Cleaning My Room
I'm going crazy trying
That one line is all I managed to get typed last Friday afternoon. I am sure more was to follow, but, as I am not certain what my motivation to start writing was, I am not positive what I was trying that was making me crazy. There are so many things that can fit into that mold in each and every one of our lives. So it is I leave it and remind myself, trying is just one of the many things that make us crazy.
Speaking of trying; there have been many men in my life. A majority of whom have said they "love" me and in the same breath offer reasons why it "just won't work." Then I watch them move on with their lives, doing nothing more than continuing to make the same old same old happen again and again. I use to wonder about the "just won't work" statements and how I fit into them. Now though, I finally realize the truth of what wouldn't work for them, and it has nothing to do with me really in so much as it does. That truth is better called change.
These are men who spoke so ill about their situations, from the past, or current. Telling me what they wanted in their future - it would "be so different". Yet it never is. These are men whom just go on, finding the same types of girls, finding the same types of mistakes, finding the same old same old in everything they do. The exact same old same old they told me they wanted to escape from - rise above - do or be differently.
What was wrong with me then? Well, nothing really, except the fact that I am a catalyst for change. If there is a dream to work on making happen, I will be in the middle of it, stirring the pot, researching, trying to figure out how to make it work. What does it take? What tools will I need? Do I have the resources? Etc.
Often times, in the process of changing dreams to reality, I discover a different way to take something - a direction that will better it, an opportunity to make it more perhaps. Or, I may discover a completely new dream and skip down that path merrily adventuring - leaving off from the old efforts into some completely new course of action.
Always the Fool, never the Emperor.
It is with revelations like these that I continue to piece myself back together ... slowly. I had ripped myself down into a bare mass of shivering anxiety before I could actually understand what lay inside. Removing the skin, the muscle; exposing all the deeply functional dysfunction with which I was created.
I am feeling almost myself again; almost whole. There are still pieces of me bandaged and bleeding. Some of which I am just accepting and letting heal. Others of which I keep reopening, ripping into, like a anteater into a termite mound. Sometimes I end up hobbling or blinding myself for awhile while digging ever deeper. In the end though, I know no other way to clean things up and ensure a framework of stability with which I can operate.
Like my mother, who placed every item I owned in the center of my bedroom in a fury of maddening anger when I was five. I "lied" to her about my room being clean. So, she started me over, from the beginning, ensuring I would put everything I owned away properly, and I do mean everything. Including dumping the contents of my dresser onto the pile in the center of my room; emptied drawers included. The pièce de résistance being the mattress from my twin bed precariously balanced on top of everything.
"Now, do it right."
So I did. Toys and books peering out here and there - it was a virtual ice cream Sunday of character building. So I started with the cherry, an item any 5 year old would look at as some sort of immovable tank, my mattress. I dragged, pushed, and pulled it into place. Then, making my bed with perfectly tucked corners I moved on, the pile not really displaying any vast accomplishments yet.
The drawers went back in the dresser next; frustratingly. It was as if I was playing my first live tetris game with huge long weighted blocks. They were full length full wooded heavy drawers that I had never had to put together before. I managed all six of them some how and began re-folding and hanging all of my clothes. Finishing by placing play items in neat order in the toy-box and then organizing the rest to be displayed on shelf top and bed in a manner where all of their faces could be seen. Admittedly this part was more fun as some playtime ensued and the toys, especially stuffed animals, "talked" with me.
When everything you have to deal with is central to your focus it is much easier to figure out what to do with it - and I mean that for more than just a messy room.
~Tig~
That one line is all I managed to get typed last Friday afternoon. I am sure more was to follow, but, as I am not certain what my motivation to start writing was, I am not positive what I was trying that was making me crazy. There are so many things that can fit into that mold in each and every one of our lives. So it is I leave it and remind myself, trying is just one of the many things that make us crazy.
Speaking of trying; there have been many men in my life. A majority of whom have said they "love" me and in the same breath offer reasons why it "just won't work." Then I watch them move on with their lives, doing nothing more than continuing to make the same old same old happen again and again. I use to wonder about the "just won't work" statements and how I fit into them. Now though, I finally realize the truth of what wouldn't work for them, and it has nothing to do with me really in so much as it does. That truth is better called change.
These are men who spoke so ill about their situations, from the past, or current. Telling me what they wanted in their future - it would "be so different". Yet it never is. These are men whom just go on, finding the same types of girls, finding the same types of mistakes, finding the same old same old in everything they do. The exact same old same old they told me they wanted to escape from - rise above - do or be differently.
What was wrong with me then? Well, nothing really, except the fact that I am a catalyst for change. If there is a dream to work on making happen, I will be in the middle of it, stirring the pot, researching, trying to figure out how to make it work. What does it take? What tools will I need? Do I have the resources? Etc.
Often times, in the process of changing dreams to reality, I discover a different way to take something - a direction that will better it, an opportunity to make it more perhaps. Or, I may discover a completely new dream and skip down that path merrily adventuring - leaving off from the old efforts into some completely new course of action.
Always the Fool, never the Emperor.
It is with revelations like these that I continue to piece myself back together ... slowly. I had ripped myself down into a bare mass of shivering anxiety before I could actually understand what lay inside. Removing the skin, the muscle; exposing all the deeply functional dysfunction with which I was created.
I am feeling almost myself again; almost whole. There are still pieces of me bandaged and bleeding. Some of which I am just accepting and letting heal. Others of which I keep reopening, ripping into, like a anteater into a termite mound. Sometimes I end up hobbling or blinding myself for awhile while digging ever deeper. In the end though, I know no other way to clean things up and ensure a framework of stability with which I can operate.
Like my mother, who placed every item I owned in the center of my bedroom in a fury of maddening anger when I was five. I "lied" to her about my room being clean. So, she started me over, from the beginning, ensuring I would put everything I owned away properly, and I do mean everything. Including dumping the contents of my dresser onto the pile in the center of my room; emptied drawers included. The pièce de résistance being the mattress from my twin bed precariously balanced on top of everything.
"Now, do it right."
So I did. Toys and books peering out here and there - it was a virtual ice cream Sunday of character building. So I started with the cherry, an item any 5 year old would look at as some sort of immovable tank, my mattress. I dragged, pushed, and pulled it into place. Then, making my bed with perfectly tucked corners I moved on, the pile not really displaying any vast accomplishments yet.
The drawers went back in the dresser next; frustratingly. It was as if I was playing my first live tetris game with huge long weighted blocks. They were full length full wooded heavy drawers that I had never had to put together before. I managed all six of them some how and began re-folding and hanging all of my clothes. Finishing by placing play items in neat order in the toy-box and then organizing the rest to be displayed on shelf top and bed in a manner where all of their faces could be seen. Admittedly this part was more fun as some playtime ensued and the toys, especially stuffed animals, "talked" with me.
When everything you have to deal with is central to your focus it is much easier to figure out what to do with it - and I mean that for more than just a messy room.
~Tig~