On Feeling Weird
The Muse Letter No. 73
For the last four days I have been feeling weird. When I try to open my mouth and have something else come out, like let’s say a reason or a more accurate state of being it feels like trying on clothes to see if they fit. So far: weird is the only accurate one.
The only word that fits exactly and not at all really like a one size fits all not sure if it’s supposed to be this tight or loose but that’s what I’m wearing right now. I’m wearing weird on my sleeve and on my face: you look like a stranger my partner tells me. Sometimes. You’re weird again.
Weird didn’t use to be just: weird.
The word “weird” used to have a variety of meaning. Coming from the old english word: wyrd, it was used a noun meaning fate or someone who is capable by magical cosmic powers to see into the future. Which is why the three greek goddesses spinning the thread of life called: the Moira, cutting and mending it, the three fates were also called The Weird Sisters.
Nowadays weird has almost lost all of these nuances and is usually used in a pejorative way. Feeling weird is not a good thing. Being weird is even worse. Rejecting the idea that some things are mysterious and inevitable: fateful. Beyond our control. Is not a good thing.
When I say I feel weird it’s because I’m trying to figure something out that I cannot quite grasp, like waking up from a dream not remembering exactly:
“(…) but the dream remembers us.
It is there all day
as an animal is there
under the table,
as the stars are there
even in full sun.”
(from „What We Want“ — Linda Pastan)