a moment of form amidst the chaos
although i suppose this is why i have journaled so many years
who to call? what to say?
there is just massive confusion and need
it's a vonnegut world now
veering into orwell
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So i clip a guy's mirror with my fat ass van on silver just now. I am just so stunned i can't believe it. What to do? I pull around the corner into a lot to think.
Catalepsis. Vonnegut taught me this word: I am reduced to a place i mentioned brushing up against a couple posts ago. I cannot move in any direction. There is no future, no way forward.
If I do the responsible thing...what exactly is that now? Blood sugar dropping--on fumes already heading to flying star, getting stuck at intersections because i can no longer get the car into gear...clutch and try one, again, three, four...seven, finally it slams in...
How long have i been sitting here? Is anyone watching? Guess I'll wander back and see if there's damage, that seems responsible, right? Something to do anyway. My initial inclination is actually to blow it off. The world's such chaos anyway, I doubt anyone is watching, the SUV owner's obviously richer than me, and none of this really just happened anyway, right?
If I ignore reality, I can hang on in this society a little longer, right? That's the game, right? Radiation isn't spilling everywhere, the EPA isn't trying to raise exposure standards 1000-fold, those aren't chemtrails, the government isn't collpapsing, they didn't launch tons of depleted uranium into Libya in another unconsitutional war, right?
I'm saving zero dollars, I need a vehicle, I need to move June 1, work is deeply uninspiring, at least the aching tooth quit freaking on me...where was I?
Oh yeah, I drive on down the block to get some food, seems as reasonable as anything...something else to do anyway. But even a few steps out of the van, I'm like, nope I gotta go leave a note and pay for the mirror. I can deal with a lot of stuff, but my conscience is kind of a sacred matter, one of those few areas left. I may not have managed my health very well in recent years, my emotions, my career path, my relationships, work, or much else really.
But I have done my best to be true to some bizarre internal compass, one that has granted me little favor in this life, that shred of morality that doesn't let me cheat with someone in a relationship, and that causes me endless angst reckoning with my own ineptitude in the face of the totalitarian onslaught I can neither ignore nor do anything about
But at least I can do this. So I get an Odwalla at the co-op and headed back to do the right thing. And so it goes.
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I'm not proud of my behavior, I am relieved. I'm a shitty denier of things, of compartmentalizing my shadows. So I feel better even walking back toward the SUV, past an older woman to whom I mention what I beautiful day it is. It could be my last moment on Earth for all I know. But it does take on a beautiful zen quality, here in the urban grit of a city in which it hasn't precipitated since I returned over three months ago.
I can't sort out the thousand things rolling around, conflicted, in my mind and the world. But I can put one foot in front of the other in the afternoon sunshine. Face whatever this unexpected contact will bring. And I leave the note, feeling grateful I haven't betrayed the only thing I have left.
I make gallows humor at work about the new combination of universal serfdom and environmental condition. Instead of picking ticks off of our loved ones after slopping through the mud all day as in the Middle Ages, maybe we get to pull off bits of one another's tumorous growths, after we get home from our futureless postmodern jobs. Aside from a romance in a dozen ways unrealistic, there is nothing left for me to care about. Planting a few trees maybe, if I'm lucky enough to be permitted to abuse my body in that way. Random moments of empathy interrupting the automation.
I may head south soon, far far south--or maybe not, there's plenty to consider. But the moment's reflection amidst smashed mirrors is, maybe--like the guy I used to work with who was so miserable in his marriage, he used to go to bars and get into fights because his said he felt better when he got punched in the face...or the dog who leaves his droppings obnoxiously in the middle of the walking path--I was unconsciously looking for any quality of contact. Maybe the SUV owner was the exact person I needed to meet.
I do know that dog, his name is Storm, and he lives in my yard.
Me, I am Clumsy Raven.
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