On Waiting
Do you ever get that feeling coming on? I'm sure we all have it. They wrote a book about it. I don't know who 'they' is, but the book oughta be mandatory reading: Dragons Hate to be Discreet. Excellent book. I'm going up to the parents house for a visit soon, gonna have to scam that puppy.
I get this feeling every once in a while, like I'm just waiting for the right moment to come along. Like I'm going to do something, against all my best interests and common sense, and although I pretend I'm trying to talk myself out of it, really, I'm just waiting.
It used to be summer which would bring the feeling on. Of course then, I was a little more of a fatalist, and didn't do much of that 'talking myself out of it' shit. Back then, I was pretty convinced that my life had a cycle, and that spring was for the break down of all things old, summer for the living outside of life, and fall for the creation of a new life. Sounds kind of contrary, doesn't it? But if you think about it, it is close to the natural system; animals enjoy the freedom of summer, then spend fall finding a means of supporting themselves through winter.
For me, the spring breakdown rarely revolved around events of my creation, I'd spend my springs trying to outlive the repercutions of what happened. Sometimes, I was involved in the instigation, generally, not. Spring was for deaths, divorces, rapes, hospitalizations, comas, more deaths...and then summer would come. And by then, I would have given up. And the release provided by that giving up was the ability to breath deeply for the first time in months.
I don't miss my summers, but I loved them. That's the thing about what you loved though. You can't recreate it once it's gone. You can try, but hey, look at Woodstock. Still, my summers gave me an opportunity to live in the Yukon, learn how to play baseball, see the Red River exhibition in Winnipeg, perform an exorcism on a pig barn, learn how to drive, learn how to drive a tractor, learn how to drive a big rig, loose my priviledge to drive for the next five years, learn how to have sex, learn how to break up with a man (boy, then) without breaking his heart, learn all the lyrics to Sweet Home Alabama, learn how to take a punch from a man twice my size without crying, learn how to ruin another persons life. Learn how to be myself, by myself, for myself.
Anyway, it took me along time to get over summer.
The summer before pregnancy was the first that I spent living in a place I called home, the first time in nearly a decade. I'm glad that I had that summer, I would hate to think that I had changed everything for The Kid; what would happen after she grew up and made her own way? Or if before that, I stumbled into some crisis to overwhelming not to give in to my baser instincts, and run? At least I have the security of knowing that a certain sense of stability and responsibility had grown within me, and was not just something I invented for the sake of my daughter.
So now I'm back to waiting. Not for a major upheaval (I have no intentions of ditching The Kid, and Satans Cat, and The Fish, to hitch to Tuktayuktuk for the season), but I know the feeling well. A cross between that out-of-cigarettes twitch, and the expecting-to-get-laid giddiness.
Wish I knew what the fuck I was waiting for. I guess I'll find out, when the right moment comes along.
I get this feeling every once in a while, like I'm just waiting for the right moment to come along. Like I'm going to do something, against all my best interests and common sense, and although I pretend I'm trying to talk myself out of it, really, I'm just waiting.
It used to be summer which would bring the feeling on. Of course then, I was a little more of a fatalist, and didn't do much of that 'talking myself out of it' shit. Back then, I was pretty convinced that my life had a cycle, and that spring was for the break down of all things old, summer for the living outside of life, and fall for the creation of a new life. Sounds kind of contrary, doesn't it? But if you think about it, it is close to the natural system; animals enjoy the freedom of summer, then spend fall finding a means of supporting themselves through winter.
For me, the spring breakdown rarely revolved around events of my creation, I'd spend my springs trying to outlive the repercutions of what happened. Sometimes, I was involved in the instigation, generally, not. Spring was for deaths, divorces, rapes, hospitalizations, comas, more deaths...and then summer would come. And by then, I would have given up. And the release provided by that giving up was the ability to breath deeply for the first time in months.
I don't miss my summers, but I loved them. That's the thing about what you loved though. You can't recreate it once it's gone. You can try, but hey, look at Woodstock. Still, my summers gave me an opportunity to live in the Yukon, learn how to play baseball, see the Red River exhibition in Winnipeg, perform an exorcism on a pig barn, learn how to drive, learn how to drive a tractor, learn how to drive a big rig, loose my priviledge to drive for the next five years, learn how to have sex, learn how to break up with a man (boy, then) without breaking his heart, learn all the lyrics to Sweet Home Alabama, learn how to take a punch from a man twice my size without crying, learn how to ruin another persons life. Learn how to be myself, by myself, for myself.
Anyway, it took me along time to get over summer.
The summer before pregnancy was the first that I spent living in a place I called home, the first time in nearly a decade. I'm glad that I had that summer, I would hate to think that I had changed everything for The Kid; what would happen after she grew up and made her own way? Or if before that, I stumbled into some crisis to overwhelming not to give in to my baser instincts, and run? At least I have the security of knowing that a certain sense of stability and responsibility had grown within me, and was not just something I invented for the sake of my daughter.
So now I'm back to waiting. Not for a major upheaval (I have no intentions of ditching The Kid, and Satans Cat, and The Fish, to hitch to Tuktayuktuk for the season), but I know the feeling well. A cross between that out-of-cigarettes twitch, and the expecting-to-get-laid giddiness.
Wish I knew what the fuck I was waiting for. I guess I'll find out, when the right moment comes along.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 11:54 PM
2 Comments:
Oooooohhhhh... that anticipation is enough to drive one to FITS! The most irritating outcome is the fizzle. When the feeling just... leaves. It only needs to happen once. It's like tremors with no quake. Sensual sex with no orgasm. All rev with no goddamn launch... from then on, I stopped waiting. Must. Make. My. Own. Way.
Must.
I'm waiting for money.
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