It’s been a while since I biked from work to Capitol Hill after work and then home. I like that route in the darkening evening with good music.

K made fun of me for being a nerd and a redneck because I told a story tonight about 4/19 being a significant day for both militias and people afraid of robots. It was actually two totally random recent events that provided this information, but, I suppose that’s part of the point. I couldn’t think of an easy portmanteau for nerd + redneck; rednerd? meh.

Maybe mehneck. Hah. Lame.

I had a good chat with J today, as I somehow managed to mention from my phone while at Red Robin for a late lunch this afternoon. I continued to marvel at my trends of what was worth talking about. It’s fascinating what few things will disappoint me. I won’t tell what they are, because, actually I’m kind of embarrassed. I bet they all involve having crushes on women. So typical of me. So it goes.

The consequence of being the type of person who doesn’t blame others for lifes problems is that usually you just have nothing to say about it.

I talked to J for a bit about how comfortable I was with my father, once I realized just wanted me around and was always proud of me. She said that was my gift to him, just being there and accepting him and that most people probably didn’t.

That’s kind of how I am, anyhow. Not anyhow, now. I actually judge people quite a bit, but there aren’t consequences usually. I’m just thinking. Except when my feelings, particularly my irrational ones, come to play.

I’ve been quite at ease lately, and I’ve been wondering why. Consequence of the last month directly, or because I’ve been focusing so much on one day at a time and what I want that day.

Posting a comment on a blogger blog recently struck me down with the consequences of Google recently moving all of my Google Apps accounts to real honest Google Accounts, which now conspire against each other to rule. My comment got posted through one of the new Google Accounts, which meant I needed to create the profile and whosit/whatsit. My usual directory of pre-cropped thumbnails isn’t on this computer, so I went to flickr where I laughed at myself for “various stages of being too distracted to get my hair cut.”

It’s been quite a trip.

There were a lot of references in Reminiscences of a Stock Operator to knowing when to fold. In a time when I’m already hunkering down, I feel kinship with taking my losses; admitting I’m fallible and I can only do so much. Perhaps most importantly, I’m the only person I can make happy.

At least it is a fine sunny day.

What’s become clear to me, after years of counseling and countless hours of writing, thinking, and talking, is that I loved M and L. Simply. One relationship lasted years, another months, putting marked viewpoints upon their timelines. I’ve loved other romantic interests in their own ways, as well as family and friends. Perhaps life as of late has shifted my priorities in indiscernible ways. Most of all, this realization has raised a bar, slowly, over time. I talked to J about the frustration of not being able to explain to people I’ve dated without it sounding like a cliche, “it’s not you, it’s me,” of hating the feeling that I need to tell someone that I think they’re too young to understand, regardless of their age. She said this is sometimes simply an uncomfortable reality. I told her that I worried that my feelings were unsustainable and she remarked that was interesting, as though she hadn’t really considered that yet.

I don’t think my problems are unique to me, although my problem set probably is. It is the human condition, and common between us all. However, I’m pretty sure I put far more energy into the problem than most. That leaves me… certain, and comfortable, with my lot, spare a night of loneliness now and then. Far from giving up however, without an end in sight. They say love is something that you have to work at. I have paced around that statement much, and can’t quite understand the shape of it. To be cliche, everything worth doing is hard.

Love is something I feel. Growing to be a better person, in this case particularly better at expressing my feelings, is something that I work at.

Yesterday while at the fair for ARC, I was talking to an ARC Vista about flashlights. Being a disaster readiness fair, she had some of the ARC crank up radio/charger/flashlight/time machine gadgets. I told the story about arguing with T about flashlights in the house; wherein I believed there were plenty they just needed love and she wanted to buy more. Thus, I bought her one of the aforementioned gadgets for Christmas. It sits in the window in the living room, an inconvenient place for a flashlight. I suppose it was a joke, but it is a useful product. Anyway, I was talking to the Vista and I pulled out my maglite from my belt to explain my flashlight preparation. I realize this means I’m a dork, and I hadn’t really thought of it that way before.

R emailed me this:

Last night I talked with my friend Cabout what it was like when
she lost her parents. One of the things she spoke about the most was
the fatigue. She said that the weight of the emotions (loss,
confusion, new comprehension of her own mortality) was so heavy that
she just didn’t have the energy for anything. For a while she
communicated with friends mostly by text message because conversations
were too much work.

Apparently it’s typical for people who haven’t been through the
process themselves to expect you to want and need their support right
off the bat, and then expect you to get over it within a few weeks or
months. According to C, that’s backwards. She needed people to
give her space in the beginning, then be gentle and understanding when
she was still grieving a year later.

I was thinking about it this morning when I woke up, specifically about the word fatigue. It means something slightly different than tired to me, and I think it is the right word for something I’ve been trying to explain. It isn’t sleepy so much as it is worn out. I haven’t been able to work many extra hours lately, despite wanting to. There just hasn’t been enough waking time.

I’ve thought, written, and talked much about my inability to measure stress most of the time. Particularly of interest is that which might be called traumatic stress. Fatigue is probably the best indicator I have to having had a ‘hard day.’

The list of “you might be an adult if” grows to include “you have several important pieces of paper.” I suppose I’ve been used to having vehicle titles. The will and health care power of attorney seemed important, but temporary, and leaving them in the safe in Maine was easy. Having stock certificates was a bit of a stretch. Now I’ve got some original copies of court documents, and I’m a sort of, uncomfortable, about them. It reminds me of my irrational discomfort with jewelery. Although that’s worse, because I just don’t want to touch it at all.

I took an ARC truck + DERT out to a fair today for some show and tell. I really enjoyed driving. I miss it. It was a long day thought. 7:30 to 3:30 or so. Later, Mom and I went out for Adam’s birthday. Good times were had, but I’m ready for the blankets that now envelope me. Adam lives close to Z, and I got thinking about all J and I have been discussing about irrational love. It seemed, all fine. It. Everything. Seemed fine. Except, the rest. Oh, well.

So very much to do.

I’ve gotten solid nights of sleep the last three nights or so. I wake up a few times and look at the clock, but I think if I’m on a regular schedule there will be a fair amount of that. I think this will help everything right now.

I dreamt about my father again last night. He was showing me something or introducing me to someone I had never met before. Skis? His grandfather? Suddenly, as others came home, I was caught outside one of the second story windows of the house. As they came to unlock the window to let me in, I found some other way to climb down.

For years I’ve had this old photo of my dad hanging on the wall somewhere that I lived, from when he was about 22. As I grow older, it becomes clearer how much of my parents lives I never knew. I’ve thought about this a lot in regard to my father over the years, because it always seemed he did more than he did with me. Partially because “I never asked” and partially because everything fell apart, he got older, more tired, more sick than he would admit.

Is this all the more reason to keep producing, or to live more? I feel like I’m always working, at something. Be it last nights projects in the shop, my actual job and the extra work that is related, or my volunteering. Should I be spending more of that time out with friends, camping or dancing? Can I be happier, and have more fun, or is this contentedness not only the way I am, but the way my father was, his before him, and perhaps, so on?

Friends comment on how I have so many friends, family, and people that care about me. When I think about this, I figure must have already found a balance. Will I assume that for the next thirty years?

I probably should have forced myself to work on projects, and maybe tired myself out a bit more. My head and I aren’t getting along this evening. I’m compelled to have some caffeine, because I’ve been purposely avoiding it, but, it’s late. Perhaps I can read for a bit and sleep. My head hurts enough that reading doesn’t seem plausible, unless it was a comic book. I watched Good Will Hunting for most the evening.

It’s nice to believe that some day, things will just feel right. Although, I don’t know. The possibility of everything still feels impossible to sort through. The most important thing to me continues to be finding a partner, as it has been for years. That makes me feel so alone, in so many ways.

Not only am I sore, I’m emotionally exhausted. That’s an interesting place to to be. I’ve considered going home early, but, the day is almost over anyway. Mostly I’m giving myself permission to not be very productive.