Deep into the Navel

When I feel depressed, I feel like I am trapped under an iron bar, with that bar across my chest, preventing me from getting up. Maybe this is a heavy heart? I hadn’t felt it for a long time.

But when I woke up to this:

this

This is maybe not that illustrative. But what I mean to show is that I woke up at 7AM and the dots had been dancing in the mustard since around midnight.

BAR. This is not even close to being the worst d-error I’ve made, but it felt atrocious and unforgivable. The whole time I walked the dog that morning I just felt like BAR BAR BAR BAR BAR and thought about how bad it was.

The section of my brain that causes d-guilt (Area 1) must be adjacent to the long-term storage tank for memories of myself being an asshole (Area 2), because the frenetic activity in Area 1 seems to have jostled the cap off of Area 2.

The most haunting newly revealed memory has been the look (circa mid-1990’s) on Handsome Frat Boy X’s face when I accidentally but maybe on purpose said, when he was standing nearby, that it must not be that hard to get a Fulbright this year because [HFBX] got one. He didn’t know me and probably didn’t care what I thought, and maybe didn’t even hear me, and I’m sure he’s yucking it up on a yacht right now while I’m all BAR BAR BAR. But this week the memory of the glint of possible hurt in his eyes came back to me and BAR: You are a terrible horrible no good very bad person.

I got trapped in this Area 1-Area 2 morass.

  • I was intentionally mean to that guy.
  • I can’t do diabetes right (as a parent or even as a test subject/quasi-patient.)
  • All of my pants are loud; why don’t I have a normal pair of chinos or jeans?
  • I do not deserve this nice dog.
Railroad train pajamas = all wrong.

Railroad train pajamas = all wrong, but at least he had some plain chinos.

My only plan to escape this cycle is: acquire some very plain pants, pat the dog, keep mouth shut.

The day after the unimpeded mustard frolic, we went to church, and in Joys and Sorrows someone’s Joy was something about a someone getting a Fulbright (BAR) and the sermon had a Yom Kippur theme. This holiday seems like a time for facing up to all of the things that are deeply, deeply wrong with you. (BAR BAR BAR BAR BAR.) The whole time I was knitting a hat for Jack, but I couldn’t actually knit, because the yarn was in a fraying ferret nest of a tangle. And I was sitting in a sunny pew, which felt nice at 10:30AM but by 11AM was just sweaty. Hot, knotted yarn, loud pants, actual hot mess, BAR.

When we got home, I Googled HFBX + Fulbright and clicked on the investment firm where HFBX now works and learned the CEO of his firm is a guy named Barr. (BAR.) Then I watched some videos of him analyzing stocks on CNBC and thought maybe his eyes look kind of hurt feelings-y all of the time.

As a (bonus!) part of this navel-gazing extravaganza, I noticed that this time last year was my family’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Era: dog thing, family split up for TrialNet, celiac diagnosis. Maybe part of this (feeling) is that (experience).

Some eras are like that. I think I will go to J. Crew.

 

 

 

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