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finstergrrrlforgive me, those of you who know better: i suspect that this process is a bit like amputating a gangrenous limb. maybe it was no longer healthy to keep, but that doesn't stop you from missing what it used to be, everything it did for you, the unbidden joy of simply existing together and working in harmony. you learn to get along without it. every tiny memory is an itch in your new ghost limb.
unbuckling oneself from a life one has maintained for years and maybe even grown rather fond of...the habits, all the unconscious gestures, are the hardest to unlearn. you're chuckling to yourself when suddenly you realize you're sharing a private joke with no one, you're the weird uncle at the edge of the room. people try to hide the fact that they know, or they wince quietly whenever they make a reference to someone else's happiness. or they bypass decorum altogether and ask you all those nosy aunt edna questions you still haven't managed to answer satisfactorily for yourself. a tight smile helps; remembering that no one wishes you unhappiness helps more, even if you are sure that the entire city has judged you and found you in transgression.
i am getting my car checked over again. this time it's the brakes: the barrier between me and a grease spot on the pavement. it's a faulty sensor, nothing more, but my knees get twingey every time i summon the image of sliding forward into the dashboard before my seat belt can stop me. tomorrow (or wednesday if disaster strikes), i drive.
the point of this journey is to be left alone with my will for a while. we haven't really been on speaking terms for years; i turned off what i wanted, small-scale at least, for the sake of a smoother, more peaceful existence - with everyone in my life. being the Give In Girl looks like popularity if you squint. and now i find myself driving down the highway, noting good places to stop on the road signs, but not stopping - why? i am being literally and figuratively driven, it seems, by some remote and automatic part of myself that still believes my time is not my own. i don't know whose schedule it thinks i'm on. that gauze-wrapped hand no longer has the wheel.
unbuckling oneself from a life one has maintained for years and maybe even grown rather fond of...the habits, all the unconscious gestures, are the hardest to unlearn. you're chuckling to yourself when suddenly you realize you're sharing a private joke with no one, you're the weird uncle at the edge of the room. people try to hide the fact that they know, or they wince quietly whenever they make a reference to someone else's happiness. or they bypass decorum altogether and ask you all those nosy aunt edna questions you still haven't managed to answer satisfactorily for yourself. a tight smile helps; remembering that no one wishes you unhappiness helps more, even if you are sure that the entire city has judged you and found you in transgression.
i am getting my car checked over again. this time it's the brakes: the barrier between me and a grease spot on the pavement. it's a faulty sensor, nothing more, but my knees get twingey every time i summon the image of sliding forward into the dashboard before my seat belt can stop me. tomorrow (or wednesday if disaster strikes), i drive.
the point of this journey is to be left alone with my will for a while. we haven't really been on speaking terms for years; i turned off what i wanted, small-scale at least, for the sake of a smoother, more peaceful existence - with everyone in my life. being the Give In Girl looks like popularity if you squint. and now i find myself driving down the highway, noting good places to stop on the road signs, but not stopping - why? i am being literally and figuratively driven, it seems, by some remote and automatic part of myself that still believes my time is not my own. i don't know whose schedule it thinks i'm on. that gauze-wrapped hand no longer has the wheel.
