Take Another Look

{April 10, 2010}   Lights On

Yeah. Ignore the last thing I posted. See how bipolar I get? Exhibit A. I think I had a b12 deficiency. I’m over it now. Anyone or anything that was bothering me, la, la, la. However, I refuse to delete those really embarrassing passages (Exhibit B) where I make an idiot over myself. Why, I don’t know. I am anti-deleting any moment. I must hold onto them all, even if I drop certain memories in the grocery aisles. Do I write that stuff to embarrass myself, or to let somebody know how much I care, or simply to get the emotion out of me because I don’t know how to contain emotion?

I know that I woke up with a gasp, and that I’d written in the middle of the night.  That pain. I would say, that pain again, but each pain is slightly different. I tried to escape by watching the the last 8 episodes of season 7, 24, but it felt ruined because I know how it ends because I remembered that I saw the ending with the person who I mentioned  (exhibit B) in conjunction with the hole in my chest.

(Oh how original- roll of eyes, that must have come from reading  new moon which I related to too much.) Part of the pain is my determination to never give up on the idea that a one true love was real. So, in order for it to be real, I can’t just “get over it.”

Then, there are the actual emotional components, which I do not think can be faked. I called M. Parker up and was grrly and sniffy. As I silently cried for an hour, Parker was nice for Parker, as I was especially careful not to incite any of his antigens, since he turns to cancer, eating you up inside if you do anything that he considers brusque. He did snidely repeat a few times that he didn’t work for me. (I have noticed that when people are cruel, they say it is for your own good. They always have to have a cause, even if their life is empty.)

I read the first duino elegy by Rilke. Shame on Parker for not owning this, I thought, for not loving this, and for not having this particular translator, either- (go with everything when you put somebody on murder charges).

“Dennis would have it, and he loved to read, and he always read to me; in fact, he liked reading more than he liked it when I read,” I told Parker. I left out my fuck yous, churned my anger into confusion, and was matter of fact with Parker. I concentrated on the connection I have with Parker instead of grieving for outside connections I miss. He didn’t like the elegy. I asked how he could not like it. He had no answer. Still, Rilke’s elegies are prayer to me, so I think they calmed me down a bit, but not all the way, because I was still angry at myself became I compared how romantic and mysterious I found the words when I read this elegy in the past. I could re-discover it no matter how many times I saw the words; I got ten more things out of the poem and the references; those subtle shimmering connections. Now I was way too concrete, I told Parker. Now I probably don’t see anything when I read. Now I read the thing itself and I do not see a billion associations illuminating my path like a lantern. That is how I saw the words in high school.

“I need to see things the way I saw them in high school,” I told Parker. Parker told me that making connections was the key to meaning. He used a word that wasn’t meaning, but I didn’t like the word he used. His word was vague and bland. So here, I use the word meaning, even though he used a word like interpretation, even though I prefer to quote people verbatim.

Part of our discussion was that people on certain chemicals don’t get real R.E.M. sleep. They get the other kind, which I call “twilight state” which has a function to it, but new studies indicate that we need two kinds of sleep. My hypothesis, formed over time from experience, science articles, observation, and questioning, is that people on certain pharmaceuticals miss the most important kind of sleep- psychotically vivid dreams, accompanied by the thrashing, eye-moving, kicking kind of sleep.

I eventually got off the phone and (a miracle due to vitamin b12) I fell asleep. In the morning I felt okay again. I called Parker at 8:30 in the morning.

“hello,” he said in a whisper of a voice, the voice of a robot combined with a six year old boy.


“For what.”

He had to know, even though I had probably woken him up for the 10th time that week. He never complains or mentions if I wake him up. It is considered a normal way of communication.

“Thanks for making me feel better,”I said,

(he was thinking “people dont work for you” just because he likes to repeat things without explaining them to make a point but he didn’t say it)

I didn’t elaborate. Hung up phone. Mercury came over, I went back to sleep. A f-cking miracle due to taking 15,000 times the daily dose, then again, my mom should have told me about the b12 connection sooner, I was showing all the signs of a b12 deficiency, but she didn’t know the details.

Okay, I feel sane, I will go have goals again and want to live again.

The only time I successfully got my feelings down about him was down here…(link) and there are plenty of typos. Whatever. This isn’t like my old blog where i corrected things and tried to make it about good writing. This is just therapy. Or maybe water-boarding



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