paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- evidence of struggle Today my arms, back, face and legs are all tingly. It has me distracted and a bit concerned. They are so numb I have been having difficulty typing and I am actually in quite a bit of pain. I feel irritated, frustrated and tired of everything. But there is not much point in allowing myself to truly entertain those feelings. I am finding some appeal in pretending that I run out of the house and into the night, screaming. I am not the sort to ever just give up on anything, but I am truly tired. As I write this I feel crowded, claustrophobic, and unable to relax. The box project has reached some sort of crisis in our lives. The people at the umbrella agency will never know how much the project cost. The irony is that this field is in search of the full cost of quality. And this binder project is part of improving quality. All the while, I am in search of shortcuts. The two goals are completely opposed. I keep wondering whether Amy, this woman who lived down the street, felt like this. She spent most of her time outside or at work. After she disappeared in the night with her neice, we learned that she had packed the house she rented with junk, trash and boxes. I had heard rumors from former landlords who were glad to be rid of her, but I do not think anyone imagined the stench or the floor-to-ceiling boxes. What a desperate illness to see too much value in even the slightest triffle to send it to the dump. Or maybe it is a feeling of empitness that needs to be filled. I cannot understand it but I wonder how far from it we are with all of the binders and materials that have invaded our home. As I sit here feeling only stress, I remind myself that I have to find some joy or connection each day, even if it is only marveling at mysteries. I hardly did anything at work today, but I don�t feel guilty. The perfect fall day, I sneaked out the back door of the office and went for a walk. The Esquire had gone home early to tend her grounds and I knew that Stella would engage me in a long conversation by asking questions. There is nothing I like to do more than answer questions � it is a horrible trait. Someone once told me, �Piper, I wish you could go on the talk shows for a living and just answer questions.� If I believed in reincarnation, I would sit back contentedly, knowing that in my former life I was a self-absorbed, arrogant, wealthy jerk. Either that, or I would get my chance in another life. As it is, there is no answer but the way I failed to play to my strengths when I was young. I thought about this today when I was out roaming around instead of sitting in my tiny office. What I would give for enough confidence to take a risk on happiness. Why is it that I cling to everything like I am incredibly old, can�t work, and have neither friends nor family. One answer is that it is called growing up, but I truly never thought I would be the type to accept a lifetime of misery as a default setting. �Live, live, live�. Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!� So I have been opening my life up to more interaction with others, being more of a slacker at opportune times. My theory is to jump in and do a ton of work really intensely, and then steal out the back door for a walk in a nearby garden. The leaves were blowing across a big expanse of park, and due to the wind pattern, on occasion they reached great heights. Without the fall or at least the downy debris from cottonwood trees, it is difficult to really appreciate that the wind is not a constant, mechanical breeze, like a fan. Instead, the wind seems compelled, propelled and repelled, in ways about which I cannot hypothesize. But I know certain things � I see the wind challenge the social poise of women walking in long, lightweight skits. Sometimes the wind knows when to propel napkins at a picnic in every direction. At other times, the wind is a friendly force that repels the hot sun. It is a stealth agent of advantage. I love the sound of wind beating against the house, demanding to be let inside. That whistling, howling, growling sound makes me shiver. But this afternoon I just watched evidence of the wind at work. Whole days pass when I don�t even notice it. Oddly enough, when I lived in Boston, I missed the quality of wind that we have around here almost as much as I missed our huge and long thunderstorms. Quinn and the dog are not getting along. She has observed that every time she walks away he acts as though he is chasing her away. So she chased him away. I guess I have a more naive take on dog psychology. I think he just needs to go outside and do his business. That is always my solution because this is the only dog I have ever had and life seems to be about business � kibble, water, good doggie, naps. He is such a little delight to me � nine pounds of white fluff and a sweet face. I used to worry about this, but now I just let it go. They have no chemistry. I have noticed how much of life is about something that is beyond our control. Some people meet and get along instantly and fabulously. Other people never quite hit it off, despite significant commonalties. I think people watched it at work in the world long before anyone started mixing together chemicals. My ex-husband at first sort of annoyed me. We had very little chemistry. But I told myself I should give him a chance, as though this thing we call chemistry has something to do with looks and he had not gotten in the handsome line. My earlier relationships had been with people who went back for second and third trips to the counter where the looks are doled out. What would it hurt to give him a chance, I kept asking myself. I am amazed at the stuff into which I can coax myself. And for the most insignificant of reasons, all of which boil down to me trying to be a good person. Some odds and ends tonight. I am exhausted and still have to practice the guitar�. 11:44 p.m. - 2002-11-07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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