Hey Friend
It has been a minute since I wrote to you.
That’s funny I have never written you .Now I am trying to create a long and wonderful friendship out of pretend whole cloth. That is funny. At the same time kind of sad writing to no one who I imagine is there. This letter thing was seeded while reading Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider: Travels on the Healing Road.
This month has been a mix of being emotionally battered and broken. The primary driver is/was Donna’s Birthday and Valentines Day. Every year since her death I knew it was coming. How can I forget, same day. Generally I know it’s coming but the reality is I start to get a grief response well before. I look around and bingo birthday and valentines day is coming. Other events holidays, death, etc do the same. I can feel the events before I see them on a calendar.
This year the grief loss was there but not as debilitating as other years. It was present and respected. Not unlike the butcher you know who is using his thumb on the scale but it’s okay cuz the rib eye is amazing. I will take my memories and grief because I know they are about Donna and love. Seems fair. Doesn’t it?
Add to that I entered this 2/14 calendar fighting with myself over my complete and utter loss of drive and focus. Plain and simple, I was giving up. Primarily manifest in not doing the stuff (i.e. make the bed, polish the stainless steel, clean the shower, etc.). Don’t laugh doing those things are footnotes of meaning and purpose. And they take time so I wouldn't just sit and stare. My short story remains short and I am not writing. I still went to the gym but drifted though the hour or so there. I cooked meals but they were meh. Any and all meaning and purpose was cast asunder by this failure to engage.
For a few weeks I had my eye on a new volunteering gig. This one was real adult, real serious, and real work. Even as a volunteer there is many many many hours of training, testing, etc. It took me a bit to click onto signup. Needed three references, background check, questionnaire, and application. All good. I was accepted and began training.
Just for you friend shhh don’t tell anyone. Everyone knows this after 3 minutes of talking to me. I was worried I couldn’t cut it or didn’t want to because I like my looser status. You know my supreme self-confidence is a mirage and after Donna’s death confidence became a dry lake bed of hardened salt. Bitter and impenetrable. Attributed less to her death and more to all the intrinsic parts of my DNA and my life experiences. Baseline Baseline Baseline.
I started my online training and it was all new. New language and adulting. Nothing I could do with my eyes closed. Fine I would do it. Assessments were good. Took notes practiced. Was working on the next installment. A very important life critical part of this course. That was #2 of 5 what the hell would the rest be like. Got to the end for the assessment etc. (Less I tell the less anyone will know.) You had three chances to pass. First shot close no cigar. Second shot closer no cigar.
I am officially crest fallen (mild bullshit word set). The truth is I want to vomit and more. I don’t want to be kicked out. I don’t want to have to face the fact perhaps I am really just a looser. I see my classmates and well I can kick their asses. Pretend ego here. I wonder if this is all new to me this panic over not achieving? Insert failing here.
I owned a business I could have done better but did okay. I was okay. I took losses seriously never broken by them. This is different. Or is it. Have I gotten to this point in my life and what I have learned in the past 10 years to suddenly realize it was all a shit lego castle. I could go on and on with reasons, excuses, logic, and more. It doesn’t matter. I have to embrace my looser status. Feeling sorry for myself much?
I was at the gym doing strength and intervals which I like. All I could think about was going home and getting under the covers. Except I made the bed so to mess it up mid day is a sin. I am so paralyzed emotionally right now.
In the end this letter will sit on my site. No social promo for this which means no one will see it. Kind of me being Thoreau and living alone. Just a scream in the forest that no one hears. I feel marginally better because hey I wrote something as pathetic as it is.
The real screaming and ripping at my emotional soul with words is on my anonymous not following or any following me tumblr acct. That is where the real fun is. Not dissimilar to those phone booths where people can go in and call a loved one who is dead. Tumblr is a dark damp empty cave where no one hears you scream.
I am going to redo all the reading and testing on #2 to see if I can do the test. Just imagine if I don’t pass and am told thanks but no thanks.