9:28 a.m. - April 28, 2003
An hour to kill and I do nothing
Last night Bathsheba telephoned and as always, it was good to talk with her. I see myself pulling away from her and others, find myself putting on a smile and joking, looking for reasons and opportunities to disconnect. If pressed, I would say this ambivalence is fueled largely by envy and uncertainty; talking with people highlights - hits me in the face - how much I want and don't have. I want to live, I want to laugh, I want to feel confident to call someone up and talk on the phone, hang out with in person. It goes without saying that fundamentally, I want to like myself.
Bathsheba asked me to list a few things that I like and I had a difficult time moving beyond the scent of fresh-cut grass and crisp, white cotton sheets. I'd deliberate and then she'd pipe up, What else? and really, I could think of nothing. It's ambivalence, ennui, anomie. I feel like a rusty machine, feel trapped inside a space that's shrinking, jettisoning likes, dislikes, friends, left and right to make more space in a futile gesture. Can you drown by breathing? That's what it's like.
And I sit here whining, complaining, revealing unsavory bits of myself and I wonder if I'm looking for pity - I'm not - an explanation, something. This is my tabula where I can talk to myself because just as I'm closing off from you, I'm closing off from myself. How can that be? But it's true. I'm on auto-pilot, back to working 50+ hours per week, participating when necessary, doing my job well. I am tired of myself.
I tell myself it's worth hanging on, that I'll find something, realize something, reconcile the disparate parts of my life.
I say that the same way I say Good job! and don't mean it at all.
