poop beetle: writing this so I can remember it later 5.2005 So, I am done with school. I continue to work a very part time job. I am waiting to get word when I can take the state exam (sometime in July, hopefully).
I had an interview with a nurse recruiter last week. Hay fever/ allergies have hit me hard and I mouth breathed through the whole thing.
I have time, and I know I should be happy for the time. I have three years worth of - "when I have time, I will . . . lists"
My house laughs at me, it says "oh, right".
I have a stack of briefly leafed through self-help books related to child rearing and organization.
I have the human body and how to heal it to re-investigate. It all happened so fast.
I have Spanish language tapes.
A friend of mine, someone I was probably calling a bit too much said, "Uh, why don't you go down to the bookstore and find something fun to read?" (This friend's idea of "fun" is Emmett Fox or a biography of Martin Luther King, Jr.)
I have waaay to much to do for that (stacks and stacks of papers to go through, photos to put in albums, I was going to learn to play the guitar, so I could teach my kids), was my first thought.
My second was- "oh, she trying to tell me something".
So, I struggle a bit with unstructured time. That is true. I also struggle a bit when I don't know what to feel. And that's what I've spent my time doing. That thing you do when you have a loose tooth and keep wiggling it with your tongue.
I'm pushing around inside myself trying to figure out, what am I feeling?
It's a place, a "next thing" place, with time to consider, sans excuses, panic, and the kick-in of animal type "survival" mode.
Years ago for a class I read a book called "Escape from Freedom" by Eric Fromme. (I just looked it up again to make sure I got the last name right & to be sure he was not some Nazi Sympathizer. . . . that is so embarrassing, when you really like a book and quote from it, or talk about ideas from it and then come to find out the author had ties to the Klan or somesuch shit.)
So, I read the book a long, long time ago, (and possibly did not even finish it) - but its main idea has stayed with me, and that is "freedom is fucking scary". And as much as we want it, we don't want it, etc.
(Fromme was looking at this idea Post World War II- and what is it about totalitarianism that attracts people. And the answer is its comfortable, "womb-like" and the alternative is not.).
"Freedom" (and that word has been so mangled and chewed on lately- such an easily manipulated word- kind of like the phrase "activist judges") . . . .
takes a lot of thought, (and god help-us) responsibility. You forge for yourself a place where there's no (or little) man-made constructs keeping you from the "pursuit of happiness" AND THEN, oh, shit!
Happiness. That's a lot of pressure.
When I left my husband I didn't take time to hang out in this place. I jumped into pre-requisite courses, which I thought would be a breeze, but in fact were not.
There's no way to know, unless you've experienced why the words "Anatomy and Physiology" have the power to make people shake their heads in wonder.
Then there was school and a new job and a new home and new schools and lots and lots of new people with their new stories plus a number of other things, some perhaps too sad or tmi (I just recently learned what that meant) to speak of here.
And now there is me sitting in a kitchen that I promised to paint "when I have time"- and sun is spilling in through the back door, through windows that could be a bit cleaner.
And I am sitting very still, curious about what will jangle or shift against my insides when I begin to move.
