I sitting here listening to Pink Floyd when I damn well know I shouldn't. Their music just sends me to odd places. I never had needed drugs. At my new job, the people I work with find it amazing that I don't have the urge to get out of the building at lunch. We spend our day at the bench for hours, wrapping our brain around the nuances of viral infection. I find it tiring. I go to work exhausted some days, most days. Yet, I don't need to go to the cafeteria to get away. I think Terry Brooks said it best when he was talking about what it was like to be writer, he said that he really isn't all there. As in, he spends large portions of his mental energy in his brain, creating, thinking, developing his craft, and only half paying attention to the people and places around him. I can't say that I'm doing anything nearly that focused, but I can relate to the physical state. I can be in the building and not in the building at the exact same moment. I am concerned that this state comes with alarming frequency.
I could go on about my mental state of late. I won't bore you with the pointlessness. The short, polite version is that I'm at a job where I know I need to learn things, where I know I will be moving on eventually and in such a manner to leave science entirely, and where I am grateful to have it considering the chaotic American dream we all have now. I have found some sort of peace with it all. I have staved off the restlessness-- for now.
I've quit the volunteer job that I've had for three years and loved. Today was my last day. The day started with a death that I never got the story of. (bad preposition, bad). It ended with everyone so busy that I slipped of without much notice. No one knew it was my last day.
I had to do it because I came to realize that I had a hard time wanting to be there. When I realized that my life was shifting in a new direction (or more to the point, I got my head out of my ass and looked around), that particular job no longer aligned. That sounds so business-psych, but it's a reasonable description. The work was no longer serving me and so I was no longer really serving it. I did my best still. I enjoyed the people and the patients, but I could no longer see the point, even though I had come to a trusted, respected, responsible position. I had to end it. I had promised to work through the year; the past Me would have fulfilled that out of obligation. The person I am now, can't. I put off the resignation letter until the last possible moment.
And now I sit here contemplating... what? I have a relatively free summer ahead. I have projects to do, both personal and family. I cleaned out one of the two remaining boxes I dragged from my mother's house. I found old pictures and minor things that hold a remembrance for me. Things I couldn't put into the dumpster. I feel like I'm on the edge of a vista, that there should be a glorious view ahead of me, except that the valley is filled with fog. I do know what my plans are. I have steps to take. But I also find that my most pressing project is still me. That I have to find my voice, or maybe not find it as much as use it. Develop it.
This is leading me into the topics that I could rant on about. Topics where I have a voice and I don't use it: gay marriage, the current economy, the selfishness of the general population in regard to consumerism, convenience, and individualism to the point of absurdity, my overuse of the the word "of", the suburban life myth, the pointless fascination with celebrity, fame, fortune, my stomach and its fat deposit that my wii fit claims is 11 pounds. Gah, I could go on.
But I don't. I have a therapist and I have to save something for her. Instead I will tell you that I have written a story. It is stark because as I wrote it, I realized that there was really only one point to tell and that was the story of him and her. There are no names, there is no physical descriptions. There is nothing beyond what is important and that is why she is there again and the things they say to each other. Even that is kept to few specific words. I think that is how life should be. Stripped to only the important points. More importantly, that's what I want. That's what I'm going after (that and better word choice in writing, maybe a smaller butt).
Post a Comment