No tears today.
Today no tears.
Tag Archives: crying
I feel a curvature in my stomach, a sensation preceding tears.
She doesn’t want to do the “right” thing, just create a crisis. “Ask the hard questions.” And who was so careful here? And who gave such good advice? And who worked through tears watering the pity plants the plants of plot the plot of price the price of play. And who uses paints? And what’s the picture?
there are crumbs on my page
small blueberry stain on my thumb
my eyes are slightly sore from crying
yoga this morning—touched a fault line, a fault line in the striving earthcrust. I felt it, almost like a pop, like my back or neck went out, but maybe this time it was my will. A trickle of sadness like defeat (Step 1).
I am really struggling with a lot of questions—
- WRITING (I crave my eerie freedom)
- Relationship—how much is too much
- Dharma friendships (Batchelor)
- The coffee doesn’t taste like coffee
- America
- and where to go from here
Maybe this is the tail end of my tenure working I am certainly chafing under all the structure I felt Linda closing the lid down on my dear chaos Friday and I wanted to cry especially since there was no way to explain EXPLAIN—
pressures pressures decompression after Eli’s birthday party yesterday my eyes my eyes my moon
march 14, 2007
Unashamed evaluation. Here in Starbucks, tears behind my eyes unreasonable. Feel pressure to make phone calls—Kristin, Lorna, Margaret, and I don’t want to do it. Feel the competition of Stamford, everyone is out. Feel a freaky drama starting in the house, so tied down, so unhappy, so oppressed, so much by what who knows the lack of private time, the restriction on my inner life my meditation my suffering over inability to recharge? Yes, I am an aging Ipod mini battery so
Thirsty and so suffering—it’s been coming up for hours, weeks, and months—I put it down (PUT IT DOWN) you see and there it is again this vagueness this unease the only solution that I want
Luckily no tears—K stopped by to say hi—my friend—oh well.
I could have a nervous breakdown at work, I could start sobbing, sobbing with frustration at the restrictions placed on me there. “Structural violence.” Yet I accept it, this solution to my insecurity.
Do eccentrics have this sadness? Do hermits? Do religious believers? I would like to know. But there are things I can’t change about myself, things I have to accept.
One of those is tears springing to my eyes. I am a frequent cryer at any little adversity.
It’s familiar to shame I felt as a child. It’s a familiar syndrome.