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There's a John Mulaney bit where he says "I'll keep all my emotions right here, [gestures to his chest] and then one day I'll die."
I do wonder if that's an Irish Catholic thing.
My own chest is full, brimming, on the edge of spilling over with the tiniest of movements. There's no room for me in there. I guide operations from slightly over my right shoulder and only bark my shins a little bit more frequently than normal.
I exercise because it distracts me. Because I feel like I should. It grounds me, sucks me back into my own body. Then I overflow, sitting on the mat and spilling over, salt water flowing downhill to the sea. I wake up in the morning wrung out and hung up to dry.
This won't last. I know that from experience. (What a terrible thing to be able to say, that I know how grief moves through the body, how the weight of it stretches and distorts it's container until there is finally room for me in there. How the heaviness never fades, how even years later a profile at a distance, or a gesture on the bus can stop my breath.)
There are no shortcuts.
I guide the vessel through my life. There is temptation there to let go. To say fuck it. this is not my life any more. why should i care about this stupid job, this stupid house, this stupid... everything. But it will be my life again one day, when I finally able to fit back inside it and probably is a good idea not to burn anything down until I've had a chance to decide if I still want it.
I push one foot in front of the other. I watch from a distance as the meat-suit, the swollen vessel, carries me forward.
It's the only thing I still know how to do.
I do wonder if that's an Irish Catholic thing.
My own chest is full, brimming, on the edge of spilling over with the tiniest of movements. There's no room for me in there. I guide operations from slightly over my right shoulder and only bark my shins a little bit more frequently than normal.
I exercise because it distracts me. Because I feel like I should. It grounds me, sucks me back into my own body. Then I overflow, sitting on the mat and spilling over, salt water flowing downhill to the sea. I wake up in the morning wrung out and hung up to dry.
This won't last. I know that from experience. (What a terrible thing to be able to say, that I know how grief moves through the body, how the weight of it stretches and distorts it's container until there is finally room for me in there. How the heaviness never fades, how even years later a profile at a distance, or a gesture on the bus can stop my breath.)
There are no shortcuts.
I guide the vessel through my life. There is temptation there to let go. To say fuck it. this is not my life any more. why should i care about this stupid job, this stupid house, this stupid... everything. But it will be my life again one day, when I finally able to fit back inside it and probably is a good idea not to burn anything down until I've had a chance to decide if I still want it.
I push one foot in front of the other. I watch from a distance as the meat-suit, the swollen vessel, carries me forward.
It's the only thing I still know how to do.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-29 10:45 am (UTC)It will, at some point, hurt less.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-29 04:36 pm (UTC)We go through the motions of life because what else is there, and someday when there's a person inside the shell, that person will be grateful for the job we kept, the friends we held onto, the care we took with the flesh. And so we go on.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-30 03:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-30 12:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-30 02:43 am (UTC)This is also a German Catholic thing, so we've identified at least one common denominator.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-30 03:28 am (UTC)Not a sisterhood that I would have wanted to invite people to.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-03 04:01 am (UTC)also, this is beautiful and sad and FAR TOO SPOT ON. I still struggle with the urge to burn shit down further, salt the ground while we're at it, but then i remember I might still want some of this when things aren't so awful.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-30 04:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-31 02:18 am (UTC)