I have no reason to be upset right now. Yet I don�t want to write about anything happy, anything upbeat, anything of remote inspiration. Work is good, I closed a deal, more on the way, I can see them peeking at me from behind little barricades, winking their eyes in discreet reassurance. I was so worried a month ago, wondered if I was adroit at what I do, if these people would be on to me, find out I�m a �fraud� and send me away. But I�m not that, I�m not a fraud. Ironically, I had fooled myself into thinking I was one. That�s what I get for all of my analyzing and random paths of thought, all leading me inward, when all I ever wanted was to get out.

Out of my head. Into the world. I�m sick of trying to learn from myself, learn from my miniscule epiphanies. I want to learn another�s lesson for a change, and apply it to myself, make it mine. Isn�t that why we share our experiences? To compare and contrast, to apply and to learn? But there I go again, roundy, roundy, destination Barb. These patterns of rhetoric frustrate me, because they lead me nowhere but right back where I began.

Last night I was frustrated. I�ve been finicky lately, with everything. I want to do it all, but realize there is no time for that, and frustration begins when I cannot choose one over the other. I ended up having a nice, relaxing evening, hung with a friend for a bit, finished a book, read another little one, started yet another. Overall, a nice, relaxing evening. But the pinnacle, the zenith, was my random moment of emotion.

Nina Simone on the stereo, moaning and groaning out her words with heartfelt emotion as only she can, and me, sitting, trying to figure out what the hell it is I wanted to do for the evening. Gradually, so slowly I hardly noticed, my thoughts faded, and I became entranced with the music. Sudden trance-like state, usually something that takes me concentration to achieve, and here I was, eyes closed, teeth clenched, my lips slightly open and quivering, breathing deeply through my nose, and for that fleeting moment, overcome with emotion. Felt damn good.

I realized I don�t have to do anything. It�s okay to just �be� for an evening. It�s okay to relax and not talk to anyone, and be with myself. I�d forgotten what that was like. I lived alone for 3 years before this apartment, now living with my sister. I never sought solitude, it would arrive by default. Music and books and pens represented my evenings (at least for the first half of the week, Wednesday � Saturday if I didn�t go out, I�d bang my head against the wall). It�s okay to sit and think for an entire evening, though it�s hard for me to be there without stressing about all the things I need to do. Finish unpacking, for one. Just wasn�t in the mood, so I didn�t even want to be there to look at it, despite the fact that I would have to remain home if I wanted to relax. Catch-22s all over the place in my life lately.

To get what we want, we usually have to come across the things we don�t want. And they�re scattered around, all over, so that we step on them, around them, over them, sometimes we have to inspect them further. Touch them, taste them, wrap ourselves up in them, until we realize that they are, indeed, the things we don�t want. But sometimes, as we�re stumbling around, blindly led by what we think we want, it takes us tripping over one of those things, falling face-first into it, to realize something. That as we�re wiping frantically at our face to get it off, clean it away, we�re enjoying the taste of it even as we�re trying to spit it out; we enjoy the color of it, though we�re pushing it out of our eyes. And I find, that after I�ve finally cleaned it all away, gotten rid of that thing I fell into that I didn�t want, there is a spot of it left on my hand.

And I raise my hand to my face, and I rub the last spot over my cheek and onto my lips for one more feel, one more taste, my eyes already looking around me, to desperately look for more.

-Barbarella

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