paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- it drizzled all day and I never saw the drizzle Today is a strange day. It's December and feels more like November, except for the dark. The morning was extremely dark, the last bit of the moon small and the sky thick with clouds. There were signs of drizzle all day and yet I never actually saw the drizzle. There is still some thick ice from the big storms two weeks ago. And I feel as though the wall I had built up around me is finally melting. I'm seeing again with an attentive eye. On the way to work I saw an extremely tall skinny man, probably an art student, wearing skin tight jeans. I cannot imagine that jeans are made that tall and that skinny so as to be skin tight on such a man. While I do not deprive him of the fit he likes, it's just difficult to imagine in this world of having an averagish body that I can never get the fit I like. There is always something off. He had a walk as though he were part animated, he was so tall and thin -- it was a serious walk and walk that convinced me he would arrive at his destination before the drizzle. A few blocks later I saw a pack of dudes out walking together and smiling. It was before 8 a.m. and they were not dressed for a meeting -- they were just crossing a rather large street and having a wonderful time. They had just been in the drizzle, although there was not currently any drizzle. Continuing to work there was hardly any traffic and Quinn and I seemed to float in her little yellow car through the lights and the action. I felt no stress. The darkness and the thickness of the air felt protective and yet I've been sensing that this great wall I built is disintegrating bit by bit. I don't know why I built it. Moving to the new job at the new university a couple years back was part of it. For the first time in my life I felt not good enough. Everyone around me was much more elite and I reacted in a way that surprised me. I felt second-rate and spent way too much time rehearsing my second-rate life. I would think about why I didn't make it at something. Why I'm not a professor or a writer. Why I'm only a decent person with a couple degrees who helps people help others for a living. When I took the job and started work people were not friendly and I learned that for the first time in my life I ceased to matter. My grandmother died the first year I worked there and no one cared or even said they were sorry. The assistant director (I'm the director) said "when my grandfather died everyone gave me cards and visited and was very supportive." After telling me all this she never even said sorry for your loss. Human resources decided I couldn't have funeral leave for a grandparent and so I had to take it as vacation day. Somehow in event like this after event like this I decided to protect myself the best way I knew how and I ended up all walled up. I sort of felt like one of those old buildings in the city that once was grand and now is all boarded up -- home to birds and perhaps a junkie or two. I got a little lost and wound up unhappy and worrying a bunch of people. I felt as though everyone around me -- including me -- composed obituaries for the old me. Apparantly I was once a lot of fun and spontaneous and believe it or not I didn't actually care what a bunch of stuffy people thought of me. I sort of woke up and realized that a job that causes me to wall up is not worth it. And with that realization and lots of work I've been letting that wall disintegrate. I've been letting people's opinions be their problems. And the best part is that I get to see the wonderful choreography in the city. The way the people and cars weave around these wonderful plots -- sometimes distant, floaty, quiet; sometimes vibrant, glaring, noisy. Always worth watching and remembering it's sometimes the fragments which make us smile just a bit. The fragments which trigger that fond memory or set the stage for something that might yet be a memory. 7:52 p.m. - 2006-12-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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