I am unsettled in my mind.

[ysobelle]

I caught a whiff, as I came down the street the other night, of Spring. I’m not sure if it was really there, or a memory knocked loose like olfactory déjà vu by the light and the leaves. I don’t remember how it smelled last year—I was too giddy and distracted. I regret that now. I remember the trees exploding into pink and pale green and white, but I don’t remember how it smelled. I remember constantly saying, "My G-d, isn’t that beautiful?" and stopping dead in the middle of the road—but I can’t remember how it smelled.

There’s a lot going on in my head lately. If my job were a human, it’d be getting a really nasty name for itself. I’m constantly hearing, "We’re gonna do great things for you," and then getting nothing. I did my taxes tonight over at my folks’ house, and my Dad looked at my return and made a somewhat bitter comment about how much I made—or, rather, didn’t make—last year. Thanks, Dad. I hadn’t really been aware of it before. Yeah. I’ve been living with this sense of expectancy for so long, this hope that things will get better. I’m trying. Dear Lord, I’m trying.

But I know, even though I don’t feel like it all the time, that I’m strong. I know far too many people who will create their own drama, and then serve it on a plate to the rest of the world with a "Pity me!" cry. Fuck that. I’m more than happy to commiserate with a friend, to lend a shoulder, or even two shoulders, a leg or two, and a few hands, when needed. But a long time ago, I learned the usefulness of the phrase, "G-d helps those who help themselves." I’ll be there for you if you need me, but if all you want to do is sit in a corner and cry, I’ll have no patience. I try my utmost to excise from my life all whining—mine or anyone else’s.

A month or so ago, I made what in hindsight seems the mistake of telling someone I planned to do something of which she didn’t approve. She lit into me, screaming at me and railing against my obvious stupidity and foolishness. While the whole episode still rankles, one of the many nasty comments she threw at me really sticks out: when I was hurt again—as she swore I inevitably would be—I’d better not DARE come crying and whining to ANY of my friends.

Now, not only does it piss me off that someone would be so presumptuous as to speak for all of my friends—most of whom do a very fine job of speaking for themselves, thank you—but I was incensed at the assumption that I was going to weep and wail and rend my clothes in surprise and dismay. Have my brains somehow run away without my knowledge? Am I suddenly stupid without knowing it? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result—and I’m not insane. What’s more, I know she who leaps into the pool forfeits her right to cry she’s gotten wet.

And there’s a bitter taste in my mouth that I was so, so wrong about someone. It’s nothing to do with me now, but it’s left ashes on my tongue and a bewildering sense of doubt in my own judgement.

Well. At least the tulips are coming outside my building. They’ll be brief, but they’ll be there. I’m looking forward to it.

Comments

[miscelenaclosed.livejournal.com]

Have you talked to her about it since? She may admit that she overreacted?

And hell, you know I can relate. ;)

It's April, it seems. When's the relevant event?