Everything I Tell you is Hearsay

i had weird dreams last night.

i was on my way to a film festival with some friends, and was going to meet them at their place across town, but rather than getting in my car to drive, i decided instead that i would take my home-made hot air balloon! this contraption consisted of an old recycling bin and a pouch attached by a complicated rigging system and filled, not with helium or hot air, but with nitrous oxide. the logistical problems with this mode of conveyance are many; nitrous isn’t that buoyant, as it turns out, i don’t know how in the hell i was supposed to steer (i vaguely remember some emphatic leaning) and i really don’t know how i was able to fit myself into a recycling bin. true, by the time i landed it seemed to have fallen apart just a bit, gone soft and flexible, but i never felt dangly on the ride.

the friends i was going to see were pretty impressed with my handiwork; some more than others. the boys were quick to point out my successful journey was proof of the viability of this mode of transport (thus legitimizing their desire to make one too) while the girls tended to raise a skeptical eyebrow.

it then became clear to me that i had somehow forgotten my money, and couldn’t very well attend the film festival without any. so. TBIL appeared out of the ether to offer me a ride back to my place to fetch it. however, this endeavor was complicated by his inability to select the correct route to my house (this, is the least far-fetched part of the dream, for sure) and ended up detouring into north Portland and getting caught in traffic waiting to cross the st johns bridge. the traffic was backed up there because the giant dam across the willamette in downtown portland had closed its floodgates causing the river to rise far enough to wash out the bridge (nevermind the course of the river would need to flow in the opposite direction to have this effect). which wasn’t stopping anyone from driving across it mind you, just slowing them down enough to cause a tie up. when we finally got onto the bridge it was not only 3-4 inches deep in water, it had a hill on it like the bridge between astoria and longbeach. scary.

after that i ended up losing track of TBIL and found myself back with the girlfriends in a gallery/antique shop where we looked at pottery with uneducated disdain until we found a back room with a robust supply of costume pieces. parading did ensue. the proprietor came around and scolded us; apparently some of the props were valuable.

for some reason i woke up from this dream feeling displaced and vulnerable. it seems a strange one to cling, to unsettle… yet somehow, it has.

*** i consider this post the first in a series i am going to call “Wholly Unsurprising Revelations” if you care to make any yourself, please, feel free!!***

Wholly Unsurprising Revelation: It is no fun to have someone point out things you do not like about yourself.

i am well aware of my shortcomings. in fact, i make a hobby of listing them and announcing them to others. in fact, i am here willing to proffer:

A By No Means Comprehensive List of My Faults

• self-absorbed: which seems only fair since i AM the center of the universe after all
• vain: but, you know, with good reason
• pessimistic: call me Eyeore
• alternately spastic and complacent: some call this bipolar, i see it as weakness of character
• demanding: i like stuff and attention. lots of both. now
• hypersensitive: i am squishy in the middle, there is frequent crying

and yet, as willing as i am to admit all of this, turns out it is NO FUN to have any of these things pointed out by someone else. this was made manifest to me this morning. it all started innocently enough, talking about golf…. ended with “Sometimes I forget how squishy you are” which, ironically, in itself was an attempt to avoid upsetting me.

sheesh. what a pain in the ass i can be. but dude, if you agree with me, keep it to yourself please.

there seems to be light shining from somewhere. it casts itself through me, but falls, seemingly without resistance, on the ground before my feet.

i’ve had this strange feeling for the last few days, of being out of my body and totally disconnected from my brain. i hear myself saying things i cannot credit. i feel like i am observing my actions at a remove. from somewhere above and to the right of my head.

i feel somehow less substantial to myself. more nebulous and not-there. ready to float away. casting about for an anchor, with none in sight.

and then, strange coincidences… irrational fears… gripping inanities… the absorbing mundane; all these become more difficult to process. to sort. to dismiss. and so i chatter to myself to try and make some sense of it. to give my thoughts weight, if my impulses, my feeling seem to lack all substance.

and i am not talking about my karaoke partners from last night…

no, rather that this seemed to be a week steeped in a particular type of sentiment: a transient, elusive, and utterly singular sort that only makes sense to me, i’m sure.

i like to pretend to be tough and/or cool, but really i am all squashy inside. and yet, even for me, some of the things that have set me smiling at the sweetness i felt, upon reflection, seem sort of amusing.

such as:

• hodie went to go get the both of us a drink of water. there were only two vessels left in the cupboard. she took the plastic cup and brought me the large glass jar. she says “i know you don’t like drinking out of plastic mommy. but, i did give myself more ice” aww. and haw!
• ranting about sisterdrama. recalling PREVIOUS sisterdrama. relating the time i had to go verbally flay boneheaded boyfriend of said sister. someone listening to all of this vitrol turns to me and says “you know, you’re a really good sister.” whaa? for yelling? CAN DO!
• very manly man hurt himself. i offered him a hello kitty bandaid. he wore it. to work. smiling.
• various grown up male friends of mine who have no children hainging out with me and hodie to watch stars fall. then subsequently telling me what a cool kid i have.

it is enough to know you are out there

i’m afraid i will lose my faith

i am going to miss you

sleeping to dream about you

love songs make me cry

i just cant stop

i’ve been wondering lately if the notion of a “best friend” endures into adulthood. if you’d asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
“uh-huh!”
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven’t even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the “best friend” role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don’t emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don’t have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that’s what seems to have happened. and there doesn’t seem to be anything i can do about it.

i’ve been wondering lately if the notion of a “best friend” endures into adulthood. if you’d asked me this question a year ago, i would have answered with a resounding,
“uh-huh!”
however, the person who filled that role in my life since i was about 17 and i haven’t even spoken in almost a year, and so now i am no longer sure.

the common wisdom tells us it becomes more difficult to make substantial social connections as we age. that intimacy becomes harder to establish, new friendships less likely to endure.

the way we forge connections changes radically as life goes on. our life circumstances, personalities, ethics, preferences, and degree of emotional competency take on distinct texture and permanence as we age. proximity is, then, no longer the defining characteristic of friendship. the accessibility of a playmate, once the cardinal trait of friendship, becomes largely irrelevant. our sensibilities evolve with our interests and we learn to make alliances based on hobbies, political leanings, fondness for drink, and countless other considerations.

and though these might seem to be a more sound and enduring basis upon which to form a lasting social connection, there are constraints presented by our maturity which can hamper the evolution of the emotional connection of the intensity and scope inherent to the “best friend” role. no longer can we hope to be as unaffected or vulnerable as when we were children. our actions are moderated and mitigated by our experience and politesse. the fear of revealing too much, or pressing upon the tolerance of another. we no longer possess the glorious insensitivity to the effect of our unbridled self upon others.

to my mind at least, it is in many ways the drama of our adolescence that makes the profound and enduring emotional and cognitive impressions upon us that allow us to feel as though we really, really know someone, deep down at their core. it is unusual to encounter a relationship, not romantic in nature, that can (or should) generate this same type of intensity once we are out of those tumultuous formative years. and perhaps if we don’t emerge from this time with a person who has run this gauntlet beside us, they cannot really know us; cannot appreciate our evolution and our constancy.

not to forget the logistical and practical constraints of adulthood. we don’t have time on our hands to devote to just being around to discover or communicate every damn thing.

and all of this being said, i have to admit, the conclusion i come to is that while it may be possible to have a best friend as an adult, it might not be possible to acquire one if you wrecked or lost the one you already had. and this makes me sad and lonesome and wistful. because that’s what seems to have happened. and there doesn’t seem to be anything i can do about it.

k? it’s been a bit of an ass kicker lately. and i mean, i’m used to sad. sad is manageable. sad is familiar. it’s the whipsaw back and forth from giddy excitement and joy to anxiety and dismay i’m having the most trouble adapting to.

as much as i have courted chaos in the past, i think i need him to mount his storm-grey steed and ride out of my life for at least 6 months. even if what he leaves in his wake isn’t necessarily the most ideal scenario as i’d envision it, to be able to rely on a little emotional consistency would be a great relief to me about now.

or, barring that, knowing full well it is more than i have any reason to expect, the whole serenity thing would be okay. that which i cannot change and so forth. i have actually begun to actively court the notion that i need new ways to self-soothe, since most of mine require the intervention of someone else. and breathing and mindfulness can only go so far. soporifics and comrades can only do so much. wrapping up in my blankie and reading my favorite book for the 14, 236th time has a limited power to soothe me.and this tends to make me feel vaguely lost and small. it’s nice to lean on people who love me when i can, but sometimes, i just can’t. sometimes i am profoundly alone and there is nothing to remedy the situation. as such, i need means to comfort myself in those moments. i wonder, sometimes what other people do, to ease their fears and sorrow. and i know the timbre of pain is as singular as each person, but i have this vain hope that someone might have a suggestion i can make my own.

i am a fan of the litany. i’m trying to create one for myself for these days…. and there is always my blankie.

k? it’s been a bit of an ass kicker lately. and i mean, i’m used to sad. sad is manageable. sad is familiar. it’s the whipsaw back and forth from giddy excitement and joy to anxiety and dismay i’m having the most trouble adapting to.

as much as i have courted chaos in the past, i think i need him to mount his storm-grey steed and ride out of my life for at least 6 months. even if what he leaves in his wake isn’t necessarily the most ideal scenario as i’d envision it, to be able to rely on a little emotional consistency would be a great relief to me about now.

or, barring that, knowing full well it is more than i have any reason to expect, the whole serenity thing would be okay. that which i cannot change and so forth. i have actually begun to actively court the notion that i need new ways to self-soothe, since most of mine require the intervention of someone else. and breathing and mindfulness can only go so far. soporifics and comrades can only do so much. wrapping up in my blankie and reading my favorite book for the 14, 236th time has a limited power to soothe me.and this tends to make me feel vaguely lost and small. it’s nice to lean on people who love me when i can, but sometimes, i just can’t. sometimes i am profoundly alone and there is nothing to remedy the situation. as such, i need means to comfort myself in those moments. i wonder, sometimes what other people do, to ease their fears and sorrow. and i know the timbre of pain is as singular as each person, but i have this vain hope that someone might have a suggestion i can make my own.

i am a fan of the litany. i’m trying to create one for myself for these days…. and there is always my blankie.