Pining For The Moon


I find it incredibly easy to forget myself. I get lost, you see. Daydreams, dreams, plans, avoidance, immersion, but seldom just ME. In retrospect, this is probably why I loved the Camino so much. I was stripped down to my bare essentials, and set adrift on a lonely path, to do whatever came to mind in the moment. It was a relief, and the most natural thing in the world. I had nothing but each moment, and when the moment was done, the next. But now I am back from that place, and in this one, and even though I am again adrift upon a lonely path, this one is strewn with faces and voices and strange obligations. And so I am pulled this way and that, constantly reforming, conforming, adjusting, melting into whatever it is that I think I should be next. I don’t want to do it anymore. Is it really so odd to want to find a safe, quiet spot to contemplate the heavens?

I think I must be feeling anxious today. At face value, I feel calm, but I’m breathing through an urge to go home and throw everything in my house out onto the sidewalk. The apartment is too cluttered. One of my sidetables’ legs came off. It’s still standing, listing dangerously to the left. I moved the stack of books and the tall, brown lamp with its burlap shade to the right side of the table, just in case that helped balance it out a bit (though I doubt it). I should have cleared everything away, but I find I’ve been both annoyed and strangely pleased to witness the table’s slow demise. Am I pleased at my own annoyance? Yes, I think that’s true. What on earth is wrong with me?

Some days I imagine people giving me compliments, and practice reacting without a sneer or a frown. I tell myself “You’re so beautiful,” and “I love you,” and “I want you in my life,” as though I’m a handsome mystery man who’s just fallen suddenly and irrevocably in love with me. I never believe it. Last night I had an imaginary conversation with an ex-boyfriend from high school who came to pick me up for our 20-year high school reunion (this is all in my head, of course, as the reunion is still two years away, and I’ll be driving a rental, by myself). He drove up to my parents’ house, and I came out to meet him outside, moving to get into the car immediately, as he got out of the car to come inside and say hi to my parents. I urged him to get back in the car. “Don’t you want me to come inside?” he said in my head. In real life, I started crying in the mirror while I told myself the story. See what I mean about living in my daydreams?

Anyway, it’s time to go to the gym. I don’t want to. I’m worn out from being so bored at work today. There was a moment of panic first thing this morning, but it was easily corrected, and now I’m just here, watching the minutes tick down, wishing my fingers weren’t numb from this overabundance of air conditioning.




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