Thursday, March 12, 2009

Some incredible new way

Lying in bed, there’s the smell of smoke -- now that I know the person diagonally downstairs from me smokes a lot I figure that’s where it’s coming from, although can the smoke really rise through the only line where our apartments intersect? Maybe it’s coming from somewhere else.

Then there’s the pot smoke from right downstairs, or at least I think it’s downstairs -- I keep thinking I should tell them to open their windows, but then I wonder if it would be worse with their windows open. Just when the air starts to feel okay, there’s a sudden rush of some burnt animal from the tandoori ovens down the street, usually it just smells charred but not necessarily like an animal, I mean even if it is an animal it just smells charred but today it smells like a charred animal and it’s stuck in my apartment. Later, which means after I get out of bed, I open a DVD case and the smell is so toxic that I have to open a window but I wait too long and then I’m just sitting in the chair staring into space and wondering about the smell that somehow I can’t get rid of oh wait I can open the window right I can open a window but first this tension in my jaw sudden sore throat okay let me get up.

The next day is the day when I’m thinking about all the things I want to write but I can’t write because I don’t have any energy. Oh wait that’s today. I’m trying to write anyway, sometimes it makes me feel better. I wish I started writing earlier, started writing right away instead of checking and responding to email and social networking sites and all the other distracting things that are easier to do when I barely have any energy, even if they take what’s left of my energy away. No sometimes they work as a distraction or even a motivation, but then always more pain. I want to write about how at Goodwill the security guard accused me of stealing my own scarf, the scarf I wear every day. I want to write about this terrible piece in the Nation trying to get someone off for a crime he might not have committed but the strategy is to declare that any abuse survivor who shuts the memories out of their head for a while is lying if they remember those memories. And how hopeless that makes me feel, the way this critic from the left is using a total backlash tactic -- all of these survivors are liars, right? -- playing by the rules of the criminal legal system in order to win, and at what cost? I want to write about editing Why Are Faggots So Afraid of Faggots, the process of editing and how it’s so hard when I can hardly focus and I have to make my mind so sharp anyway. I want to write about all the places where I can go to escape, I mean all the places that don’t exist. I want to write about how I don’t want to write about my mother. I want to write about sex and how it keeps letting me down, and whether I can get back to some place where it inspires me. My body. I want to write about how exhausted I am, but find some incredible new way to describe this overwhelm and then maybe I won’t feel so overwhelmed.


kayti said...

I understand what your trying to say all to well. I sometimes wish I could write about my struggles with body image. However, nothing I write really expresses what I am trying to say. I wish there was some incredible new way to explain my struggles to people. At least your writing has style and humor. My writing just falls short.

mattilda bernstein sycamore said...

Style and humor -- well that's a good thing :) Thanks for the understanding, Kayti.

Love --