Wednesday, May 25, 2005


I have been so driven this week I think I know how alpha personality types must feel.
First of all,they don't. They are too busy doing.
To be this task oriented is disorienting. Like someone pulled the plug on my heart.
I can't feel. I can't imagine. All I can do is think and act strategically. Implementing checklists.
To do to do to do to do to do to do to do to do to do to do to do to do.
What's the big to do?

I sent the cat off.
I got my teeth fixed.
I did. I did. I did.

Do be do be do...

Doing is sort of mindless, but at the same time your mind never stops. It's always planning the next maneover.
where to go what to do who to be and how and when.
It's dizzying.
I mean, I am watching my mind map the coordinates of these actions and tasks, and my body follows, and they are both in hyperdrive right now, and I don't dare reflect, for fear that reflect will Slow Me Down, Get in My Way or god forbid, Stop Me.
Nothing can stop me. i can't stop.
not even to sleep.

So I got rid of the cat. I feel nothing.
I am leaving this job, and the security of benefits, and a paycheck, and I feel nothing.
Not exhiliration. not panic. Why not? I am too busy.

Busy bodies, I get it now. I get it.
You can be so busy little things like processing information can totally bypass your heart, your reflective capacities.
it's unnerving. I don't recognize myself.
I don't want to.
I am too busy.

And all these men. Like, for instance, the guy who was really into me when I was twenty five, and who ditched me without a Word of Warning (as PL Travers puts it) and went back to his screw-him-around-married-girlfriend, four years later she leaves him and her husband and he wants to have dinner now.
Yeah. Don't people know the difference between a 25 year old in an abusive relationship and a near-30 year old in an amorphous state (like a free radical) are like cheese and chalk, only related thanks to alliteration? I really get the sense that he assumes we will pick up where we left off.

Or the married 4 kidney poet who called this morning to talk because he is thinking of writing a novel,but really he wants some unnameable thing from me that takes the metaphorical form of phone sex, which I don't do with him,because his wife is pregnant.

My problem is, I love the attention. I hate the attention. My other problem is, I get where they are coming from. Who isn't lonely and delusional? Show of hands? Cast the first stone, you know? I get where they are coming from, part of me aches for them, for myself, for the whole bloody mess and if I could fix it I would but when I try I fuck things up worse and I am starting to get the compassion of being a bitch.
All you bitches out there I used to marvel at and look down upon, hear me now: you were on to something.
Being a bitch isn't mere self preservation. It's a public service.
It really is.
You get bitchy on someone, and that snaps them into reality. Or at least cuts through complications.
Which, in my new alpha mode of the bypassed heart, sounds pretty damned good.
Hell, if I can mail a cat to Chicago, I can do anything.

Who needs this heart, anyway? No, not you, caller number one, and not you, caller number two, and yes, I will probably end up like amanda in the Glass Menagerie, browbeating my gay son about my glory days when I was such a doormat I was the desire (or fallback option) of every cracked teacup hoof and mouth shuffler on the block, but... what was I saying?
Ah, bartleby, ah humanity.
That's about it.
Maybe now I can sleep.


Blogger Boz said...

"If I can mail a cat to Chicago, I can do anything."
Words to live by.

He was gay?

4:00 AM  
Blogger Paul said...

Beautifully written! I like your prose.

12:26 PM  
Anonymous AmyJo said...

Boz: Yes, Tennessee Williams was gay. Were you being sarcastic?
Newsflash, Truman Capote was gay, too. The verdict is not in on Melville.

Paul: thanks!

1:32 PM  
Blogger Boz said...

I meant the son in the Glass Menagerie.

6:03 PM  
Blogger Jonnie 7-11 said...

4 kidneys!!

6:57 PM  

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