The Matachin Dances

Events have occurred. I went home on the 7th of December. I had spent almost three days up all night attending to a paper on John Cage (who else?) and his text works and in the end it came out to be roughly about twenty pages in all, counting a three-page source list. I handed it to Dr. Spell concerned that he would reject it as being lengthy and therefore ungradeable. He looked over it and said it would do, since he could stand one lengthy paper and not a host of them. Besides, I felt I really had to outdo myself this time, since I already have learned so much about John and I was just aching to have a massive release in literary energy. Not writing extensively–or even substantively in this case has been some kind of creatively induced hysterical pregnancy of sorts. When I say this I mean that ideas and things become engendered in your psyche so that they practically embed themselves in whatever you do. As time goes on you basically realize that what you learn, and what you’ve been thinking about build up until you have a climax in which you find yourself writing without cease. I’ve been able to do this for awhile now. It actually feels quite good.

The official companion piece to this lengthy paper on Cage is a short story, Cage, in which a former fictional assistant to John Cage tells, through a sort of anecdotal style, how his growing obsession eventually ruins his marriage to his socially neurotic wife and causes him to fall in love with his psychotherapist. This is partly autobiographical, since it does chronicle my love affair with Cage, and also my trips into the therapist’s office. I’m not saying I fell in love with my therapist, but I am saying that I did have a great rapport with two women that I envisioned as the subject of this man’s somewhat obsessive love. The first would have to be Angie Henderson, who taught me in family studies at Texas Tech; the second is Dr. Eva Miller, who was my therapist when I got back home. I always envisioned them as being something of a hybrid character. So of course the name of the character in this piece is called Dr. Angie Miller.

Other things haven’t been good. I’ve been low since the breakup and it’s beginning to affect my sleep cycle negatively. Now I’ll go to bed at something like four or five in the afternoon; I’ll wake up at seven on weekdays, but recently I’ve been waking up at three or four in the morning, which is extremely annoying. Of course I’m depressed, too, as that usually comes with the territory, and I haven’t been feeling very good about myself. Just the other day Patrick finally wrote back after the longest time gone. He said that he hadn’t forgotten about me and that he’s doing okay. He’s in love with this guy named Jared that he’s been seeing for some time; according to Patrick they’re going to be spending their first Christmas together. I’m happy for him, since he really deserves to have a great guy around him. There’s a part of me though that feels like I missed out on something great. Maybe I did, but even now I remember that great statement that probably will forever doom my chances at furthering my romantic relationships: ‘let’s just be friends’. Of course I love hearing from Patrick–I wish I could talk to him right now and ask how he’s doing, but I now think that he’s been relegated to the background of my personal life. That isn’t to say that I’m going to stop talking about him, it means that we’re basically too busy to have what might be a normal friendship. I’m okay with just having one of those innocuous friendships. And of course I’m tempted to lie to him, but I can’t. I won’t. This is the only friendship I’ve had in which I actually feel somewhat inferior to the other person. And I like it that way. It’s like having an older brother.

I had called Ryan up to ask him what he wanted for Christmas and he said he would like very much for me to come up there. I feel sort of sorry for him since he is somewhat lonely up there and I don’t want to see him suffer too badly. I still have reservations about where we stand relationship-wise but at the same time I’m not sure what he’s going to think when he sees me again. I’m sure he has these images in his mind about what he’s going to expect when he sees me again…or not. Later he told me that there was no way I could get up to Presidio, since that town doesn’t have an airport, meaning that I would have to drive down to Presidio from Midland. Which presents some problems, of course; namely, that I can’t drive, secondly, that I have no car in which to drive, and thirdly, since I myself don’t want to spend anymore than I should have to to actually get up there to begin with. In any case, I do want to see Ryan, and preferably soon and when I have the money.

The house has been quiet for the last couple of days. Last week Paul and I had arguments; they even got violent. Of course I regret that now, since everything is really futile with Paul anyway. Just like Dad. Mom also bought me my Christmas present, and it was actually something I wanted, too. It was a Law & Order detective game. I was more than elated at having recieved it.

I’ve been low and I guess in some ways I like it and in some ways I don’t. I like the fact that I still notice symptoms of bipolar disorder, which convinces me that my mind isn’t playing tricks on me like it usually does. I hate the fact that I’m miserable of course, and that the mornings are usually the hardest part of the day, because I find myself so bitter about everything, hating the most innocent things, like the way people dress or they way they act. I feel repulsed by people’s good intentions now–like when Patrick wrote me the other day. I got all worked up and angry about the fact that he was happy, which I now realize was a stupid thing to do. I can’t be mad at him for being successful, because that’s being petty and bitter and I can’t be that. I love the guy so much. He’s been there for me when I needed him the most and he’s still stuck around. How many other people have done that for me? Obviously not a lot. I hate the fact that I’m basically destroying the best friendships and relationships I have because of this great inadequacy–as if I’m being deprived of happiness, when in reality I’ve just deprived myself by selling myself short. Of course that’s taken on various other forms of destructiveness. I’m basically out of control. Back to square one.

I’m thinking when next year rolls around I’ll go back to therapy and stay there for good. I also want to have a therapist on call full time to help me stay grounded and medicated like I should be. With this new job that God will hopefully deliver unto me, this will be a surefire possibility.

I want God to free me from words, ideas, actions and beliefs so that I may serve him better.