Stages

I'm awkward again. I'm fumbling, dark, alone, much as I was in late July when things became clear about how I've always felt but would never commit or confront. Walking home from 86th Street felt like tragedy. I don't know - I wish I could control it or make it go away, but it's inconsolable. It feels like someone is smothering my heart in a damp rag. At least now I've discovered some coping help. And sure, does it help. But many of my friends with whom I've trusted this have reminded me that regular human feelings don't go away. I wouldn't want them to. Yet, tonight's weren't regular human. They scared me again. Even on the train, speaking to my mom, I couldn't muster any regular conversation. I just said a lot of "uh-huhs" in response to her. And my mind filled with an endless string of words while I walked, which is probably good, seeing as I've had next to NO interaction with words in months. All of my poetry has been syphoned from me, and my desire to sit with a blank page is just a distant memory. My need for beautiful music is even waning. So why did I do this, again? I suppose because it beats the alternative. I don't suppose...I know for sure.*I don't want to keep going on like this, because I am feeling a bit brighter after pasta and asparagus and multi-grain garlic toast. A co-worker just texted me after seeing Sunday night's Dexter, and her reaction was enough to prompt me to run down the hallway shrieking. Craig inquired but of course, he's not as into it as me or as her or as the other member of our Dexter club (!!) so he just rolled his eyes! In last night's episode, Dexter growls to Miguel, "No one is like me" and it hit such home. I felt right there. Granted, I'm not a serial killer or even owning a secret of that magnitude to match. But I definitely know what it feels like to stand alone, without someone with which to relate. I feel aching sad arcs like someone has shut the light off and locked the door of the room that I'm in. Andrea noticed that what happened to me over the summer might be what led me to feel so akin to a TV show about darkness, but no one else has asked or paralleled that. Thanks, AB! I suppose I'm waiting to be heard, but here, in this bustling City (where I definitely love and want to live) I am not going to be heard, and I guess, learning to love myself and hear myself might carry me further, right now.*I didn't mean to go back to that, but while I cooked, I heard several Elliot Smith songs, and those likely contributed to my mood. And there are plenty of other things. But words escape me again, despite their mad rush into my brain on the subway today. It bewilders me how quickly they come and go. They're so busy, burdening me, then rushing off to some other place. So it goes.*Above pictured is the empty Zipper Factory stage Lauren and her band filled and played. She's fantastic, I think I've already said so. And her back up is equally if not differently talented, as well.*