friday flux

ive had one of the most confusing days in awhile, my kids were happy, we laughed all afternoon, i had two parents tell me how much their kids talk about me and i finished grading papers before i left work, left a mountain of red and purple check marks, pages of notes on 12 year old stories on my desk, to sit, for the weekend, while i go live my life. and it was a great day, despite the thought, like a tumor, ever present, silent and destructive, that it is all just a big show. a big joke. i keep scratching at the surface, clawing at my cheeks and rubbing my eyes red and puffy and i cry on the N train and dont even care that my hair is sticking to the back of my neck and ive sweat through my shirt. i want the outside to look like the inside and inside i feel like a mess. ive got a new soundtrack and run around the city with it playing on repeat, repeat repeat over until im able to pretend i know all the words and pound along angrily, fingertips to wrist, push it out, get it out, and its never rough enough, the bruises never dark enough. im never enough. something about today has me a wreck, sick to my stomach, i cant make this up, im just floating and waiting and waiting for something to break, to crack, to fall around me. we wait for things instead of taking action and i just dont know how to do this. i want to throw my hands up at you, i want to shrug my shoulders and say maybe im not cut out for this. maybe i feel too hard, to much, and all i want is a space to feel it, to carve out a hole, a room, a trailer, some space in your heart for me to be. to just be. and if i cant make a home in you, then im lost, i dont know what the fuck im doing at all.

i need to move here, fall away, explore the forest and write for hours at a time....you can come visit if youd like, and id make you tea. and wed talk about life....in a very removed sort of way...

http://sfbay.craigslist.org/nby/apa/878977211.html

today im scaring myself and i hate it and cant help it when i get like this. all lock jawed and frozen, tiny hands trembling and shifty feet, left and right, i make others uncomfortable and no one can stand to be around me. i cant even stand myself but i wont make myself get up off my bed, i wont move around or go outside or change the song blaring through the walls. i wont because i cant, because im not ready and thats my shit. im trying to figure it out and learn and grow up and im in between all these things i want and throwing it all over the bridge and swimming for safety, swimming past the breakers into nothing and in the end what looks like drowning might just be surviving. what looks like swimming might be sinking and i sense us running out of breath.

you could never write me like i wrote you. no one could. ive made this impossible for everyone, for anyone to get close to me and for me to feel safe with anyone at all.

so we take shots, we dance wildly in our rooms, we cry for no reason or for everything, we pour ourselves into each other and laugh and shrug shoulders and use genuine glances to try and convey what we ultimately ultimately in our deepest realist hearts desire. and we just keep moving, shuffling along, breaking the wishbone, tying the cherry, crossing our fingers and following the yellow brick road. dayna yells from the other room "can it just work out for me, one, just one time!?" and its real, everything that were feeling and saying and wanting is real, its real, its real.