march 7, 2008

let go, let go.

Friday, March 7th, 2008

I’m not ready for sleep, although Lover seems to be a few minutes away from slumber. Actually, he is now snoring. How he is able to sleep so suddenly I would truly like to know.

I have been battling the most awful writer’s block; I can’t seem to think of anything to say. No, that’s not it. I don’t have a muse at the moment. I refuse to spend my time writing about things that have no purpose in my life — no real purpose, I mean. I don’t want to write endlessly about the he said, she said at my job, which seems to be the only inspiration I have for my emotions lately. Or the only thing I’m making an inspiration, rather. I realize that I need to find something to do with all of that… but not here. I don’t like doing it here. I do try the best I can to settle it within itself. I want to create nothing but beautiful stories here. Whether they are sad, blissful, filled with confusion, it’s all beautiful to me. What’s not beautiful is whining. I hate the way I sound when I whine. Complaining is one thing, but whining is just unacceptable. Although, I must say that the tension & stress of my last days at my job (last day is tomorrow, matter of fact) was making me feel like the world was getting smaller & smaller, & I was shrinking but yet about to explode. I suppose only I could understand that analogy, but nevertheless, I was quite happy when the clock read ‘3:00′ & I hurried to my car, grateful to be out of that container. Coincidentally, one of my co-workers must have noticed my obvious discontentment, for while I was mournfully staring out the window, people watching, he exclaimed, “Don’t worry… you’ll be out soon” as if I were a caged bird. That’s when it hit me… I feel like I am in a caged bird. Not necessarily just in the work sense, but in this whole life completely. The other day, I got terribly mad at myself — no, not mad; ashamed — because I masturbated to porn. As if there is this image I must uphold. Not even to the world, but to myself. & I realized then that all of my unhappiness, all of my constrictions come from me. I do this. I am the Oppressor. Because I am certain that I will not get stoned or receive 90 lashes for watching porn & pleasuring myself to it. I see this now, but in that moment, I felt ridiculous & foolish & dirty. Even as I type this, I am squirming in my seat a little, recalling how awkward it felt to be in my skin at that time.

Nobody understands this better than I do, but I feel like all of my life I have been performing. Giving people an idea of who I was just because it was easier to do that sometimes than to just be myself. There have been quite a few times where I have, without even thinking, let myself go for just that one moment. To the point where I am not thinking about anything, I am just being. I am just living. What a startling experience this is for someone like me. To go against everything I have “worked for” seems foreign. Hearing myself speak about this makes me feel like I am a horrible person. Like Hitler, or something. As though i have created a concentration camp for myself. I suppose I need to finish reading The Voice of Knowledge by Don Miguel Ruiz. He speaks about this in his book…

I wonder if I am the only person that does this… to themselves. I mean, of course people do this, but to this extent. Why is it that I choose to befriend people so easily, to love them & accept them for who they are, even to put up with their bullshit, but when it comes time for me to show myself love & understanding, I can’t? I give everyone the benefit of the doubt but myself. I am far too kind for my own good, I guess. That never hurt anyone, but I somehow need to reverse this kind of thinking. Kill myself with kindness. I try to do that as much as possible, even in the simplest of gestures. For instance: going shopping, taking a hot shower, relinquishing my thinking for a little while & just doing whatever I feel like doing. These are wonderful ways… but I’m sure there are better, deeper means of how to let go.

Lover is now snoring so loudly that my heart just skipped a beat. How could one tolerate that sound & yet be able to sleep so comfortably? It would scare the dickens out of me to hear myself snore like that. I would never get to sleep. That would be miserable; imagine someone not being able to sleep because he’s an avid snorer & every time he drifts off, he wakes himself up. Wretched.

I will take this chance to use my blessing of not being a snorer & get some sleep. All the while hoping that I will not be kept awake tonight; by my own thoughts about Ev’Yan Hitler… &/or Jonathan’s snoring.