And one day the dried fig of her heart stops its beating
"The Curse" - Josh Ritter
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Today, all my usual little frivolities are gone. It is true that I am wearing a Doctor Who shirt composed of owls dressed as the various regenerations of the Doctor, but I have no levity to accompany the attire. In fact, I don't know when or if my general supply of levity is going to return. I feel completely levity-free. It's been quite a little run I've had here lately.
I have enough vicious battle wounds from this situation and that one, quite a few deep ones in my back, to account for this emptiness that resonates through me. I want to (and probably will in a few minutes) go fold into a small still ball in the middle of my bed under all the covers and just let the warmth and comfort of it wrap around me until I am no longer conscious. I may opt for a stupid movie and mindless hours of Tumblr instead.
I don't know how to explain what has happened because the feeling is so new. I'm not surprised by any of it. My capacity to be surprised went away a long, long time ago. But there is this new feeling, not a particularly good one.
Increasingly, I become aware of my lack of worth. (And no, this is not where I want, expect, or need you to jump in with a pep talk or a chastisement. I would just like to express honestly how I feel.) Everything I do is of nothing. So many of my students barely seem to pay attention or blatantly throw away what I offer. Therefore, my profession, that which matters most to me, is of nothing. Recently, it seems every human and institution imaginable is reminding me that "at my age" I am making choices that will condemn me to be alone and childless for the rest of my life, and therefore in the eyes of society, apparently, of nothing. (And if you don't believe that's true, you try being a single woman my age for just a few days. Just a few. Then you come talk to me again about it.) All the situations and battles I try to resolve come unraveled almost as soon as I remove my hands from them. All my care and effort, then, is of nothing.
Maybe I'm just tired. I suspect this goes somewhat deeper, though. This feels like a more permanent alteration. I do not want it. I do not like it. It feels like something is dying inside me.
Today, all my usual little frivolities are gone. It is true that I am wearing a Doctor Who shirt composed of owls dressed as the various regenerations of the Doctor, but I have no levity to accompany the attire. In fact, I don't know when or if my general supply of levity is going to return. I feel completely levity-free. It's been quite a little run I've had here lately.
I have enough vicious battle wounds from this situation and that one, quite a few deep ones in my back, to account for this emptiness that resonates through me. I want to (and probably will in a few minutes) go fold into a small still ball in the middle of my bed under all the covers and just let the warmth and comfort of it wrap around me until I am no longer conscious. I may opt for a stupid movie and mindless hours of Tumblr instead.
I don't know how to explain what has happened because the feeling is so new. I'm not surprised by any of it. My capacity to be surprised went away a long, long time ago. But there is this new feeling, not a particularly good one.
Increasingly, I become aware of my lack of worth. (And no, this is not where I want, expect, or need you to jump in with a pep talk or a chastisement. I would just like to express honestly how I feel.) Everything I do is of nothing. So many of my students barely seem to pay attention or blatantly throw away what I offer. Therefore, my profession, that which matters most to me, is of nothing. Recently, it seems every human and institution imaginable is reminding me that "at my age" I am making choices that will condemn me to be alone and childless for the rest of my life, and therefore in the eyes of society, apparently, of nothing. (And if you don't believe that's true, you try being a single woman my age for just a few days. Just a few. Then you come talk to me again about it.) All the situations and battles I try to resolve come unraveled almost as soon as I remove my hands from them. All my care and effort, then, is of nothing.
Maybe I'm just tired. I suspect this goes somewhat deeper, though. This feels like a more permanent alteration. I do not want it. I do not like it. It feels like something is dying inside me.
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And then you said.....