Yesterday was a sleeping day: not at all a normal thing for me. I developed a fever for some reason after working the previous day at an indoor tourney in Brookings, which incidentally led to me purging myself of all the pain meds I’ve been on for the retreated root canal and the hand injury. It was a “detox” day, if you will. And, since the highly incurious eldest boy was ignoring me all day, I was left to myself, so fuggit, I got a lot of sleep. He never once asked what was wrong, why I didn’t head back up to the tournament, anything. The kids are so much like their mother, it’s insane.
Anyway, when I wasn’t sleeping, I was lazing about and thinking. Part of that was listening to a body no longer excommunicated from its own brain by virtue of pain meds, and part of it was the standard, predictable introspection that always hits me when I have time to myself. Usually, these thoughts fly in circular patterns that wind up going nowhere and doing very little for me, but yesterday was different, I guess. I at least managed to pinpoint the seat of my displeasure with my life.
And it is, succinctly, that being a “giver” without attachment to anyone to give to, is absolutely the worst place I could possibly be in right now. I’m not special, in any appreciable way, to anyone. Those that humor me (and I daresay themselves) by telling me that I’m special to them are all hundreds of miles away, and we actually communicate less than I do with some local people who wouldn’t even think to call me “special” by any remote stretch. I’m perfectly fine with being on my own; I’m comfortable being a loner, for the most part, and taking care of myself. That’s not what I’m talking about. There’s a certain solace in knowing that at least one other person out there holds you in a regard that is unique among all the other regards in which they hold the people in their lives, and that is what I lack. I have been lacking that for quite some time–probably more than a decade, if people were actually honest with themselves, and with me.
The baseline juxtaposition to this is, of course, that I’m in no hurry to be anyone’s man. That is a process that takes copious amounts of time, and time is a thing which I largely do not have. That I have more of it over these winter months is nice and all that, but it’s by no means representative of my normal reality, and of course, even this winter has been stilted and random at best, in terms of availability. So, I’ve tried to make myself available, fully aware of what the months ahead will do to me, but it hasn’t led anywhere, because the ones I’m available to are just as busy as I am (if not more so, actually), and well, it’s not like anyone (including myself) is taking it seriously, anyway.
So, I’m stuck. I need to give, I want to give; these are parts of my fundamental makeup. But I have no one to give to, and it’ll be a long time before I do. Somehow, I’ve got to figure this out, and of course, I’d prefer to figure it out without the need to (once again) fundamentally change who I am.
And even an entire day spent thinking supposedly-unenslavedly about these things has led me nowhere. That, more than the situation itself, rubs me more raw than I can describe.