Dear everyone,
Operation: More Adventurous has been...well, sort of a wash. I think that deciding to do the opposite of my decisions is, at its core, a fundamentally me decision, and that sort of undermines the integrity of the whole experiment.
Honestly, this year is sort of running roughshod over all of my softer bits, and I have found myself fantasizing about building an exoskeleton like a cockroach, so that I could let the fall out hit me and do no lasting damage. About building a house out of my skin like a snail, hardening my hair into spikes like a porcupine. I am covered in holes from trying to weave through the constant missiles falling through the last few months, and I am honestly concerned about making it through the rest of the year with my faith in magic intact.
As a result, I am formulating a new plan, Operation: NO FEELINGS fall 2008. I think this one is going to be a winner, friends.
Which isn't to say that everything is all bad, because to say that would be to lie, and I am a terrible liar. I am still stupidly lucky to be living this life that I live, surrounded by people that are beautiful and creative and funny. I was on tv in a blue wig for approximately one second recently. There are always people to buy drinks and give high fives and listen to me talk about how, say, if we were a band of murderous psychopaths, what method would you play? (I would play the Colombian necktie.) I still have my adorable and cozy and centrally located apartment, my job, and the comfortable fact that people let me go watch them play their instruments for free all the time. Frequently, I demand that strangers tell me jokes, and they do. Today I even got to walk home in the rain, pet a very, very soft newborn baby and eat a cheeseburger, although in the opposite order. Mostly, things are swell.
It's just that I find myself so angry lately, find myself having trouble holding my temper, find myself wanting to climb a clock tower and reload just so that the whole world will understand that I am serious about how it needs to quit it with everything. This is not an angry robot kind of angry but something deeply red and roiling. When I was a very young girl I had a terrible temper, and would sometimes get so angry and frustrated that I would actually bite our dog at the time, a black cocker spaniel named Beauty. By the time I was 10, though, I was frequently in charge of an infant, and I had to learn to reign in my frustration, to swallow it, because it seemed even less fair to take it out on a baby. And I've done pretty well with that.
But I am losing my energy, losing my ability to stay upright while all of these layers of rugs get yanked out from under me, and as a result seams that rarely find themselves showing are becoming strained. I know that with time everything that is turbulent eventually becomes smooth, but it is a matter of both finding solid handholds and maintaining the strength of my arms in order to ride it all out. And my muscles, never one of my better features, are quickly tiring.
In the meantime I will just have to cling with whatever I have left, try to remain both calm and kind, and take every opportunity presented to drink champagne and stand in fountains and run through sprinklers with strangers and pet very soft babies. These are my good old days, after all, and it's the laughing so hard my face hurts that I'll remember in the end. Not the crying in cabs.
And like I always say, thistles may at any point bear figs, so it doesn't do to get too distracted looking for bandaids to cover scratches to notice the uncommon fruit.
love,
me
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