

I mean, Fuck. I can't handle the responsibility of it all. I don't know when it happened that I became consumed with everyone ELSE'S happiness, as if I ever actually had some control over it. When did I become matron saint of joy and love? When did I decide to take this upon myself? And why do I believe that my choices matter so fucking much to everyone else? Do others think of me and my happiness? Do they hold my life and satisfaction in such high regard that it takes precedence over their own? Would I want them to?

No. I wouldn't. Absolutely not. I don't want others to sacrifice for me. I don't want to be a consideration. And yet, I truly believe that in order for ME to find peace, to find comfort, solace, and dare I say it, real happiness, I must sacrifice myself. The truth is, I don't think I could live with myself if I made choices that are designed for my happiness alone.

So yeah. I'm fucked. I want what I want when I want it. AND I won't be satisfied unless I can have what I want when I want it WITHOUT hurting anyone else. Awesome.

Sometimes I hate being a godamned saint.

Sometimes I forget how amazing my kid is. Lately I've been so completely self centred (Waah waah waah... MY pain, MY suffering, MY happiness... bleh. Selfish.) I've been wrapped up in my own little world, agonizing over my own drama - that I don't feel like I've really taken the time to sit and ENJOY him (the irony here being that so much of what I've been tormenting myself with is directly related to trying to be the kind of parent that he deserves). I know I haven't been a very attentive mom lately and I'm trying to do better.

Every night at bedtime, after the usual snacktime and teeth brushing rituals, we read a chapter in one of his books (he invariably begs for a second chapter - sometimes I give in, sometimes I don't), then we turn out the big lights, and turn on his globe night light. I muse about where I want to travel, always pointing out some really obscure locations so he'll laugh at me and roll his eyes, then I tuck him in tight and plant some fat smooches on his cheek or forehead (which also makes him groan and roll his eyes).

Once he's well tucked, I lay down next to him, FORCING him to share some of his pillow with me and we lay face to face and do our "favourites". We started this little tradition as soon as he was old enough to talk where he would tell me about the best things that happened in his day and when he was finished, I'd tell him mine. I always wanted to make sure he ended his day on a positive note, thinking about the things that made him happiest, y'know, appreciating the good stuff. Seemed like a good way to fend off nightmares, a nice way to wrap up the day.

Tonight he said his first favourite was that it is a long wkd and he'd have more time to play with his friends. Pretty typical for him. His second was something about conquering a new level on his video game (the kid LOVES his gamecube like little else). His last favourite was "right now". Of course, I asked why. Why was this moment so good? He looked at me and smiled that toothy smile that all eight year olds seem to have and just shrugged. "jeeeeez... I dunno", he laughed, "It just is".

I was instantly completely overwhelmed with love. I teared up. Awwh... He loves me. THIS is one of his favourite moments of the day? Awwwh... I hugged him tight... so tight that he wiggled and tried to squirm loose... "muuuuummm... lemme go.... c'mon... mummmmmm." But I just couldn't let go. I told him how much I loved him and that I'm so proud of him. I apologized for not being much fun lately. More tears. More hugs. More kisses. He pretended to hate it so I hugged him some more.

He giggled and squirmed... "Moooooooom. Stoppit! Lemme go... I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." he laughed a little harder... so I squeezed a little harder.

Then it happened. Just then.... a perfectly timed maneuver to 1) motivate me to let him go and 2) crack me up enough that I would stop with the stupid crying already.

He farted.

Little bugger is a genius.
Fuck I love that kid.

I need to be a better mom. Starting now.

The Maltese Falcon was on PBS last night.

I watched it (well, most of it - it was late and I dozed) for the firstest time ever.

Sam Spade is the shit.

Possibly the most amusing "fight" sequence I've ever seen (scene).

Sigh.....

So, yeah.... I've been reading fucking POETRY for the past 3 days.
Hundreds of 'em.
I can't stop.

But this is not a poem.

My stomach hurts.
My head hurts.
My tongue hurts. (I burned it)
I think my hair is falling out.

I feel weak.
I feel sad.
I feel angry.
I feel confused.
I feel lost and alone.
I feel smothered and claustrophobic.

I don't want to eat.
I don't want to work.
I don't want to study.
I don't want to sleep.

I don't want to ANYTHING.

I just sit.
or I smoke.
or I read.
I read and I think.
I think and I wonder.

And it hurts.
It always hurts.

Take this kiss upon the brow
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

-Poe

I think, no matter where you stray,
That I shall go with you a way.

Though you may wander sweeter lands,
You will not soon forget my hands,

Nor yet the way I held my head,
Nor all the tremulous things I said.

You still will see me, small and white
And smiling, in the secret night,

And feel my arms about you when
The day comes fluttering back again.

I hope, no matter where you be,
You'll hold me in your memory

And keep my image, there without me,
By telling later loves about me.

-Dorothy Parker

This is what I vow;
He shall have my heart to keep,
Sweetly will we stir and sleep,
All the years, as now.
Swift the measured sands may run;
Love like this is never done;
He and I are welded one:
This is what I vow.

This is what I pray:
Keep him by me tenderly;
Keep him sweet in pride of me,
Ever and a day;
Keep me from the old distress;
Let me, for our happiness,
Be the one to love the less:
This is what I pray.

This is what I know:
Lovers' oaths are thin as rain;
Love's a harbinger of pain-
Would it were not so!
Ever is my heart a-thirst,
Ever is my love accurst;
He is neither last nor first:
This is what I know.

-Dorothy Parker

I need to stop smoking but it occurs to me that I may have a moderate oral fixation. It may be that cigarettes are the lesser of two evils.

On a related note... Evidently, blow jobs mean never having to say your sorry (or say ANYTHING else for that matter).

Warum tue ich dies mich an?

Numb the pain. Fill the void.

Anything.

Just put me out of my fuckin misery.

Sometimes I think pain is more beautiful than anything else in this world.
At least it's honest.