patchwork

i’m having this thing with song lyrics lately. little snippets of some other person’s life encased in a few brief words that click and resonate in my own mind, sticking with determined voracity, begging for my acknowledgment of their truth. you may or may not recognize where they come from–i will do my best to italicize and give credit. most of it will be wintersleep–as that is what i have been listening to almost nonstop lately.

i don’t fit. i feel like a square peg trying mightily to squeeze itself into a round hole. my life right now consists, almost in its entirety, of the apathetic routines (NASAwives, apathetic routines) of day-to-day mundane existence. i hit the snooze button with a vengeance each morning–usually about five or six times–before i can manage to pry myself out of bed, throw on clothes, makeup, and shove some toothpaste in my mouth before stumbling out the door to maneuver my car through morning traffic on I-65. i come into work, where i often spend hours mindlessly folding, feeling paper fibers crunch beneath my hands, cutting into my skin, burning blisters on my thumbs, stamping numbing hundreds of letters and postcards and newsletters until my fingers feel raw after each adhesive bit of paper steals a few more cells. i answer the phone, battle telemarketers, everyone insisting, insisting on my time, on my assistance–immediate, now, urgent, always. i try to work as people come up behind me, touch me, hover around my shoulders, warm prickling body heat, staring eyes–they thumb through my desk, take what they want, hold conversations over my head. i have no idea what i’m talking about. i’m trapped in this body, and i can’t get out. (radiohead, bodysnatchers)

lunch is solace. i drive to the park sometimes, lay on the hood of my car as music plays and stare up at waving branches and leaves that dance through the air as they fall from an azure sky. even clouds don’t mar my joy. the scent of rain-drenched forest, mulching fall leaves, is a welcome respite from the exhaust fumes of green hills. then it’s back to work. afternoons are quieter. i sometimes find time to write. at five thirty, i hit the phone ‘night service’ button with excessive glee, dying to be out, free. then south i go to clean up messes at a bank–it doesn’t sound horrifying, and it’s not. not always. but lately there are bugs. someone eats cupcakes in the women’s restroom, leaving trails of squished-down chocolate crumbs and smears of fluffy pink icing. the bugs follow. hordes of ants swarming, crawling, moving their legs and antennae as they cover the floor in trails, always busy, always moving. they are everywhere i turn. they sprayed for them this week, leaving trails of tiny black spots of death in their wake. curled shriveled bodies laying broken in poisoned agony on counters, floor, walls. i mop them up and choke back gags. shiny black beetles in death throes, fat patent leather crickets with trembling feelers. i escape to the comfort of home at seven each night, nearly twelve hours after leaving.

at home, my room is a mess. my bathroom cluttered. i have no motivation to change this. at home, it’s pajamas, then dinner. something easy, something without fuss or ceremony. quesadillas or soup, or the occasional lean cuisine. i like the rosemary chicken. i lay on my bed, on facebook or myspace, doing nothing of interest or import until finally, most often well after midnight, my eyes close and i sleep for a few short hours.

meanwhile, inside my head, my thoughts rage. my people are in pain, people i care for. they’re all so far away. different continents, states, countries, worlds. lives go on. i worry for them, feel for them. picture them in my mind, knowing they suffer. someone lonely in germany, betrayed and tossed aside in canada, abused in texas, insulted and rejected in colorado, ravaged by debt in scotland, someone’s world shaken in ohio, strapped by poverty in montana, losing jobs and savings in arkansas. too many times over. i want to help. i want to fix it. lend a listening ear. i want to be there, right by your side, no matter what, consciously endure every ache and sore. (wintersleep, sore)

i am bound and gagged and strapped to a table. the shackles at my wrists and ankles, the cutting fabric in my mouth–time and space. i can’t move. forever alien and forever altered, floating in absolute time and space, and time and space and nothing really matters anymore. (wintersleep, laser beams)

i want to help. i was just trying to say something beautiful, something meaningful. you can’t live in the world just breathing beautiful, no you can’t live in the world just being meaningful. (wintersleep, people talk)

trial of circumstance is bad enough. hard to work through the daily situations when the daily situations are working you over. but when it’s trials of human origins, human causes–that is when my heart makes a sound like breaking glass. i don’t understand why the beautiful people in my life have suffered so much at the hands of others. violation, betrayal, violence, injury, lies–perpetrated by those most trusted few. inflicted by spouses, lovers, friends, family. if those who hurt them could see through my eyes for just one moment, could see the pain they cause, could see what i see in my mind every day, no one with any fragment of heart could do the things they do. it angers me. makes me burn, makes me fiercely protective, determined to try and make it stop or at the very least, negate its influence to the best of my ability. i want to tell them that each broken heart will eventually mend, as the blood runs red down the needle and thread, someday you will be loved. (death cab for cutie, someday you will be loved)

i have to tell myself the same thing.

i feel i’m wasting myself where i sit. in spite of the apathy that cloaks me every day, i’m burgeoning with something. i feel i have so much to offer, if i could just direct it. to feel like i’m making a difference in someone’s life, making it better, making them happier, making them more fulfilled, grounded, comforted, cherished. maybe it’s love. i suppose that’s what love is at its root–the constant moving desire to give of yourself. of course, there are many different kinds of love, but at the bare foundation of things, that’s the best definition i can come up with. how i wish you could see the potential. (death cab, i will possess your heart)

i feel torn in a thousand directions at once, clumsily stitched together. (wintersleep, laser beams) surrounded by voices that tell me i can’t, i shouldn’t. it’s not practical. you can’t say it, don’t ever say it. it’s not tangible, it’s not even relevant. (ibid)

i tell myself i can make a difference. i’ll find a way to do it. go where i need to go. do what i need to do to be happy in this life. because the bottom line is that life is too short. it’s too fucking short to do anything useless, anything fuzzy and meandering, anything that sucks the vitality from your bones. in five years, two years–next year–if i look back and see that i’m stuck in this endless repetition, i will consider myself a coward and a failure. there are other things i can do, better and wiser things, more extraordinary things…than this.

last lyrics. end on an up note. this is called, appropriately enough, emily’s song. by catherine maclellan.

When the rain pours down like this
On the working days
You could just lay in bed
But you know that you can’t stay there
Well your whole life’s changing
You got the house for sale
23 years rearranging
Each breath seems a sad exhale
Well love can be so forgiving
Gives you one more reason to live
You just keep on breathing…
When the rain pours down like this
And it just won’t stop
Hard to recall asking the weather
To send down these drops
So let’s dance let the water find us
Let’s gather round
Love is coming at us from every angle
Let our joy abound
Well love can be so forgiving
Gives you one more reason to live
You just keep on breathing…
Pleas don’t let me stop moving
Don’t let me sink on down
I can feel my mind start slowing
I don’t have time for that right now
So let’s dance let the water find us
Let’s gather round
Love is coming at us from every angle
Let our joy abound
Let our joy abound!

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About Emmie Mears

Saving the world from brooding, one self-actualized vampire at a time.

Posted on 5 December, 2008, in meanderings, snapshots life, thoughts and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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