the long and windy road that leads to my point

I can’t go out no more.
There’s a man by the door
in a raincoat
smoking a cigarette

i have such a complicated relationship with reality, which is why i spend so much time here, in the internet. when i venture forth into meatspace, i am so easily overwhelmed by the normalcy i perceive. sitting outside the school yesterday afternoon as other mommies and daddies gathered, even though i blend in well and you can’t tell, i still felt this intense difference between myself and everyone else. times like these i am seized by this fierce wondering, this what if i had grown up when i was supposed to and led a responsible existence, what if i had settled into the world as opposed to flipping and twisting and thrashing through it as if i’d been washed ashore here, drowning in this unfamiliar atmosphere, what if i’d behaved like i was born here and belonged?

the difference isn’t visible to the ordinary eye but i am not feeling it with my eyes, i sense it in the deepest layer of my skin. and i sit quietly wearing my awareness thinking wondering what it would be like not knowing what i know, not having gone where i have and not now being someone who is from where i’ve been.

i wonder if they appreciate the quality of their stress. i wonder if they realize how luxurious it is, having ordinary middleclass problems. i wonder if they have any idea, any at all. and why should they? and why do my thoughts take this tone? there is no unfairness here between us, we are merely the results of our different decisions.

and can’t help it this is the sort of thought process that brings the litany of regrets rolling like credits across my perspective. doesn’t obscure anything that isn’t indistinct already in my watery eyes, but serious selfpity is never about the vision, is it? it isn’t. and in this case, the introspection concludes with a few words from one of the more bitter aspects of my self, spoken in a voice one might mistake for reason: this is not unfairness. you had your chances, you made your choices, your life is your own … here the reason ends, and the abuse begins, which makes this as good a place as any to stop all this whining, doesn’t it? it does.

* * * * * * *
what a lot of words that was, when all i really had to say was this: i have reclusive tendencies, because i am weird and i have many issues and complexes as a result.

9 thoughts on “the long and windy road that leads to my point

  1. who isn’t weird? you make this great page, you do the php so well i get lost coming over here, write wonderful poems, lost a bunch of weight, raised kids, and on and on. you okay.

  2. i may or may not leave a significant mark but i will make something, i will. and … i just had to say that, i’ve been thinking about that particular subject quite a lot lately and there will minimally be small time capsules disguised as attic junk just dusty words and faded photographs and some rainy saturday afternoon perhaps a hundred years hence …

    oh just humor me. don’t look at me like that, trust me when i say i have just the massively cluttered but fairly compact collection of crap to make this dream a reality.

  3. Did you ever think that maybe you’re not the only one? How do you know what all of those other people are going through?

    Maybe that suzy homemaker over there with little johnny is a recovering heroin addict and is on a methadone program. or joe suit over there was raped by his priest in grade school and has traumatic stress syndrome and nightmares every nite.

    I feel the same way that you do a lot of the time k, but realistically, even tho we have stories a mile long that would kill a *normal* person, ie: someone who had a happy childhood, nontraumatic, no horrific stories to tell… we are not the only ones with problems etc…

    I know that YOU know that, but for some reason I felt compelled to write this.

    ya just never know, ya know?

  4. but they have this glossy finish about them, this solid foundation under them, this air about them. i can almost smell a past on a person, maybe not smell but see it around the corners of their eyes, in the way they hold their hands when they speak, there’s a displacement, a small distance between where they are now and what they’ve known. and as far as people who can get an address in this part of town so their kids can attend that school, there aren’t very many of us chronic lifelong fuckups that can do that in this rental market. in fact, i’m even losing that bit, but chris is keeping it so kurtwood gets to stay there at that very desirable school, and so all’s, well, …

  5. and even if there was mad dysfunction in their backgrounds, if they’re taken that and managed to get mortgages and late model suv’s and all know each other because they have their shit together enough to attend all the pta meetings, that in itself makes a huge difference between us, since at my age i’ve still not managed to overcome anything that would make me a middle class mommy with middle class problems.

  6. My sweet Liz, I would love to come and hold your hand. But as always I fear rejection, and am basically a wimp, so I’m not going to divotce my wife and sell the house, to travel over the seas to become an illegal alien. Especially as the blogname rather suits my actual being if you know what I mean. Back to the rejection thingee.

    But I do have contacts in the good old usa, and if you really need something, I’ll do my best to assist. You are such a wonderfull creature, I don’t want to see you so put upon.

    The bfg does have resources, my dear liz, and is a resourcefull bfg, just ask.

    Blessed be. BFG

  7. It’s possible to live life outside of the mainstream, and it brings it’s rewards. It also brings it’s regrets. I just try to realize that when I’m gone it won’t matter and nobody will care and that nothing I will ever do will leave a mark on this world in any significant way, and try to live life day by day getting as much out of it for me that I can possibly get.

  8. everyone is screwed up, kd…
    Some of us are just more aware of how screwed up we are…
    Maybe this is life, eh???
    Some people have their whole lives etched across their face…
    Some hide their lives very well…
    You are more “normal” than you think!

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