Changing relationships--work, church, or major routines--make me behave kind of oddly. I don't know how to read myself, or how other people will read me.
Trying to resolve my choir crisis, I printed out two of my own blog pieces (Psalm 51 and Aspie reads the Book of Numbers), and the inside cover of Loud Hands, and left them with my vicar. (The inside cover of Loud Hands lists the names, ages, and manner of death of people 26 years old and under, murdered by their own kin. I added a note: "What do you think those of us who survive have to do to just live?")
Sometime I will have to wrestle with my own history at the hands of those who wished violence upon me, and attempted it. But not today.
There's a videoconference coming up on ADHD and "Executive Function" that's been very quietly advertised--an unusual topic for that congregation. I felt a niggling feeling that I should do something. I can't decide if I belong to church or not--although I do show up for readings, and managed to take communion. Choir I think I've probably quit, although the public story is that the vicar, the music director, and I all decided I would "step away" for a while. I feel angry and achey about it--at the last church, the problem was adult education, and that I would up explaining things too deeply (and, possibly, making it too serious), And when I walk away, I get Grief Prints.
I've finished my last contractually obligated deliverable for work, and am now unemployed again. I miss my work team already. There's no parting ritual, except the one I made up: I'll write notes to each person who made a positive difference and mail it, because it hurts to much to just walk out of the conference room and never see them again. I left the room with my usual aspish clumsiness: couldn't decide if it was good manners to interrupt people and shake hands, or offer my notes; did some hovering, left, came back, left again; finally just kept going, alone to the elevator and down to the silent lobby, and out to the rain. I felt like an undecided hornet that couldn't commit to landing on a blade of grass. I flew away at last, thinking, there's a better way to do this, isn't there?
In general, I don't know how to read the face I present. Two people on this forum have written me that the person I am in a PM presents a different aspect, or feeling, or something, than how I feel in the threads. I don't know how the blog voice is the same or different. I know that I'm cautious about being personal in the threads, with rare exceptions. I rely on being knowledgeable and academic, and startled to find myself so often dry, almost arid. Like the tears I cry, more salt than water; I weep rocks. They glitter in the sun, and no moss grows on them.
Trying to resolve my choir crisis, I printed out two of my own blog pieces (Psalm 51 and Aspie reads the Book of Numbers), and the inside cover of Loud Hands, and left them with my vicar. (The inside cover of Loud Hands lists the names, ages, and manner of death of people 26 years old and under, murdered by their own kin. I added a note: "What do you think those of us who survive have to do to just live?")
Sometime I will have to wrestle with my own history at the hands of those who wished violence upon me, and attempted it. But not today.
There's a videoconference coming up on ADHD and "Executive Function" that's been very quietly advertised--an unusual topic for that congregation. I felt a niggling feeling that I should do something. I can't decide if I belong to church or not--although I do show up for readings, and managed to take communion. Choir I think I've probably quit, although the public story is that the vicar, the music director, and I all decided I would "step away" for a while. I feel angry and achey about it--at the last church, the problem was adult education, and that I would up explaining things too deeply (and, possibly, making it too serious), And when I walk away, I get Grief Prints.
I've finished my last contractually obligated deliverable for work, and am now unemployed again. I miss my work team already. There's no parting ritual, except the one I made up: I'll write notes to each person who made a positive difference and mail it, because it hurts to much to just walk out of the conference room and never see them again. I left the room with my usual aspish clumsiness: couldn't decide if it was good manners to interrupt people and shake hands, or offer my notes; did some hovering, left, came back, left again; finally just kept going, alone to the elevator and down to the silent lobby, and out to the rain. I felt like an undecided hornet that couldn't commit to landing on a blade of grass. I flew away at last, thinking, there's a better way to do this, isn't there?
In general, I don't know how to read the face I present. Two people on this forum have written me that the person I am in a PM presents a different aspect, or feeling, or something, than how I feel in the threads. I don't know how the blog voice is the same or different. I know that I'm cautious about being personal in the threads, with rare exceptions. I rely on being knowledgeable and academic, and startled to find myself so often dry, almost arid. Like the tears I cry, more salt than water; I weep rocks. They glitter in the sun, and no moss grows on them.
Do tears not yet spilled
wait in small lakes?
wait in small lakes?
Or do they run in rivers to sadness?
--Pablo Neruda, The Book of Questions
