Finding Home

March is quickly coming to an end. I spent last night in a new apartment and I can't help thinking about the whole affair like a camping trip. I'll be camping out in these four strangers apartment for a month, maybe two. Sleeping in a loft, where if I wanted to I could rest my feet on the ceiling. Surrounded by boxes and bags containing the bit of my life I decided, when leaving Maryland, to take with me. Moving does sneak in this unexpected perspective, these covert thoughts, I begin flirting with contraband ideas- to purge. Can I part with any of these things? Can I part with any of the little material treasures that carry my life in them? To become more portable. There are people in my life who would, probably, love for me to reduse the amount of things I own. Mainly people who have suffered through helping me move said things.

I feel a bit like an invader in someone elses private space. Like I have carved out a sphere in their center for my world and tread out paths as needed through their lives. In that moment last night when we fell silent, when every last needed movement had passed and for the first time I could hear beyond my time and space I felt alert to theirs. The gentle sound of someones music passing through the wall, a reminder. It was like my ears were the most active part of me, the one sense that keeps me most aware of the presence of others unseen. That gentle music was a brass orchestra to my sense of reality. I feel my little life surrounded and my actions a ripple in someone elses pool; I'm up in the tree, going about my business gathering nuts and each one that falls disturbs their water and in that moment I am frozen in a state of awareness. And I will do no more than pass by them briefly.

I anticipate the next move will be more drastic. That I will end up outside of my little Williamsburg life and into something entirely more remote and less full of youth and energy. A new phase will begin. No longer propped up from the outside by the fortune of my family I am intrigued by the prospect of living within the means I am able to support. I am attracted and afraid. Attracted because in a sense it seems right and I've never done it. Afraid because it will be hard and uncomfortable in many ways I expect. What parameters can I realistically set and achieve? Can I make a rule of renting somewhere with a dishwasher? What is the average cost of utilities and electricity? I suppose a couple months at just over 600 in rent can help me gage if that is the right zone for me.

In my dreams I never do find home. It is that most illusive of searches. Constantly repeated with largely the same results. I wander an unfamiliar world in a lost state. It represents a desire to return which is the true reason I never find home. How can we return to something that is the past? Somehow I have to make a new home for myself. In every space I occupy there is the effort to "find" home. So I found home for 9 months in Apt 303. Somehow I will find home again for a month or two off of S. 5th street in the shadow of the JMZ line as it arches over the Williamsburg bridge, simultaneously beautiful and imposing.

The oppression

I'm being followed by an old ghost. He stays close by my heels; low like a small cowering dog, living in my shadows. I have been cruel to him and he asks me for peace. Such a little thing that I have refused him these many years.

I have been loved in the past by three men and I have broken all of their hearts. Two of them I have hated, for the crime of loving me unbendingly. I found it a bondage. I write for them, especially the two I have hated. I write to put their ghosts to rest, to give them their peace.

I ran after them. I wrote a story in my mind and pursued it. I felt strong, powerful, in control. Control. That story rewrote itself before me, each moment more and more and that control I had run with had turned against me. Is that what I really wanted? It had been an impulse. I had no real imagination to picture how things would play out, all those repercussions.

Josh Smith held onto my hand like a safety net, as if that simple act could hold onto me. I could not escape it, each day, every moment, he held tight to my hand. I wanted to feel free and I didn't.

My great error, always, has been a failure to know myself. When I was young it was simply inexperience, I hadn't been alive long enough to know myself, to detect who I was in this world, what I wanted to be, what I cared about, how I wanted to live. In my early twenties I was living out the idea of who I was, rather than actually being. I still didn't know myself, but I thought I knew what I wanted and how I wanted to live. Borrowed concepts, perhaps. Things that looked pretty or sounded impressive. I am at a new impasse. I believe I know myself, but still feel uncertain of what I really want from life or how I want to live. Worst of all I don't trust myself because of who I have been and the fear of being her still.

Can I ever forgive Josh for his shortcomings? Can I let him be human again, even just as a memory? Can I forgive myself for my mistakes? Or will I always torment myself with them? Why can't I let the past go? Why do I hold onto this haunted house? What resolution am I trying to pace out year after year?

I still feel like a borrowed hodge podge. The things that matter to me seem a quiet voice that I've never been able to truly believe in. Why? It seems easier to believe and be what others already are. A path walked and proven... It's overwhelming in those moments when I realize life isn't a series of paths that we can choose from but more like a forest, field, ocean, valley, and any step is possible. I could live like a fly moves, erratic, self-crossing; completely, absurdly free! And where do I start? And where do I move on from there? I am forced to take one step at a time and choose all over again every moment. Until my life is made up of an infinity of choices that start at one point and end up somewhere so unpredictable.

I'm going out for a walk. And I don't think I'll come back again.

Being anxious

A large motivating factor for change in me has been how I feel about myself. It's a curious thermometer. For a long time I always felt bad inside, like I was over taken by mold and needed an intense cleaning. Maybe I went too far in the other direction? It isn't often that that old feeling returns, let alone lingers, but when it does I want to purge it immediately. I think, perhaps, my very forebearing boyfriend is feeling a little over-taxed by this part of me. As soon as I got to work I had to text him how I had behaved and how I felt about it. His responses were understanding and pretty much the same as my mothers when I shared the info with her. We all have moments, it's okay. "But you don't understand, I don't like how I feel about myself right now!" I hear ya, I love you. It's time to come down off the block and keep my head. I've turned into a bit of an emotional barfer, and by that I mean I have to regurgitate in words all the crap bothering me. It reminds me in this moment of how I was as a child when I became afraid and didn't know what was going on. I was compelled to ask my mom, am I going to be okay? and to also park it in front of the toilet and wait. I'm so afraid of the damage these emotions might manifest in me that I have to "purge" them immediately. I have anxious tendencies, some people have addictive tendencies and that often steers their actions, anxiety often steers mine. There are many areas of my life that I have managed to get anxiety out of the helm; but the shit some times just needs an outlet. Forgive me loved ones and friends, bare with me at these times.

I exert so much energy at times trying to be patient that I think I get a little overwhelmed and pop. Patient with everything, really. Life, work, traffic, people, myself... The thinking being that life is more enjoyable if I'm patient and not get upset about things beyond my control or that are difficult. I guess we all need to vent from time to time.

Despite knowing better, I'm still aspiring to be perfect. To master everything that I have come to value and to exude all the highest qualities. Because if I am perfect life will be perfect, right? I think another reason I'm a little over the top today is that life isn't perfect right now and simply being patient with it has turned out to feel insufficient. I'm troubled, scared, worried. What if life isn't as good when I move? What if it's harder for me to get up in the mornings and get to work on time? What if I find the commute more taxing? What if I don't like living with these four new guys any where near as much as living with John and Scotti? What if I can't get my piano in there, or the room isn't very private? What if I still have trouble paying my rent? What will happen? Is everything going to be okay after I move? Whose going to take care of me now that I'm stepping out from under the wing? Will I get enough work from Jonas when this job ends? Will he be unreliable? Am I in trouble? Is a day of reckoning fast approaching? Is my easy, safe life coming to a very sudden end? Can I possibley be ready to move out by April? Will work be an added complication come that day? Will I possibly not be working that day, or week?

There is a scene in The Order of the Pheonix where Hermione explains to Harry and Ron all the emotions going on inside of this girl Harry had a big crush on. All these issues that must be pulling on her explaining her own confliction in her relationsihp with Harry. Ron expostulates "No one can be feeling that many things at once, they'd explode!" The point of the scene probably being the complicated workings of a woman's heart and the simplicity of a man's emotional range. I guess that's how I am feeling right now, so full of concerns I could burst. And I know resolution is going to take a certain amount of time. In two weeks I'll know if I can handle the actual move, that concern will reach fruition. But whether I can stay there, or how living there will be is a longer concern. What will happen in my relationship with my brother? Will I see him? Do men go through these things too? I suspect Jeff does. He jumped started many of these concerns when he expressed his own.

Suspended animation

I have much on my mind. Upper most the fact that I will be moving in May. I really didn't think it would happen so quickly and almost came about accidentally. At least it will be an easy move, a new place already determined (ah, the joy of connections!) and not far from where I am. I can still live in Williamsburg! I hope that 650 a month will be a sufficient reduction in my expenses, I believe it will be. But I need to reorder my lifestyle. The most important change I have made is living out of my checking account and not off of credit anymore. That establishes more realistic finances, keeps me closer to in my means. My rent right now prohibits that which I discovered through my temp job. It's curious that that fact was disguised to me with Jonas. The difference being taxes taken out for me now shows me immediately just how much money I do have. And it's gone as soon as it's deposited, claimed by obligations. I take comfort that all those little things I bought for the apartment, that still probably aren't payed for, can't be taken away. I ultimately pay more than their value in interest. I fogive myself for this, but it still could have been handled better.

What most interests me is my internal perception and feelings amidst these events and anticipations. The pictures in my mind, the sense in my being. I am calm, but I feel some disruption beneath the surface. A low boil that makes itself felt by me accutely at times. I have made peace with my situation, but I stumble into trouble time to time. What I clearly want becomes a mist I can not sort in turbulent moments. I feel that I have made such a goal out of compromise that I'm loosing a sense of how to pursue what I claim to want. Something has taken it's place. A longing to experience what most people do. To work for a living, spend the bulk of my energy and time to pay for my keep, food, shelter... To have the feelings, exhaustian, transformation that comes with it. I hid from such a life for so long. I see it as my door to maturity, to true adulthood, independence. Even in this place I find the challenges vast and endless, all these paths I could pursue...

As I walked to the subway today a funny feeling over took me. I wanted to quit, to stop "living". To check out from all of it. There are moments when the pointlessness of rushing day after day to this 9-5 job performing unimportant tasks suddently seems insupportable. A different side of me surfaces, the willful impatience, my self interest, egoism, perhaps that feeling of being elect. Most of the time I seem able to function out of that obedient part of me, that sees the good in being diligent and reliable, focuses on what I gain in character.

Just need a little air

Maybe this will help, I don't know. It's going to be hard to stay awake today so I must do things that won't encourage sleepiness. Too bad I can't have caffiene. I could artificially stimulate myself to get through this work day. I screwed up! I can't believe how my body feels, it's awful... I was going to try to get to the bank after work, but that isn't happening, it's straight back to the apartment and to bed. Maybe in a couple hours my body will pick up a bit? I'm not taking good care of myself.

Something John told me last night has made me very sad. We have neighbors that have been engaged since I've lived here and Saturday they had their bachelor and bachelorette parties. Ramie and Damien. They are a cute couple, Ramie is precious. She reminds me of Pip, small with sad eyes and a timid smile. A little dog that just needs to be loved. It was how they spent their evening parties that made me sad. Ramie's party was themed around Damien, each of her friends had a pin with his face and a question on it to test how well she knew him. Her party was dedicated to him. John used the word debauched to describe Damien's party, it was not in reverence to Ramie at any rate. She will faithfully love him with devotion all her life, and he will love her- but with an independence that lacks deep affection I suspect. I asked John if Damien treats Ramie the way she deserves, the way he put it was that she will be happy with him- but John would never let Damien be with me. No, he doesn't. The world is full of so many sad little dogs that long to be loved and valued. It breaks my heart!

I feel like most of us need a wake up call inside. That we are constantly presented with opportunities, offered the love of a worthy person and we fail to appreciate these things anywhere close to adequately. Our hearts are hard, little stones that can't be reached. That helps relieve some of the internal pressure, but my heart wants to burst right now! I'm so full of grief! Is it crazy to think that my grief is for the state of other peoples lives, their hearts? I want to learn to feel the love of the people in my life better. I have seen that ability grow since coming to NY and it does make my life feel more full and wonderful! But I want more feeling. I want to enter into all of the good of being alive. As a child I closed myself off from everything and began to feel the absense acutely. I thought for so long I just lacked the ability to feel or express. How could I understand I had done it to survive?

Yeah, I feel much better now. The pressure has been released.

"When Chekhov saw the long winter...

He saw a winter bleak and bereft of hope." Words that inspired me so long ago to want to read Chekhov. I started reading Chekhov a couple nights ago, to acquaint myself with him before the play, his style and voice have gotten in to me. (As with everything I read.) Short stories, works that are perhaps his earliest. The metaphors are clear and easily read, his voice some how loud and boisterous yet cynical. Ended or periodically punctuated by a profound comment. I read a couple of them to Jeff last night. I think that added to the experience for me, enabled the story to penetrate deeper because I was actually more attentive to the words, to read the emotion or intention in each sentence. He is a critic of human nature and so far the stories have been about a single man judged by others whose own character flaws are being exposed in the process but they do not recognize their own sins, only the one mans. Quite a big painting can be made in a few pages of words.

I liked being read to as a child. I find I like doing it myself, now.

Running

This morning I was amongst a group of people in a cozy apartment. We were gathered in the kitchen all leaning back against the counters. The little old professor, gnomb-like in appearance, with trimmed grey beard, came and stood next to me. I was very fond of him and stretched my arm around his shoulders and patted him with my right hand, smiling at him. I knew he was a little drunk, he had a beer in his hand, he had been drinking for a while. Although all I felt for him was fondness I knew he had different feelings towards me, that perhaps he had some uneasy sense about. He spoke playfully regarding me but directed his comments towards a woman across from us older than me and younger than him, as if he called her in as a witness. "The last time you used your left arm, and this time your right. This is a wonderous thing. So which is it, are you right handed or left handed?" It struck me that this action took little skill and could be performed by either arm and I wanted to be clever and turn the situation around. "Why, I am ambidextrous!" An amused gasp came from everyone in the kitchen. I feel compelled, always, to qualify myself and I added "I am dominant in my right hand, but I can perform every task with my left as well." Then suddenly the professor doubled over and threw-up his beer on my feet. But he stayed bent, an illness had taken hold of him and he wasn't recovering. He ran out of the room and I heard him wretch again and a third time; I woke up suddenly and immediately recognized the little professor was Mr. Bruce. I heard the cooing of the pigeon's on my airconditioner and realized their sound had proceeded each episode the professor had in my dream except the first. It had come into my dream and effected it. I was deeply upset. Ill.

Jeff and I were closing the deal on a new apartment. We had found a place we really liked and it was all happenning so quickly. We signed the paperwork and started discussing the down-payment which amounted to half a months rent. I had next to nothing and Jeff couldn't cover even half between us. I was frustrated and anxious and finally released it. "Why are we trying to do this? We're rushing it, we don't have to do this now."

I had a dream two nights ago that my parents had bought a new home. The property was large, it supported a great garden, farming style. The home was big and spaceous, it let in lots of light and it felt good to be inside this home. The pantry was more like an open shelving system in the kitchen where vegetables were stored and some actually growing, a skylight above a source of continual light. I loved this new home and wanted to stay forever. It was just me, mom, and dad, like it used to be. The three of us went out into the garden with a wheel barrel and collected the compost from the things that had rotted to bring to the heap. We looked over the vegetables and saw that most of them had rotted and I tried to find salvageable ones with little luck- what seemed edible at a distance turned out not to be up close. So we were cleaning up. A woman showed up and her husband shortly after with a dog that was wasted thin, slow and head low. He eyed us with obvious disapporval and I realized this was their property we were on. That we were putting our compost into their compost heap. He said something mean to us, to my parents, I don't remember what and I was irritated. I reamed him for his mean comment and chided him for being such a bad neighbor and he seemed shamed by my words and put his head down. He was a very tall man, very thin. We were all much smaller than him. As we headed back to our property I got another look at his dog and I noticed that he had a shoe on his head, completely covering it. This deeply disturbed me. Like the dog was possessed or controlled by it.

Another self

Since last week everyday has been a pretty incredible experience of self-discovery and I wonder if at this point in time that is going to be a regular experience. Life is very good right now and I think I've entered a point where I anticipate it will stay good. I'm trying to learn to be patient. I find I have an inclination to rush towards what I want. I'm also learning to graciously accept what can be at the moment in the face of what I would like. I'm going to get a copy of my keys for Jeff when I get off work. I wanted to do that yesterday but the surprise storm altered my plans. I was so tired last night and he made dinner for me. He is so kind, always offering to do things for me or buy my things when we go out. Gentle Jeff. I was so full of affection for him this morning. I just wanted to kiss every part of his face; my precious little pet. He's been calling me "my girl" a lot, usually accompanied by a tight hug. Something set it off, something we watched? But I can't remember what. It's endearing and affirmative.

When I joined Jeff at the studio yesterday morning it reminded me of my experiences there, things I don't otherwise think about. It highlighted for me, in sharp contrast, the way we used to interact, just how things have changed. I remembered all those pregnant feelings, the little transitions in perception and behavior, our awkwardness at times. I remember at this moment how close he used to stand to me towards the end and how flustered I would feel.

So many new experiences, quiet adventures. Charting waters I've never been in before but that are well known to most people through out time. It's not an undiscovered land, but one that brings a joy of discovery in that first experience. I've accidentally stumbled on a paradise in a guise I never anticipated and I am savoring all of it. I understand we often have visions for ourselves, for the life we long to experience and find ourselves living something very different. I have longed for a life more like Fawna's but felt a kind of bitterness at my own inability to realize it; in fact I have longed for many lives I have not realized. Perhaps it is similar to my own struggle with myself as an artist; I have admired the talent of so many others and wished to paint or draw or think more like them and when a little quiet voice affirms my own style, my own voice, I have given it a small part of my ear but found myself so distracted by the noise of that painful longing that it is overshadowed and never given quite the space it deserves in me.

If life is a series of road blocks that slowly come down, than surely that is one of them and I look forward to the day when that wall falls and the art in me is suddenly free! I watch, year after year, day after day, in consternation as these walls block the flow of energy in me and dry up my drive to create. I am full of pictures! Full of ideas I long to bring to life and yet when the time is there and I have enough to begin I feel that great inertia fighting with me and so often it wins. There are all these confused voices in me, each with some important story to tell, something they deeply need to express and all I hear is chatter that I can't decifer and I feel their entreating pain.

And I quickly turn away from any path I can not walk exactly as I am even if the tool required is a simple one, easily acquired and used; so strong is the force in me against following any intermediate stages. It's almost an inner repulsion.

I'm afraid. Afraid to try, to not know what I'm doing. To make bad art, what then? Is there art after bad art? It's like a death in my psyche. I'm afraid not to be good enough, not to matter, not to be marketable. That's the killing one lately, I feel completely unmarketable. Yes, my art reflects my voice quite sincerely, but the market doesn't want real. It consumes trends, what is hip, or cool, cynical, witty, confident, dark. I am soft and quiet, pretty and open, accessible. And I feel stuck, paralyzed. I can not move.