What was once a disgrace becomes a point of pride, reverse shot, and so on. Dream of heavy chocolate presence, liquid form, the analogy of the Holy Trinity as water- whether steam, liquid, or ice: all is water/only the form changes-- more disturbing images, too: the Mormon's belief that God is a man about 6 feet tall, living on a planet near such and such planet, who had sex with Mary, and the fact that Egyptian religions had the same story of a Savior (Horus, I believe it was) walking on water, healing people, killed, resurrected after three days found by two women and "oh yeah, he had twelve disciples."
The old excitement I feel before each meal, the plotting, the strange punctuation in the days which are otherwise dragging through. The heavy let-down of afterwards, the desire to doze through life and only wake up for meals. Nobody has to work, nobody has to live, nobody has to do a damn thing. That is what I must keep reminding myself again and again, as I choose to do this or that small thing which feels so monumental in my tiny perspective. I remembered in my heaving sobs and animal cries that it's not work which overwhelms me. Or ever has. I've always been a heavy sobber, a damsel in distress (though never strikingly beautiful, only such a girl in my hysteria with charm peeping through, and it's sick to say such things, and I took a picture of myself on my cell phone after I was shot with a rifle, after the secret shames; I wasn't going to waste those special tears). I think about pizza and remember that I've cried in the same way and for the same vague reasons since I was five if not earlier: it's a feeling of exclusion, a feeling of not being loved, not being graceful with other people. Blocked in turns by too-rabid need and self-loathing which oozes out to others. I ponder facebook photos with jealousy that drops in the gut. People buying houses, having careers, and announcing pregnancies with unadulterated joy. Today I stand near a boy I used to crush for, hard, drinking PBR and listening to his "beats," and I choke down the change, the outrageous demarcation of my impulse: how I cannot now- or for a long time, or so I've framed it- hunt the way I've amorously hunted, for years. Today I saw someone's gut and almost blanched with disgust. May I pay dearly for such bullshit.
And, now, I drive around, in my extremely cheap car, I visit my mentee and almost give up on him when he yells at some younger kids for eating chips which were put there for everyone, and he senses how I recoil, and grows very manic and even misty-eyed and talks about how everyone at the Club makes such a difference in everyone's life, and I'm preoccupied with an orange, I try to cut corners, my waist must now disappear however, I so long for a tabloid; and when you're on a path... I miss having my period, I miss it very much. I get flickers of longing for the violent sexuality of just a couple months ago. I sustain myself less with faith, I'm sorry to say, and more with curiosity. I remind myself that I always valued, at least ideologically, richness (whatever that means) more than comfort.
And how I love to sleep, and sleep, and sleep. At least the father of the child to be, at least he knew how to touch me in a way I loved. At least we made the child doing something I think he was very, very good at. And his entire life so far reserved for me. I don't hate him, I don't hate him at all. I suppose if there is a God in Heaven - that's not me doubting by the way, I don't know, "Doubt, that's what I'm selling" - He knows what I need. I may need this. I thought I'd gone long enough feeling miserable and isolated, that I'd already passed through the vision M. had of me lying on my back screaming in such misery that he felt the strong urge to look away even from his (presumably nebulous) palm-reading vision. The other part of the "reading" was this: that some day I would help people. Whatever that means, I hope it is true. It seems so very distant, right now, my little efforts obviously perfunctory mockeries to love
And what do I have to give you, baby?
