lately, but soon I might just change it into something. A travel blog maybe? When I was working under the Big Boss a few years back, she would call me in her office and just let go -- she would tell me everything about her life -- work, family, insecurities, fears, failures -- and I would just sit there bright eyed and listen. Some of that stuff was probably stuff I should not have been hearing, but I listened anyway, taking it all in and never saying a word. She said to me one time, "I know this is so much, but I have to tell someone." It became something I accepted as "other duties as assigned", and I guess this blog serves that function for me. I can't put it all out there because it has been made aware to a lot of people who know me irl. But it's the best thing I've got. I have to put this shit out of me, even if it is into cyberspace, the blogosphere, or whatever you wanna call it.
In The God of Animals, which I can't stop thinking about, there is a character named Patty Jo. She married rich and kind of falls for little Alice's bluecollar dad and takes it upon herself to spend gobs of money on Alice, to which Alice does not object. Towards the end she tells Alice that if she had it to do all over again, she would have just gotten a little apartment somewhere and lived by herself, doing what she wanted when she wanted. Careful what you wish for of course, but I know how she feels about doing it all over again, about the delicate line between being alone and being lonely. I think I am a little bit of both -- all alone in this world with very, very few people to trust and turn to, lonely as all hell as I get deeper into my thirties with no "partner", and yet surrounded by people. Seas and seas of people, many of whom feel the same way.
The night before I left town again, my roommate had told me that her boyfriend would be over, but knowing that I had to be up so early they would make an effort to be as quiet as possible. So I laid down for bed and started thinking about all aspects of my life. When "everything" -- really, really, everything that troubles me -- comes to the surface, wanting to live alone again rises towards the top. It's not as easy for that to happen as it may sound.
The last time I had cried was when my grandmother killed herself when I was 18, the week I went to college. The night before I came to Reno I thought about her, about loneliness, about pain and suffering, about money, about my job and my place in this world working for someone else, something bigger than my entreprenuerial spirit, about my lack of any real passion for anything, about my skilllessness, about my good-and-bad roommate situation, about my increasing isolation from my family, about some dude I've seen all of two times and how it should be impossible that I have "feelings" for him. I thought about my dead faith and my profound atheism in a world and a career that begs me to believe, and the thought that there is no one there to answer my prayers. I thought about my health problems, the past, the future. I thought about aging, if I had known then what I know now. I thought about so much more that is forced into my little capsule of a brain.
Then I heard a thud from the roommate's bedroom, and I laid in my bed and cried for the first time in probably 14 years.
It's 8:00 AM here in Reno and I have to start getting ready for a long day of work. So toodles.