dormant

...
I am lost.

I read Penelope Trunk’s blog and she is lost, too. And when I read her blog in large quantities, my voice takes on qualities of her voice, and I should apologize for that: I’m sorry.

She is good at admitting when things aren’t working for her, or when she doesn’t know what she’s doing, or when she’s treading water, like I do with this blog. I don’t link to her as often as I read her, because this space is so tiny and personal and self-indulgent and silly, and her blog has thousands of readers and career advice and prurient sexual details, and mine has none of that.

But a thing we have in common is that we both know when we are lost.

How I know I am lost is because I am staring down a task list that looked interesting two weeks ago and now looks like pointless busywork. How I know I am floundering is because applications for Nevada State Legislature jobs are due tomorrow, and I am dragging ass to complete them. How I know I am unsure of my place in life is because I am driving back roads of my town in the middle of the night and sobbing and feeling sorry for myself.

I don’t know why, but being lost seems to be related to this: I finally unpacked my turntable. And all my records. And with it, I unpacked something dormant in my psyche that is not surviving the wake-up call very well.

I would have loved for this post to be about the Christmas-like fun that was unpacking and connecting the turntable, and then unpacking and connecting with many albums. I would love to tell you about all the laughing that erupted over the two or three days I indulged this project, and how I think that the person who finally pushed me to unpack these boxes may have saved my life (and how I will not defend that potential hyperbole, because I saw, for a moment, what a miserable bastard I have been for much longer than I thought I had been, and I am having panic attacks because I might not know how to be happy anymore, but at least I have an idea that there is maybe a person here who sort of understands what I mean when I say “I feel not-right today” and doesn’t judge me or yell at me to stop feeling wrong).

But instead, this post is about feeling lost, and not having a solution for that, and finding a place to feel safe, so what I will write, instead, is this: I missed my Orange Rhyming Dictionary and my If You’re Feeling Sinister and my Pixies 12” singles and Joy Division and Unwound and Pell Mell and Sleater-Kinney. And I don't feel lost when I am with them.