Do it, fluid

Alice through the looking glass clock

Then she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from the old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest was as different as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall next the fire seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the chimney-piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the Looking-glass) had got the face of a little old man, and grinned at her.

So I think it’s part of what I am.

Reminder, or disclaimer, or statement, or declarative sentence, at the very least: what one is and who one is are very closely related, but are not the same. If one is a woman, then that affects greatly who one is, but one is so much more than a woman to me. This can be extrapolated ad nauseam,  to include race, gender, disability, and so forth.

I am currently stuck in a vortex. I think it has to do with what I am. I’m stuck in a warp of current, past and present all slurped on top of each other like a big bowl of linguine. I wake up, and I can’t tell if it’s morning or night or the next day or the same day. I can’t tell if I’ve slept an hour or all night. I have to look at the clock. Sometimes it’s only an hour. Sometimes it’s five. Sometimes it’s ten. I’m serious. I am not able to tell right now how much time has passed. I keep missing my afternoon meds because I can’t tell that it’s afternoon. The thinness of the sunlight isn’t helping. It makes it hard to discern what time of day it is. There are fewer clues to tell what’s supposed to be going on.

It’s terribly confusing. It’s not painful in itself, but the rest of me is a little pained right now. I know I don’t deal with stress well, and I’ve had some stress the past couple-few weeks. Where other people eat, or spend money, or sext people they shouldn’t, I get caught in the web of space-time continuum spiders. I don’t know if it’s better or worse for me. It’s just how it is here. Ain’t like it’s going away so there’s no use in speculating on life without it.

So life is really thick right now. Lots of eddies of time swirling around, and the minutes seem to happen again and again and again. It’s hard because there’s so much to be done and it all needs to be done now. It means I’ll get a lot of unpleasantness experienced at once, as if they did your taxes at the dentist office while you had a pap smear and someone was tuning up your car and dry cleaning your clothes (I should open that business), but I’m bound to forget a lot. I’m a bit flaky, if you haven’t caught on by now. I’m sorry to shatter your image of me as a rock-solid individual. No, I’m more of a pie crust lady. Golden, delicious, layered, full of goodness, and greasy. And likely to fall apart on you.

I don’t know how long this will last. Time issues are, unfortunately, highly contagious to sane members of the public. How contagious? Almost as contagious as stupid. I’ve been isolating myself. All I have to do is forget myself and say, “Jeez, this is a weird week, isn’t it?” and I’ll have spread it all over, like hourly typhoid or something.

But I’m pushing through. No longer hiding under the rock, like I was for a year or two. I’m dazed, and terribly misunderstanding what the fuck is going on, like a tottering old delirious lady (my mother had a friend who came down with delirium. It was very sad and scary), but I’m doing the best I can to show up these days. An insane person show up, I guess it is. (Don’t think I’m doing it all juggalo, please. I understand how magnets fucking work. And I like real hip hop.) I don’t think sane people think yesterday, today and tomorrow happen at once. Ah well.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s