I feel this entry strongly. I may be too drunk to articulate anything more ornamental than this: I've been there, and know similar to where you're coming from. It does get easier, a little at a time. And yeah, full retreat is both therapeutic & screws you mightily. Funny this lj thing; how I don't know you at all and I'm right there with you all the same.
I understand how it goes, love. And we don't all bear our burdens well. You bear yours a lot more gracefully than most (myself included)...you more than deserve a chance to vent, too.
We all live in a state of flux...it's just that sometimes that definition changes from simple "flow" to "shit", and it sounds like this is one of those times.
And I'm with you on the staying in. Sometimes just the luxury of not having to go out and be social, or of a few moments to spend *as you want to spend them*, rather than planning around other people--no matter how much you like those people, or how enjoyable the activity you have planned--can be more of a pleasurable experience.
Here's wishing you the peace you need, lady, and--in a less than poetic metaphor--offering Charmin for all life's splats. You can even squeeze it if you want.
>>>My grandparents' house, a cornerstone of my psyche, the place where I got married, will be sold, eventually.
When the house is auctioned, why don't you buy it for yourself? I preserved my childhood memories by purchasing my parents' old home. The people are gone, but the place they built is still there, as are my memories.
Honestly, I considered asking if we could have it or buy it somehow. But the house, while structurally pretty damn sound, is, always has been, and always will be plagued with 1) MOLD and 2) ANTS.
I have allergies, and though they have improved with age, it still gives me a throbbing headache to be there more than a few hours. Restoring the house to the point where I could live in it would take more money than we have available. :(
I have hope (not much, but a thread of it) that between four grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, and several stepchildren and stepgrandchildren, someone will want that house and will be willing to fix it up properly.
Failing that, I'm getting cuttings from the huge ivy bush under which I got hitched!
Would you like a piece of bargain-basement psychology? I got it from the Trafalmadorians, courtesy of Kurt Vonnegut:
Imagine that you're walking down a corridor, walking on a rug. You can't see ahead of you: Walking backwards, or shading your eyes, or whatever. The rug ends - but has it? Or have you simply walked off the end of it? Is it gone? Of course not - you are.
I lost my Dad in 1994. AD 1925 to 1994 is his span - he didn't pass away, I did. Within that span of years, there he is, permanently
( ... )
Yeah, well, you know what? I just found a correspondence between us from autumn of last year, wherein I was in a bad jam in a story I was writing, and turned to you for semi-professional advice... and you thought deeply about it, had "a lively discussion" with your husband, and replied with such a lucid, helpful analysis that I saved the whole thing onto my own hard drive. [Which is fortunate, as I then apparently deleted the entry!] You then followed up, appraising my solution and agreeing that it was the best possible for the circumstances. The whole business was so friendly, so intelligent and considerate, that in reading it now I could hear your karma dinging like an old-fashioned service station air-pump.
This is why I occasionally make what clumsy efforts towards insight that I do, offer what constructive consolation I can: I know you'd do the same for me - because you did.
I enjoyed that one, though. It's both ironic and annoying as fucking hell that it's often easier for me to see someone else's work clearly than it is for me to see my own.
I suppose that's why there are always going to be editors.
Comments 58
*hugs*
Reply
It does get easier, a little at a time.
And yeah, full retreat is both therapeutic & screws you mightily.
Funny this lj thing; how I don't know you at all and I'm right there with you all the same.
Reply
I understand how it goes, love. And we don't all bear our burdens well. You bear yours a lot more gracefully than most (myself included)...you more than deserve a chance to vent, too.
We all live in a state of flux...it's just that sometimes that definition changes from simple "flow" to "shit", and it sounds like this is one of those times.
And I'm with you on the staying in. Sometimes just the luxury of not having to go out and be social, or of a few moments to spend *as you want to spend them*, rather than planning around other people--no matter how much you like those people, or how enjoyable the activity you have planned--can be more of a pleasurable experience.
Here's wishing you the peace you need, lady, and--in a less than poetic metaphor--offering Charmin for all life's splats. You can even squeeze it if you want.
Reply
When the house is auctioned, why don't you buy it for yourself? I preserved my childhood memories by purchasing my parents' old home. The people are gone, but the place they built is still there, as are my memories.
Reply
I have allergies, and though they have improved with age, it still gives me a throbbing headache to be there more than a few hours. Restoring the house to the point where I could live in it would take more money than we have available. :(
I have hope (not much, but a thread of it) that between four grandchildren and eight great-grandchildren, and several stepchildren and stepgrandchildren, someone will want that house and will be willing to fix it up properly.
Failing that, I'm getting cuttings from the huge ivy bush under which I got hitched!
Reply
Would you like a piece of bargain-basement psychology? I got it from the Trafalmadorians, courtesy of Kurt Vonnegut:
Imagine that you're walking down a corridor, walking on a rug. You can't see ahead of you: Walking backwards, or shading your eyes, or whatever. The rug ends - but has it? Or have you simply walked off the end of it? Is it gone? Of course not - you are.
I lost my Dad in 1994. AD 1925 to 1994 is his span - he didn't pass away, I did. Within that span of years, there he is, permanently ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Yeah, well, you know what? I just found a correspondence between us from autumn of last year, wherein I was in a bad jam in a story I was writing, and turned to you for semi-professional advice... and you thought deeply about it, had "a lively discussion" with your husband, and replied with such a lucid, helpful analysis that I saved the whole thing onto my own hard drive. [Which is fortunate, as I then apparently deleted the entry!] You then followed up, appraising my solution and agreeing that it was the best possible for the circumstances.
The whole business was so friendly, so intelligent and considerate, that in reading it now I could hear your karma dinging like an old-fashioned service station air-pump.
This is why I occasionally make what clumsy efforts towards insight that I do, offer what constructive consolation I can: I know you'd do the same for me - because you did.
Reply
I enjoyed that one, though. It's both ironic and annoying as fucking hell that it's often easier for me to see someone else's work clearly than it is for me to see my own.
I suppose that's why there are always going to be editors.
Reply
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