This is one of those days when I wish I weren't in a long-distance relationship. It's a day of too many emotions. It's a day of emotions that jostle against each other, that fight for attention, that jump up and down yelling ME ME ME until I want to crawl under a blanket until they all go away and I can go back to my usual level of angst and unreasonable optimism.
It was a day that started out low, tired and distressed, disappointed - it's only politics I suppose but when you think there's a chance of changing the world it feels like more than just politics. It was a day of thinking that if the Messiah came, maybe s/he'd wander around the country, wander around the world, and then sneak off before anyone noticed, thinking that the world wasn't ready yet, that the world doesn't know how to live without fear and hatred and isn't inclined to try.
And they call US perverts...
It was a day of long, intense conversations with strangers, of listening to anger and fear and despair and resentment and polarization higher than any wall you could build along our borders. There was the exhilaration of unexpected connections and sadness at what I was hearing.
It was a day of wandering though IKEA, as much to recapture the magic of my year in Sweden as to buy anything. I still have to remind myself not to speak Swedish to the employees. My Spanish is more useful around here.
It was a day of relief, of reassurance, as I finally got the call that I have a new job, after just about exactly 2 years of being more or less unemployed. Most of the time more unemployed. It's a job I really wanted - nonprofit so the pay is lousy, but they upped vacation time by 50% and switched their health insurance to what I needed. My commute will be 15 miles. Round trip. Per week. Total. And it's a job I'll enjoy with a mission that's personally meaningful. So yes, for a while I was pretty happy, but the low had been there first and it finally seeped back through, toxic waste rising back up through cracks in the sidewalk.
If the philosopher were here, he would put me through my paces. He'd order me to strip, tell me to kneel, put the collar around my neck, fasten the matching leash, and lead me back and forth across the dungeon floor. Crawling. I love to crawl. He'd bring down milk in a small bowl and make me lap it up, but it would be too small for my face to get down into it and I would fret with frustration. He would be stern and scold me. he would hurt me. he would spank me and beat me with his belt and then cane me as long as it took to make me cry. he likes when i cry but this time would be because he knew i needed to cry.
he'd hold me while i sobbed and whisper that i was a good kitten, that i was his good little slave, and he'd stroke my hair and soothe me and tell me that i am smart and strong and not to be afraid and not to have doubts and i'll be good at my job and the world will survive although it nearly didn't survive the last 7 disastrous years but somehow everything will be ok.
and i'd remember that sometimes miracles do happen because how else could we have been there together, and how else could i have stumbled on someone who knew exactly what i need? and i'd snuffle and snuggle and purr, and the warring emotions would stop slandering each other and each would look into the other's face and realize that one was just the mirror image of the other.
permission granted to ignore all of the above.
it's my blog and i'll cry if i want to.