People are strange

“People are strange, when you’re a stranger”, that particular Doors line, hitting me over the head repeatedly. Him and her. They are looking in the mirror. Seems fitting, as their relationship is a reflection of their identity confusion, and you know? That’s normal. Whom I to judge what is a mature, loving relationship of souls and what’s just two confused, fucked up individuals looking for some validation. I suppose the latter is the norm, and I’m no found creature, so my judgements are in vain.

Resentment. I want to quit my job. I fear confrontation. And I’m just aching. I can’t bare to think too deeply about my situation because I feel like I’m terribly attached and it’s crippling every other aspect of my life. And I am constantly thinking, “well thank god that’s over at least” and “really dont want anything to do with them…those people from my past” How many of them did I really like anyway? Even the ones I do, sincerely, really like, I have nothing for you. I’m a twig about to break unless I grab onto a tree, and just sit there holding on, tightly.
I’m hopeful in little things. They are all I can manage to think about.
I did go to Powell;s and happen upon a reading from The Butcher and the Vegetarian, read by the author on tour. Tara Austen something. It is funny. It’s about a woman who grows up vegetarian and then due to health reasons is persuaded to begin eating meat, but searching for sustainable meats. This is me entirely. I was vegetarian til I was 23 and my ex, um, Adam, pushed sushi and a double dare in my face. And I loved him and all of his radical ideas. I adopted them and the new diet…with dubious defenses.
So hearing her speak was like reading David Sedaris for the first time, actually read over the phone to me by a lover, because he was telling a story about a childhood speech impediment and mine is still audible sometimes, especially when I’m nervous or overwhelmed or tired. So funny, as with Sedaris, Tara’s book reading gave me chills as I felt my own experiences were being read to me and I kind of wanted to stand up and shout like a first grader finding first best friends, “Me too!” I have these problems too! Like a coffee-clutching addict in AA, “Me too! pick me! I have something in common with you and you’re cool…you’re famous and funny. I like you”. But with Sedaris I curled up in bed. And with this author, I left quietly just as she ended her question, and answer portion of the talk, and I returned her book to the shelf, and bought Wallace Stevens and a steamer instead.

I like the connections though. The feeling of not being a completely solitary nitwit. I like feeling the specialness in my being special. The realization that these voices, this madness, this occasional distortion of reality is really a gateway to bravery.

I am so solitary lately, but no mom I’m not running from life, I’m running from you maybe and from consumerism and from the things that make me feel weak and dependent. I’m running from him and them, from the things that don’t feel right, like selling Mac computers and ipods and the ipad…tired.

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