twenty-something

Something wasn't right. I could feel it in my gut. And by that, I mean literally. In my gut. I'd been in pain since Tuesday, an unpleasant, constant pain, knotted up in one spot right below and just over from my belly button. I tried not to complain but, damn, it hurt, lots and lots, and let's face it, I'm a pussy when it comes to being hurt.

Friday I finally got in to see a doctor. After lots of poking and prodding, after many yelps and moans from me, after a quite unpleasant hernia exam, and after I almost punched him in automatic self-defense, it turns out that I "just" have a badly torn muscle in my left lower abdomen.

Yes, that's right. My insides are torn.

Torn.

After the August that was, that seems about right. I feel like I've been torn in thirty different directions since the beginning of last month, and with each passing day, my life seems to get busier and more hectic. A new status quo promises to spring up soon, and I wait, hopeful, for the day when I wake up and feel it, comfortable within my new life, with everything under control.

But for now? I find myself anxious, stressed out, and more than a bit lost. Everything -- including myself -- is familiar but alien. Some days, I just wish I could just leave work behind and walk home to my old place on North Street, order some take-out from Chicken Charlie's, and veg for hours watching Degrassi in my underwear. I miss the comfort of my tiny and gross old apartment, the solace of my relationship with Duncan, and the ease of my old position. Now, even though I think I'll be overall happier and more satisfied by these changes, I'm overwhelmed by it all.

But such is the nature of change. And I'm trying to remember that, keep everything in perspective, and breathe.

I am torn between wanting to kiss Duncan and wanting to punch him, instead settling for a neutered, passionless, and at times tedious "friendship." Some days I'm ready to start dating and get over him, and other days I'm sad not to find him in the bed next to me when I wake up. Most days, however, I'm too goddamned busy with work to even think about him, or our "status." I'm caught between my old job and new, and it's just been taking its toll. It takes up so much of my time and energy that it just doesn't quite seem fair, and yet I can't bring myself to cut back or be less committed. When I do get to leave work, I'm grateful that I get to come home to a beautiful house and great housemates, but it's all still a bit awkward. The move just sort of happened, suddenly and frantically, and trying to make this new space my home is hard, when I don't feel there's enough hours in the day, with everything else, to settle in.

I miss writing. I miss this blog, and having time and energy to post regularly. Hell, I don't think I've even checked my traffic stats in two weeks.

I want more time and less stuff demanding it. And, really, I want perspective. I realize that things will settle, and this change is stressful because that's its nature. I realize that I have it so good compared to others in this world, especially in the wake of all that has happened in the world this week. And, after viewing Crash for the first time this past Wednesday, I want to be less wrapped up in the unimportant aspects of my life and the velocity at which it all travels. I want to stop. I want to stop and think, observe, be less selfish, and be myself again. I want to live.

I want to be present in this new life and in the world around me, rather than just reacting to problems, doing my job, going to the doctor when I hurt, and coming home just to sleep and get up the next day to do it all over again.

And so my insides are torn. Of course, I realize that I probably just hurt myself moving out of my apartment, but still, in some ways, it feels like a physical manifestation of all that has been swirling both outside and inside of me for the past month. And that's kind of beautiful.

Torn between my old life and all that is new, there's not much to do but heal and deal.