Coffee Rhetoric: Reclusive
Showing posts with label Reclusive. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reclusive. Show all posts

July 13, 2011

Not Defeated...

Frustrated... Back to Square One... Need a freakin' break... Cheated... annoyed... ANNOYED ... In need of a reprieve... mentally exhausted... have no time to sulk but I really want to sulk ... At my wit's end ... DETERMINED ... Deserving... Mercurial ... Would love to curse aloud ... Desperately wanting to break things ... sick of heavily sighing ... Want to go far-far-FAR away ... Am introspective... Misanthropic... In need of company...$ being > than my growing list of of needs... Sick of politics... Sick of politicians... disgusted by the economic state of this country and the world at large... sick of getting shafted... tired of working from this crummy ass laptop... sick of people and their bullshit... Over indecisiveness... over being over... blah blah, so forth, so on, and blah... 
But I'm not defeated... 

February 14, 2011

These and Those: Onward March

I haven't abandoned Coffee Rhetoric in the least.  My new gig blogging for a local professional theater group, as well as trying to juggle and acclimate myself to newly elected PR and marketing responsibilities has kept me busy. Not complaining as these are things I've been steadily working towards! I'm enjoying interacting with this band of professional actors and definitely feel like I'm in my element, although trying to break myself of "day job" type protocol has been a bit challenging, so I still tread with caution and make sure to ask... but I do dig these fellow creative minds. It has also allowed me to meet and network with even more people as I try to follow-through with being a fabulously broke socialite, as the theater posts have been well received. Speaking of which, the more I navigate the trials and tribulations of socializing on my own, the more I realize that I'm simply getting too old to entertain specific personalities and people. I'm becoming more solitary... more... leery... more... observant... because it amazes me how people will sit back and expect someone to expend energy trying to placate their egos, yet won't put forth any effort trying to nurture any type of rapport or camaraderie and will go on a tirade about what someone did to slight or inconvenience them.
Over the course of the past two years or so, I've gotten to know and develop friendships with some pretty genuine and amazing people... but I've also come across a few recently who unfortunately proved to be high maintenance, self-entitled, and self-important. I'm just not willing to yield to someone particularly if it's not a mutual or beneficial effort. My derring-do allows me to dance a tango around someone who doesn't seem certain about how they want to present themselves to me. I went through a trying summer this past year and this current one... I deserve to exhale for once and relax my sphincter ... even if for a moment in this particular space and time. 
I'm just too old(er) and far too exasperated for theatrics...and am only interested in the stage work I'm currently being paid to cover. This whole culture of people who can't seem to move forward unless prompted by pretend so-called "haters" just doesn't bode well for me or my sanity, because I don't need a band of merry hecklers to catapult me to where I need to be. The whole concept of "hateration" is just distracting  and it's easy for one to feed into their own hype as they get swept up in the rapture of addressing the people they perceive to be jealous booers and hissers. I simply practice the art known as IGNORING. If maintaining a relatively as low-key as possible cipher is not for you... then I'm not ... for you, because I loathe grown-up bullies and people who do and say cruel things for no reason other than to try to conquer their own insecurities and issues. Otherwise, at this point and time...always and seemingly forever... I'm still fumbling towards ecstasy, wishing my bestest friend was closer, building up my battered resilience as well as even more character, and am in somewhat of a decent place right now and hope to see it through to fruition. 
This pretty much sums up where I am... 

July 17, 2010

Fatigued

It may seem like I've abandoned Coffee Rhetoric, but nothing can be further from the truth. In addition to brainstorming and exploring ways in which I can catapult this creative endeavor into something bigger, I am currently in the throes of life's trials and tribulations. Seems par for the course. Every year, a demon seems to crop up from underneath its moist rock to grapple with me. I slay in earnest. Life's ugly side seems to test the psyche and question whether one's intestinal fortitude is durable enough to triumph. ... I know this. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, so forth and so on. However, for once, I'd like things to be easy. As unrealistic and unattainable as that may be, I think I'm long overdue for a reprieve because I'm exhausted, coupled with intermittent moments of feeling frustrated, with a dash of anger. The anger I internalize. 
As a result, I'm blocked. I feel blocked in every aspect of the word... especially creatively and that is never good and it's not productive... but as usual, I fight the good fight. I've been proceeding with caution and have become somewhat solitary and reclusive, peeking out every now and again. Very introspective and extremely determined. This summer as been hot, and it has been long and sweltering... mirages.  
I deserve and demand a break though. ... That is my petition and I'm sticking to it. 

August 19, 2009

Off-Balance

"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what wouldn't be it would. You see?" Italic
-Alice, Alice in Wonderland
I don't know the minute intricacies of the term 'qui' (better recognized as 'chi'), but my research has indicated that it basically translates to "energy flow," and is compared to western notions of energeia or elan vital. Further research and etomology indicates that energeia was a technical term used widely by Aristotle and may or may not be the source for the word energy... or the term 'being at work', activity or perhaps actuality. Elan vital, on the other hand (coined by French philosopher Henri Bergson in his book 'Creative Evolution'), more or less translates to "vital force"... electricity, life, essence being breathed into something or other...
What does all of this philosophical rambling mean? In plain language, it's me saying my chi... my energy... my life force is off balance. Suddenly, despite my optimism (and struggle to remain so), is on shaky ground. I have these intermittent moments (exacerbated by PMS) where I'm gripped by anxiety: My stomach hurts and is all gurgly, I may get a headache, my sinuses become plugged giving way to a sore throat, a zit or two, cumulus clouds reign for the briefest of moments and I start brooding. My mood becomes dark. I become leery, introspective, somewhat misanthropic, because then I start mulling things over. People aren't who or what they seem. ... Gripping, I feel as if I'm hanging on by the tips of my fingers. And I'm just... solitary. ... Alone by choice and because sometimes I have no choice. I just am. Some folks don't get, or want to understand just... stuff. Instead they want to dictate, speculate, and worse yet... patronize, forgetting completely what it's like to struggle over a hurdle or to have off days... or to just feel mentally drained. Suddenly I don't have the right to feel worried about the immediate future and my livelihood. So I sort of withdraw and become self-contained.
The hunt is an exasperating process. The climate we're in makes it seem like I'm appealing to a panderer sometimes. And it's disconcerting. Either way, I'm still hanging on. by.the.tips.of.my.fingers. My pride and ego are like an undulating tidal wave, but I'm not broken... just bruised a little.
*Image: Paul Gaugin's The Brooding Woman, 1891

January 17, 2009

Are Witch Titties Really THIS Cold??

It's bitter cold, and my mood is just about neck and neck with this blasted weather. It is definitely days like these that make me curse being born and bred in New England. I blame Canada. In any event, I can't seem to warm up. I can't relax in the confines of my home, because it's freezing. It's a to-the-bone type of chill that is simply inescapable, regardless of how many layers you hide under, how high you crank the heat up, how much Vicks Vaporub you slather under your nose, and how tight of a fetal position you curl up in!! I can wish for man to cozy up next to, but he'd be of no use to me, because he'd be shivering and complaining right alongside me. He'd touch me, and I'd probably shrink away from his touch, due to his hands being ice cold.
How depressing. Last night, bundled up and on the cusp of a nervous breakdown because the bus driver decided to take his sweet time letting pulling up to the stop, my fingers were frozen almost to the point of no return. This is with insulated leather gloves on, a wool coat, and a wrap. Settled within the warm confines of the bus, I glowered angrily at the driver, then I gingerly peeled my gloves off gasping at my blue tinted fingertips!
This is the kind of weather that forces people to walk stooped over as they pull their layers tighter to their bodies muttering and cursing under their breath and to be pissy drunk until they slump face forward on the bus, because the pain of the cold is too much for them to bear. The kind of havoc that wrecks plans, dispositions, and heating bills! As discomforting as I find hot, humid, stagnant air to be, I'd definitely take that kind of summer over this any day. I find it easier to keep cool. Keeping warm? Not so much. I'll admit the cold air has been great for my pores, but sidestepping people sneezing and hacking into the brisk air, and stepping over globs of spit and phlegm on the sidewalk doesn't do anything to soothe my soul or my mild germaphobia. I'm finding myself eating a myriad of strange things for breakfast, in a desperate bid to warm up from the inside out (atomic fire balls and coffee anyone?) Pressing lunch time errands go ignored, because I simply can't bear the thought of going out into the frosty air. As kinky as this may sounds to some, every morning and every evening, I cover myself, neck to toe in thick body butters and generous globs of Vaseline... a vain attempt to keep my skin supple, moisturized, and protected from the ash dying to attach itself to my skin! I'm a greazy woman this winter! And I'm loving every second of it as I'm triumphing over the ashiness. It's an especially mad, cruel, winter or at least it has been these past couple of weeks. The city of Hartford, CT seems allergic to plowing the snow piles properly, making it rather difficult to navigate the curbs and cross the street. Today, a blind woman fell over a pile of snow as she gingerly stepped off the bus, swinging her stick wildly into the air trying to find her way. The bus driver simply looked on from the perch of his seat, as the woman struggled to her feet and dusted herself off. A friendly passenger ran out to tend to her, "Okay, she's up on her feet, let's get going," I heard a dry teenage voice mutter impatiently from the back of the bus. Empathy is officially dead, folks. Nothing left to
do but mull over looming debts that need to be paid and drown my
winter blues in a sea of red wine. piping hot mugs of black coffee, and strong, spicy teas.

November 20, 2007

The Cure

I'm OMing the pressure off of my chest... Whenever I breathe in, it's reminiscent of weight lifting a heavy barbell and the back of my shoulder pops with each deep breath I pull in.

November 18, 2007

Regression

I'm regressing. And I don't like it one bit. I'm struggling not to go back to black. Not to become morose again. The impending gloom is hovering like a dark cloud and I'm tempted to just stand there and wait for the downpour and risk getting soaked, because I'm tired. The fatigue feels like a heavy weight on my chest and it's constricting my air flow. Literally and figuratively, I cannot breathe. I inhale and then I exhale and I can't seem to catch my second breath... because of the pressure on my chest. Destructive thoughts are starting to dance around tauntingly in my mind... causing my soul to scream in frustration. I'm hard on myself. Am a perfectionist of sorts and when I don't triumph in some way, shape, or form... I become self contained. ... And it's maddening. It's masochistic, because I take solace in being withdrawn... Ugh and I'm effing sick of being sullen! I do realize that people live lives that're far worse than my own... but narcissism and self absorbency has dictated that I am entitled to feel this way! I have a right to be a sullen, sour woman... but I HATE it!
I've managed to smile through it and roll with the punches. Smile graciously when advised "Oh, you'll get through it. Things will work out." When I really wanna shout, "Fuck off! Easy for YOU to say, you aren't in my shoes!" Even though I know friends and family are just trying to stay optimistic for me. And are worried about me. Uncompromising situations usually roll off my back like hot butter on a biscuit, but I get overwhelmed. I got overwheeeelmed. A couple of days ago upon returning home from the store... I put my bags down in my small (soon to be history) kitchenette. I didn't even remove my coat. I started sobbing from the impact of the onslaught. I smeared meticulously applied black eye-liner and mascara. The tears fell down my face, rested on my lips and mixed with my brownie cream lip gloss. I clenched my fists and avoided another one of those angry moments where I smash things in a blind rage... and then realize what I've done after coming out of that haze of anger... regretting ruining my stuff. I sat down. Money, men, wish washy personalities, not knowing, knowing, intuition, paranoia, the struggle ... sometimes it's too much. I cursed under my breath. And then I picked up the cell phone and called my sister...

November 05, 2007

Solitaire

Sometimes, when I'm in a room full of people I still feel like a lone ranger. A mirage of bodies moving, side-stepping, dancing around me, yet somehow I never manage to stitch myself into the fabric of what's going on. There, but not completely there. Standing outside the perimeter, weaving in and out of the crowd like an apparition. Selfish, quiet, and introverted as I study snatches of conversations and examine people's body language. Trying to gauge what the moods are. It's almost as if I'm existing in an alternate world while smack dab in the middle of reality. Escapism in its most narcissistic form. I engage in small talk sparingly. At times stingy with what I offer up. Stoic, aloof, embittered because I can't get into the groove like everyone else. Afraid that any vain attempt would be fruitless and seem disingenuous and forced. So I exist in that moment, in a purple haze... as if under the influence of some potent drug or libation. Dazed. And content with my restraint. Fine with the fact that I am out of my element. As much as I tout the benefits of my solitude, I curse it as well. Because I've grown comfortable in it. Too comfortable.

September 02, 2007

The Voice inside the head of The Voice inside my head

I'm a head case. There I said it out loud, finally. A beautifully broken mess whose affliction is of moderate- (or epic depending on the week)- proportions and could use some shrinking. But here I am, constantly self-diagnosing and looking inwardly sometimes, to no avail. I'm basically a guinea pig. A willing participant in my own experiments.
I engage in behavior I probably shouldn't engage in, I think thoughts I probably shouldn't entertain. Somehow, it all works for me. Weird and twisted? Yes. But it works. I'm daring, I'm self contained, I'm antagonistic, I'm aloof, I'm self involved, I'm introverted, I'm extroverted, sometimes I'm misanthropic, I'm egotistical, I'm meticulous, I think I have a touch of O.C.D., I hate hard, I love and trust almost never, I'm neurotic, I'm a hard shell to crack, I'm genuine, I'm angry, I'm quiet, I observe, I'm content, I'm sated, I'm dissatisfied, I'm suspicious, I'm passionate, I'm sexual, I'm jaded, I push, I prod, I push away, sometimes I want to hurt myself, sometimes I want to punish myself, sometimes I want to reward myself, sometimes I want to disappear, I'm tempestuous and I crack under pressure from time to time, I am also calm, unflinching, & have a stone cold resolve, and sometimes I live in an alternate universe, I have insomnia and can't breathe when I close my eyes and so am afraid to fall into a deep slumber and yet sometimes sleep falls over me without effort. ...
Somehow... these idiosyncratic things work in tandem with and against me. I don't think my neurosis will ever find a balanced medium. When I'm alone, these things are obvious to me. When I integrate myself into the general populace, these things are not discernible and I'm functional. I function quite fine, in fact. This is why they work in tandem with me. My demons and I have an understanding. We don't always see eye to eye, but we have an understanding and we've made some semblance of peace.

June 18, 2007

Hanging on By The Tips of My Fingers

This weekend (and past week) has been less than stellar. I'm having one of those days. I spoke to a close friend last night and listened to the details regarding his unraveling. I wont relay them here, but I started crying (unbeknownst to him) because I felt sad for him, it hit me right in my gut because I feel like I'm not too far behind him. It's as if the world is closing in on me and that I have the worst luck in the world... I'm trying desperately to get my karmic energy right... to make the stars align for me, because I can't afford to lose it. I'm even more suspicious than ever, at this dark place I get up and come to everyday. I'm a little more skittish than usual, testy... everyone is a suspect. I feel uneasy at home, in my apartment. It's as if I'm a pawn in the midst of a twisted game of Clue. 'Been reading my cards non-stop and meditating this past weekend... ... but I still feel unnerved... like something unsettling is on the horizon... unsettling, but something that I'll recover from once the initial shock of it all wears off. I'm merely bracing myself for the onslaught... and my stomach is in knots. I wish I could just pack my bags and get out of dodge... get out of this country... and escape everything... start fresh... If only it were that easy...

March 25, 2007

Ice, Ice, Baby... Too Cold

The more I get used to the idea of my never having been in love and of being hopelessly single, the more self-absorbed, self-contained, and colder I become.
It's becoming easier for me to be dismissive, aloof, and slightly more... well... meaner. I relish the thought of this brand of cynicism (when it comes to dating and relations), and I don't know if that's a good thing. Even though it feels right, at this juncture of my life. I feel that if someone is not willing to put in the time to chip away at the ice and get to know me and know the warmth that's at the core, then he isn't worth the Q-tip I use to clean up smudged eyeliner with. I'm worth it. I am worth it. Repeating this mantra and actually living, breathing, and knowing it, is why it makes it so easy for me to reign as the Ice Queen. I'm discovering that being genuine, honest, and up front is no longer en vogue anymore, apparently. There's no reason for me to live down to that mode of behavior, however. I'll stay single and I'll have my fun if I feel so inclined to indulge, if this is the case. Disingenuous personalities continue to thrive, and I'm forced to proceed accordingly, so as to side-step the trend, leaving callous casualties in my path. Men, women want what they desire, at the expense of other people's feelings. They deceive and lie to get it. Why lie? It's unnecessary, as the intended may harbor the same desire. So as to feel, grasp, touch, and be touched. My bosom is where heaven and earth meet at the center. It's a wondrous playground to frolic in... once the ice is melted. HE should be so lucky to enjoy such delights, if HE ever surfaces and acts right. Read between the lines, for it extends far beyond what is visible here in this picture, and is meant as a metaphor.

November 09, 2006

Peanut Butter and Peppermint Tea

Honey I'm a roller concrete clover ... Arm wrestle your mother Simply over ... over you But beware my heart can be a pin A sharp silver dragonfly Trying to get my mansions green After I've Grey Gardens seen In between tonight and my tomorrows ... where have you been In between tonight I know...don't you fight Honey can you hear me In between been dragging a dragonfly Trying to get my mansions green After I've Grey Gardens seen Honey won't you hold me tight Get me through Grey Gardens tonight Trying to get my mansions green After I've Grey Gardens seen Honey won't you hold me tight Get me through Grey Gardens tonight -Rufus Wainwright, Grey Gardens (album: Poses)
It's official... I'm slowly becoming a recluse and this does not bode well with me. I would not classify myself as a social butterfly per se, but during days off from work, I usually like to busy myself with random errands, visit my family, or catch up with friends working at a nearby museum... something. Today was beautiful outside and I simply woke up this morning, bemoaning a stomach ailment I've had since yesterday, that may very well have been more psychological than physical. Either way, I didn't feel well... the unseasonably mild and breezy Fall air would've, no doubt, been good for me. Initially, I lazed around for a while composing emails and chatting with friends on Yahoo! Messenger. I glanced at a compelling novel I've been reading, didn't even touch it. Instead, I ensconced myself in a chair and usurped even more valuable free time, reading about the latest developments of the Britney Spears/Fed-ex divorce saga, unfolding on the celebrity gossip blogs and I snickered at a recent video where a disdainful looking Lindsay Lohan, exclaimed to the paparrazzi, that Paris Hilton was "a cunt." I, essentially, got wrapped up in nothing, when I could've been indulging in something, far more productive. I came to this conclusion, but not before deciding to wipe at a nonexistent smudge... repeatedly... on the very same glass table top I'm logging this entry from (and smudging, yet again, with my bare forearms). I sprayed a rather menacing looking spider with dust spray to no avail, he, she, it, simply scurried away. I stood up t0 put the kettle on for peppermint tea, and then I sat down. I peeked out the window, I paced, and I sat down again. I got up long enough to turn off the kettle, I sat down again and I sipped my tea... I went to the kitchen once more and ate half teaspoons full of Skippy's Roasted Honey Nut flavored peanut butter (my only A.M. sustenace). Enough was enough. Looking down at my well licked spoon and scowling, visions of the documenatry Grey Gardens, danced in my head. While I'm far from becoming the next Edith Bouvier Beale- (prancing around in squalor, living in a crumbling mansion, singing show tunes, clad in a fur coat and head scarf)- I was slowly becoming self-contained and somewhat mysanthropic. Sans money or avec money, I needed to get out outside, if only to get some fresh air and merge with the general populace, most of whom were outside enjoying the beautiful weather. As I pondered my self-imposed solitary confinement, I decided that I didn't want to become one of those sorts of people, who falls prey to social ineptness... trapped and in the throes of some sudden psychoses. The peanut butter and my preoccupation with the invisible smudge on the table, dictated that I needed out, it wasn't a matter of whether I wanted out or not. So I took a bath, self-administered a pedicure, got dressed, and ventured outside... breathing in the mild fall breeze... simply going for coffee, people watching, and browsing. Suddenly my nasal passages popped and cleared (I was oblivious to the fact that they were clogged) and my mysterious stomach ailment subsided. Also, perhaps it's time for me to plan a small gathering of some sort... just so I don't grow apart from the rest of society. It just requires one foot in front of the other. Not a difficult or strenuous feat, but a necessary one.