Me and Mr. Jones

One of the most desolate songs (per my memory only) on the Smiths’ The Queen is Dead album is the track “There is a Light that Never goes Out.” It is sonically depressing and lyrically about escape: “Take me out tonight where there’s music and there’s people who are young and alive driving in your car  I never never want to go home because I haven’t got one anymore…” Not exactly sure why this pops into my head tonight, as I’m on a “date” with Thom and we’re watching movies/shows about cooking and I really couldn’t be happier. And this song appears in my head. I have that feeling, the need for escape, very very often. Tonight I do not.

I did earlier this evening, and then we went for a walk. The problem is that I get in ruts. And it is difficult to get out of them. Thankfully there are people like Thom who come along and jostle my soul a bit and then I am content. I need to remember that it never goes out.

So as you have gathered in the last few posts, I am seeing a counselor to discuss (initially) issues of anxiety and (as it seems to be playing out) depression/OCD/you-name-it. To aid and abet this process I’ve decided to digest it here on the weblog. (As it is called Muse: Ich it would seem logical that I take my writing inspiration from myself.) Currently the task is to look for incidents in the past where I somehow got the impression that I can’t possibly complete tasks on my own, that somehow I am incapable of success. And I’m supposed to deconstruct my current misconceptions about how the world works.  Not to mention I have some studying, cleaning, organizing, and living-in-the-moment to do.

This all sounds pretty blaze and boring blog-fodder as I write this, but for the moment this is the truth and for now that will be my focus.

woman in street, pleading, with a broke-down beat-up car parked halfway off the road/halfway on the sidewalk.  gestures with her hands at any one of a line of cars waiting at the light, locked safely in their cars and the ability to turn and look away. me in car after  leaving session with lots of insight in my mind, and a well of despair somewhere below that i need to decide when and how to deal with, if at all.

Today in counseling 2.0 I discussed my own feelings of inadequacy and their possible genesis in my youthful stint in the “gifted” program and my idolization of my sister. The plot thickened and kept me enthralled all the way to the end. We are going to meet next week, and at the moment it sounds really fun.

I take a moment to consider this day, some random Sunday in April during the 30th year of my life. Talks with Thom, my mother, and my sister. A lovely walk. A frightened nap and upset stomach. The same sort of dread the plagues my mind. Meals on the couch, music in my ears, and somewhere in the world a volcano is coughing up so much smoke that it covers all of one continent and most of another. Without my retainer my teeth are moving askew. I waste enough time to fill another life. There is still so much to do.

I could use a cigarette. For atmosphere mostly, because it would make me feel nauseous and guilty, but for the moment…

Up on the balcony, the night air pressuring me to go back inside. Window shades drawn, and I’m sketching metaphors.  Mostly animal likenesses that help me find some security or rebirth. A turtle for shelter, an ostrich for regret, a butterfly for tomorrow.

The man on the motorcycle just went thrice around the corner and then labored to park.

And it gets colder, but inside only offers stagnation.

The last porch I fell in love with was in Greencastle, and I stole a large ashtray/urn to establish its inspirational appeal.  The time between now and then could so easily be vanquished with only the hundreds of miles to measure the difference.

I used to be after something.  On the hunt.  But now the cold is driving me back indoors.

A marathon week. A quiet, intimate morning. Half the world beeping to begin, signaling completion, or to throw ‘er in reverse. There is a rumbling and a slight fear. And then it all just starts moving.

Talking it through really helped.  I hadn’t any notion of what I would actually need to work out, but it happened.  Telling the story reminded me of the power of stories.  Simply how you start to think about something directly effects how your perceive that next thing.  Tonight in session I realized that my main fear is misinterpretation or, by proxy, misrepresentation.  And the main person I am afraid of being misinterpreted by is myself.