definition of space

thanks to a fellow friend's post, i've been thinking about definitions of space, and how i deal in different spaces at different times, and how i expect each space to function separately in my life. these past couple of weeks have been weeks of revelations about many things dealing with relationships, with careers (as writers), with dealing with difficult people, as well as myself.

on spaces: i find that i compartmentalize almost everything, with little or no cross-over. letting people into these sequestered kingdoms is where it gets hard and difficult, sometimes painful. it's like this: here is my apartment. here is my room, only i can inhabit it. here is my heart, it is mine. maybe this, too, is a commentary on sharing? my work is compartmentalized, also. my work life and my living life are separate. my room is for sleeping. my apartment is for living. i must find other spaces to write, to engage the creative space, the working space. rarely will i bring papers home to grade. rarely will i write a poem (or intend to write a poem, though sometimes a poem demands to be written where ever i am) in my house, in my room, on my bed. my computer never enters my room. that is in my living space.

my friends, too, i find are compartmentalized: here are my writer friends. here are my crazy i-want-to-go-out-and-act-ridiculous friends. here are my now-its-time-to-think-deeply friends. rarely is there cross over. birthdays and special event gatherings are always difficult this way, and i generally find myself celebrating in different spaces with different people, wearing different hats.

and if i'm to be brutally honest with myself, that goes into relationships, too. even if there is an extreme interest in someone, i shy away from them if i know we know a lot of the same people, if i know that i will be unable to keep those lives separate and compartmentalized, or if there is a grey line between friendship and lover. perhaps i'm speaking too much, now. but this is part of the dealing, right? admitting the problems, putting them out into the open. "hi my name is delana, and i'm a compartmentalizer."

outside of relationships, and thinking of myself academically, i worked hard to keep things separate. i majored in history, and saved my poetic writings for outside the academy. my writing life and my life as a student were different. currently, they're the same as i'm enrolled in an mfa program, and my job as a student, too, is to be a writer, and i find myself in extreme discomfort, trying to negotiate this grey area. so i run. did i mention i'm a runner? not only literally (although i dont feel safe running in big urban areas, so i instead wander aimlessly around nyc, getting in miles, watching each section change as i walk through them) but figuratively as well. i run away from things, sometimes, instead of dealing with them upfront. either i run or i kill/end. so. i'm leaving my mfa program for a number of reasons, but sometimes i wonder if it's because of this imbalance, this failure to find a balance? how so long i kept things separate (and equal?), and when they converge it brings up all new problems and issues that i sometimes rather not deal with...and i find that when i do deal with them, they become bigger problems, and things grow at an exponential rate that all i can do is watch them blow up in my face, and hope to salvage something when the dust settles.

i dont know what will be left of me after december, to be honest. i'm tired. i'm exhausted. i'm hurt and aching, and i find myself compartmentalizing/sectioning off myself from people, and running away, and ending things. burning bridges. but, what's done is done, right? what is said is out in the open and can not be taken back. what's been tried has failed.

i dont know where all of this is going or where it meant to go when i started. just thinking through my past few days/weeks, and thinking about the friendships i might have ended, the opportunities i might have killed, the chances for spaces and people to blend together i kept from happening, and sometimes i wonder if it would be different if i didnt try so hard to keep things apart. if i did listen to my heart that says "i'm lonely". or my hand that says "it's cold" and doesnt reach out to another for warmth. i dont know. i'm still working through it...trying to see where my different spaces can start to intersect.