September 14, 2012 § Leave a comment
In order to absolve irony of the dictatorship of my fate and the responsibility of my actions, I have had to slough off cynicism as well. Cynicism is to self-pity as arrogance is to low self-esteem: a shield from and hyperbolic simulacrum of the reality created by a hatred and jealousy of all we want that we feel inadequate to attain. Is it better to pretend we don’t want it than to grovel after it? Does pride have to go, too? until all that’s left is self-responsibility, the nakedest burden? No one made me unable to tell her what I needed to tell her when it needed telling. No one made me write that email or send those flowers or scroll those words across my computer screen. Did she have anything to do with the way I felt about her?
September 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
That we never lived prevents me from killing us. That I have nothing of Herself prevents me from getting rid of it. I create the conflicts, pick the fights. Absent foes, I am stuffing pillowcase effigies to stab until the peanuts run out, killing nothing, dissipating no anger–solving nothing. I am nothing more than frustrated with narcissism: I can’t enjoy it. I haven’t given myself permission to embrace the things I love and get rid of what I don’t need, instead of whingeing about how I can’t shake her, when I know I don’t want to. Why would I want to? As I fight myself, she has become more real, more human. That’s what I want, but I’m too used to self-pity. I’ll be done flagellating when I’m down to a cat-o-two-tails. I wanted to show her what I loved. I couldn’t, and I judged those things useless. If I couldn’t read, watch or listen to something because she does or might like it, then why have it? Because I still like it, and if she comes attached to it, I have to like her, too. Why fight that? The only bad memories I had were of my self-rue-ination. Head or heart: Which played the bigger trick on the other?
January 12, 2012 § 2 Comments
With all the respect I’ve lost, I still like my job. I know where I stand there, but that’s in a humble place, and it’s uncomfortable. I don’t want to live in that shame anymore–at least not all of it. I will be a while sloughing it off. I get cynical and aloof, but I’m just feeling lonely. Self-pity, envy, missed opportunities for compassion: I lie low then. That’s most of the time. The rest of the time, I’m nice, almost talkative. I can reach out a little ways. Whichever person I am on a given day, I like what I do, assisting the free dissemination of information to people who still read. My employer does not have that same commitment. I hope I am gone before the county has completed turning its library system into a chain of bookstores and proportionally reducing my salary to a wage and my importance to nil.