the habit of being

A teacher of mine, my favorite teacher actually, said, in class, that at times I am so smart it scares her. I don’t know how sarcastically the statement was meant to be taken, but I like the idea of people being afraid of me, as ridiculous as it is. If there are people out there who fear me, I suppose I have less to fear myself. (BOO!). But I did, after all, get a 96 on my Federalists and Whigs essay, so I’m rather pumped.

. . .

After work on Friday, Sam took me to Uncle Billy’s farm, a few miles outside Clito. We walked out on the dock and checked traps. Just one fish. The wind was blowing, but it wasn’t too cold, and I felt very alive. The pond sparkled, seriously, the color of toilet bowl cleanser. A sign nailed to a tree read “Gone fishin’. Back at late-thirty.” There were young weeping willows spaced out around the perimeter. Uncle B., my great uncle really, said he saw a lot of Tillman in me, noting in particular my gigantic feet.

We drove around looking at houses. HUGE houses. Sam is soon to build his own. “I guess that one’s pretty, but I hate it.” He told me how he decided to become a physician. He told me other things. It was an event.

. . .

For a lovely span of time I lay there on my bed, reading a book. The fan was on, blowing the scent of a candle in circles. It felt like spring time with a window open and someone cutting grass off in the distance. It was lovely and short lived. Those moments come so infrequently now. It’s not often I feel truly calm. It seems, of late, the only way for me to get to that state is to explode and wait there for the tide to come back in, covering me over with a blanket of isolation and apathy. Even that won’t last for long.

I can barely help but take your happiness as a personal attack, when I’m so anxious and uncertain and jittery and afraid. So the same as always. It’s never growth on my side of the mountain. Never. This feeling of hurt is the same one from three years ago, you know it, I know it. It’s only more intense now, because somewhere along the way someone went and fell face first into something she just couldn’t handle.

. . .

While pirouetting around a corner Saturday night, I twisted my right foot and fell, scraping my left knee in the process. The knee burns a bit and has one of those annoying red burn marks which refuse to go away for months and months. Sigh. The foot is worse off. It hurts to walk on it still. Now that the swelling is starting to go down, it’s turning this lovely shade of purple, with a blue ring around the edges. I doubt anything is broken, but it’s been twenty four hours and it’s still hurting. That couldn’t be a good sign.

This month has been horrid. I’ve gotten sick for the first time since I was four years old, yes, FOUR years old. (This comes straight from the only person who would know.) I’ve inflicted a slightly serious physical injury on myself for the first time ever. And then there’s Valentine’s Day coming up, and I won’t even get into that.