jakorte's blog

4/2
Lucky enough to find myself caught up in a beautiful life’s-to-short-to-not-enjoy affirming day and evening. Lots of laughter and sharing memories, lots of wine and a Sopranos cookbook Italian dinner, lots of discovering and rediscovering, similar pets and familial quirks. How come we need to travel so far away to get a better perspective on our life? Tomorrow is loosely planned, and tonight I’m willing to go with the flow and see what happens. When the evening is through, the normal people adhere to their regulated schedules and retire. It’s late but I’m not tired. Well, maybe I am but my mind is juggling immediate memories and continued worries. I know I should try to sleep, but instead I drag out my laptop, settle into the loft, finding floor space between the sofa and table. I recheck this week’s pending newsletter for typos and continuity. I check my email and end up in a surprising, well-removed, long distance conversation. Limited communication and space are good for editing and re-editing and making sure what you say is exactly what you mean to say.

The problem with being on a happy high is that reality always manages to slap it out of you. The problem with the ups is the downs. That other shoe dropped hard onto my head, sent shiver shock down my spine, and once again shattered my heart. Opening up just doesn’t make for safety. I jumped off the diet/exercise wagon. So maybe I just don’t have what it takes now that I know I can’t get what I want. And, if I can’t have it all, why bother? Me doing better doesn’t make me anything but still myself, forcing through the fog, keeping forward because it’s what I am supposed to do. Legal bills, disappointments, catching my own reflection and still seeing me; could be I’m tired now that the hyper has worn off. But it’s still a down and I think oh, well, I might as well accept it, embrace it and let it out. It’s what both of us want anyway – me and the grief would like to be rid of each other, and ourselves.

4/25 Here’s a politically correct term designed not to offend my sensitive senses, and yet describes what I’ve been saying all along: I own a social reluctance. I’m told it’s ok to plateau, and I think, well, that’s good because I like it here. I don’t even bother letting on that I plateaued years ago with the realization that I am truly not and never have been a social butterfly. And while I am certainly not the life of anyone’s party, I am certainly not isolated. I mean, I am certainly not as isolated as I could be. I show up for work every day; exchange pleasantries, as long as they are offered first. I include myself in large group social settings because I’m safe in duplicity. I like the feel of commonness and anonymity in crowds. I attend concerts and church, both occasionally, and engage in walking and talking with a friend a few times a week. I do not seek opportunities, but rarely decline if one is offered.

In the non-social hours, I am still working on the rest of the miscellaneous stuff that I have to either find somewhere to put, or off load, or buy something to help intelligently store it. Although, I’ve decided not to purchase cabinets or dressers until I achieve a bed. I want suite; something that matches for the first time in my life. I recently saw a bedspread I really liked, and will probably buy it now to avoid regrets later. I still feel like furniture denotes permanence, or at least an expectation of staying put. Someday, I will find a way and a reason to put down roots, but now isn’t the time.

Maybe that’s why I’m reluctant: to find myself in new company, to explain myself; easily avoiding both will make leaving easier. I know I’m not really leaving, either, at least not this year. I’ve got my heart set on 2013 being an action year. Right now I’m prepping: running down the long-jump speed corridor. Knowing I intend to re- launch myself at the end is exciting and terrifying. Yet, I’m picturing it: both feet off the ground, arms extended , instantaneous trajectory realization. And, it seems possible, which is significantly better than not being able to imagine getting up off the floor.