Lately, I’ve been feeling like more of an adult than never. Not the play-adult where I wear heels and red lipstick and feel ‘mature’ not even the kind of adult that comes with “coming of age” things, but real actual living as an adult thing like how these days sleeping in = 8:30am.
These days my mind holds a schedule that is like a living mechanism that is planning things by the hour, in between jobs, before I go to bed, and as of the last day or two – it’s been intense planning of big life things. Life things. Whether I’m ready to shoulder the responsibility of my family, whether I can undertake all the work I’ve signed up for, trying to think long term about my plans, my career, money, marriage, my future. Trying to decide what would be best for me, what I would be best for, trying to understand how to figure things out. All of which is so incredibly difficult to do when I don’t have any goals, and I don’t have the ability to process thoughts.
It’s all so heavy.
I feel like my eyebrows and forehead is constantly wrinkled into that faces that lets people around me know I’m thinking. The most mindless time of my day is when I do the dishes in the evening. Keeping my sudded slippery hands under the freezing water my mind goes blank. Between dishes, cold, and the tiredness that comes from my busy and packed days I am left emptied out for the 20-30 odd minutes I stand at the sink before it’s back to rapidfire thoughts.
My brainstorm, my web of thoughts are so tangled. I miss blogging. I miss reading. I miss writing. I miss the time I used to have to browse silly websites. I miss conversations. I miss random meetings with friends. I have come to accept that being constantly tired is now the norm, but it makes me feel so damn aged.
Where is the passion? Someone once told me that they identified me with energy and passion and that everything I did, I did with zest and enthusiasm but this passion that once made me stand out is beginning to feel like an old friend I’ve lost touch with. Maybe I’m losing touch of who I am. What I am. It’s kind of odd to be questioning identity right now, these years that will cement who I become. Since high school I’ve noticed how some of my friends have grown to be more of themselves (if that makes sense, it makes sense to me) and I couldn’t tell you who I am now from what I was before and there’s no saying who I’m going to end up being.
It’s all so absurdly troublesome. Does my work identify me? I love being busy, but I don’t know that I feel the joy in my work that I used to – I don’t feel challenged, I don’t feel moved. Fits of emotion aren’t really enough, they’re certainly not helpful. Did I mention I don’t have goals? I need goals. I don’t know what I want out of life, and I really do believe it’s okay that I don’t have a map laid out with dots and dashes to mark where I’m headed, but if you’re destination-less can you still end up going in the wrong direction?
At 24 I don’t know if I’m ready or willing to make decisions for the rest of my life. I feel like such a little girl thrown into adult shoes, trying not to trip over myself, trying so hard to walk around like I know how to. I read a blog recently that said something along the lines of how they wanted to write until they ran out of words. That’s how I feel right now. I know this isn’t “good writing” I know all of it might not even make sense, but it feels so damn necessary. Like this is the only way to recharge myself… to pour it out int this virtual space, this cyber world that is as wide as the universe.
I want to believe in signs because I am in need of one. Something to give me the confidence to say I’m doing the right thing. Something that I can feel and know as sure as my nose is cold, that it’s real. Maybe I don’t know when to quit. Or how to quit. How do you know which balls to let go of, to drop, which balls to throw to someone else, which balls to keep tossing between hand, air, hand, air, hand, hand, air, hand.
Patterns and routines – eventually we all create our own, but I’m not sure if I like the way the lines are meshing with the colors. I find, I appear more confident than ever but this is perhaps the most clueless I’ve ever been.
My sister was just telling me that my mother told her there was so much she didn’t know about me. Talents. Gifts. Capabilities. I don’t’ know if I’m insulted or flattered. Then my mother told me that she was just learning who I am. You’ve spent so many years away from home, I’m just getting to know you. Perhaps it shouldn’t have – but it made me feel like I needed to put on a pretense. Be who she’d like me to be. Silly isn’t it?
Today, I woke up upset and couldn’t find the right way to letting it out except to be moody. It got me started on the wrong foot with my family, and for about five minutes, alone in my room, I cried. I cried. And once the tears came I couldn’t stop it even though I wanted to. I knew I had to go do things and I just sat by my window weeping for reasons, even without words, I couldn’t understand. The weird thing is, I wish I could have stayed there and just let it all out. I wish I could have spent the day crying. I wish I had the time to soak my pillow and just LET IT ALL OUT. Some days, it’s like I’m suffocating inside of myself and the only way to be okay is to pretend everything is okay. Is that emo?
Do the words not finish? Do these thoughts not need to pause and BREATH. Where in life is the place where you can stop to inhale? On a rooftop of a spick and span new building, I looked out over Besisahar in Lamjung and felt so disappointed in the space I didn’t recognize. But in that same space, in the same winter sunshine, I could breath. I could feel the peace of a village town that grows in its sleep. The way geography affects me is weird… but then again, maybe it’s the same for everybody.
Today I saw a woman walking and talking to herself, but no one else seemed to notice. Maybe they were just ignoring her. If my mother was there she would have assumed the lady had lost her nuts, but just now, in this moment, I’m beginning to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she feels the way I do now.
Abundant, overflowing, in an empty space.
Tangents. When I sat down however long ago it was, and decided I had the time to write a post I had an idea… to write about adulthood, and instead I’ve gone on a tangent (the word tangent tastes like tangerines to me. Maybe it’s because of the way it sounds) and here in the lurch I’ve taking to wordlessness it’s erratic and frantic and so urgent that I actually allow myself to ramble, ramble, ramble ramble. Talk to a silent computer screen in uniform letters that can’t get to the depths to the root of this.… whatever ‘this’ is.
Do I risk making a fool of myself? Maybe. Where was it that I read if you want to do anything great in life you have to let others believe you are crazy. Odd philosophy. Lives and the way we live them… it’s such a strange concept. For some reason links led to links and I was reading up on the life of Tila Tequila and I sat alone wondering…. is she happy?
Am I happy? Does happiness become something that you can forget because you fall into a routine… not a routine, life becomes a ‘to do’ list. Go to work. Write this story. Call that person. Arrange a meeting. Reschedule that thing from three weeks ago. Go to the other work. Email about this event. Follow up on something.
HOW DO YOU STOP YOURSELF FROM GOING BAT SHIT CRAZY?
When. does. it. stop.
Is this my outlet? My substitute for the conversations I don’t have, for the people who end up failing me, for my inability to unwind into oblivion, to be angry, to express, to communicate. It’s not even difficult, it’s just neutral. Neutral shades in earthy tones, tans, beige, earth, and dust.
And just as dust tugs my thoughts to death, here is it: Epiphany – my life has been missing laughter. Not smiles, not chuckles, not giggles with girlfriends but actual laughter. The kind where it becomes hard to breath, the type where your belly hurts, where you almost pee. The kind that you think about days later and shake your head smiling to yourself remembering just how good it felt. I don’t remember the last time I let go like that, let my face contort to the whims of my vocal chords, let my eyes squint in blissful glee.
This post doesn’t have a gentle descent, it doesn’t have a conclusion, it isn’t apologetic or embarrassed…. I just don’t know how to end it. Maybe the rush of words was a good thing, I feel better, and now I just need to figure out – where do I go for untainted, unhinged, uninhibited laughter?