So Many Poems

I always wanted to write, or so it seems after some mildy revisionist remembering. In middle school I started filling stolen exercise-books with anguished poems and reflections. I didn't excel during class. I was a lousy speller, almost certainly dyslexic but not diagnosed. Despite being a prolific reader my linguistic skills were considered "below average". I envied and tried to copy those of my classmates whose work was exalted and read aloud. Eventually, unable to deconstruct their success, I became fatalistic about the whole thing: some had it, some did not.

Later I wrote many more anguished poems, and later still I studied journalism at the University of S. It didn't stick. Oh, I still wanted to write, but the intense competition made me shrink into myself. I ended up a programmer in Silicon Valley. No need to ask tough questions of a computer.

Still I want to write, even though I find myself in a foreign country using a language not my own. I want to learn.


I Really Like Grits

But everyone likes carbohydrates, so who cares.

I have found something else that works for the anxiety: running. It's better than bike riding, even when riding 20 miles to work. I think it's because running is more physically challenging. Running makes me out of breath no matter how slow I go, bike riding doesn't. When on the bike I have to go faster than my average pace, I have to push, to get my heart rate up.

The only trouble with exercise is that it's hard to do it. Taking a pill is easy.


Why I Am Too Intense and Destined to a Lonely Life

Letter to D.

Sorry about my lackluster correspondence recently.

Two things are going on, possibly related.

One: I've have a severe mood downturn. Weekends spent feeling utterly alone and frightened. It's very hard to describe, especially if you've never experienced it, and sometimes even when you have (the mind has a way reducing the intensity of pain when it's recollected.) I have no idea what experience you've had with depression yourself, but I sincerely hope it's none. Anyway an attempt at description: I feel as I said utterly alms and frightened because without people life is not worth living. I have friends but none where the connection is understood, unbreakable, unconditional. at these times I imagine this kind of connection is the only thing that will make me feel safe, and I bitterly regret the actions that led to the end of marriage.

At the while knowing my marriage was a chimera. I was very unhappy, but I felt safe because there was someone I could rely on 100%. Or as it turned out, not quite 100%.

It feels like I spend all of my no working hours trying to avoid this dread and loneliness. I do with lorazepam (prescribed) and TV. I feel better when I'm around people but when I am finally alone again that relief also seems like just another desperate trick. It would do me good to spend more time with more people but it's very hard to bring myself to do it. Who'd want to be around some so morose, bitter, quiet, etc? It's hard to see that I'd bring anything to the table. Unless I drink, which invariable lightens my mood, makes extrovert, happy, but this is another kind of trick and after I am left regretting it even if I did nothing to be ashamed of. I regret it because it's not real, it's not me, I can sustain that person. And if I am not that person I am really not fun or interesting or worthwhile to be around.

Weekends and evenings spent with myself are nightmares unless I numb myself with lorazepam.

Two: work is very stressful. I have yet to finish my project, but I do have a production date which I'll hit. I have chats with my boss every morning which are often of the type where I get chided for forgetting something. I am pm, documenter, coder, sysadmin, basically everything, for this project that if it works out will be used by multiple departments. The anxiety level with regards to getting everything done is very high. Probably contributing to my general mood.

In this state I think of you. Trying to figure out how to make you fit in. As a friend, as a potential beau? I don't know how to relate. I don't have the bandwidth to play those coy little games I am suppose to. Or not suppose to.

I liked you quit a bit when we meet. In fact the first time I'd had that quite a bit feeling in a long time, and haven't experienced it since. But where to take that? Is it even possible with my the eternal emotional yoyo and distance and all at.

I'd like to meet you, you know really meet you unencumbered by vodka, but I am worried not just because it's so hard to imagine I have anything to offer, but also because I am terrified that that terrified person inside me is looking for someone to cling on to, someone to make her feel safe.

I know this is a lot. Arguably it's all the wrong things to say, but there you have it. This is why I haven't been writing.