A Sunday mid-October

The weather here is starting to lighten up. Not by much, granted, but at least when you're in an air-conditioned room or house, you're actually cool. Unlike during the height of the summer and you walk into a room from the outside and for a moment it's like heaven and then you realize, it's hot in there too.

OOOH. I maybe mis-spoke. It's gonna be a hundred today. Ewww. But it is cooling down nicely overnight. I think. Maybe I'm just turning the a/c down lower. That is a distinct possibility.

Eh, it's always hot until Halloween. I always say that and it's always true. You go out and you buy a very light, nearly-naked costume because it has been so freaking hot and then Halloween night comes (which let's face it, is November) and it is Cold. Not cold like the mid-west but Phoenix cold.
________________

I was riding a high of my accomplishments all through Friday and I crashed and burned yesterday. Ahhhh, Depression. I cannot forget you.

Had a nice dinner with my cousin last night. The brain doctor. (Fancy, right?) Anyway, it was pleasant, as it always is. Then we went and saw a small play. Wow. Powerful stuff. Then came home and hung out for awhile with Mc. Let me tell you, at this time in my life, I really appreciate having him around. And so I told him.

What a difference feeling good makes. *There's* an understatement. But seriously, I was cleaning the shower and the toilet, I was moisturizing, I was wearing mascara (gasp!). Oh, I was taking vitamins. Last night, I was so tired / uncaring I didn't even take my crazy pill(s).

G came over and rescued me yesterday. I had locked myself out with the dogs. Heh. I just picked up the phone to call him. I got as far as the area code and remembered that he is busy today. He is always busy. - It was super nice of him to come and rescue me (said without sarcasm). What followed felt like torture, though. It just felt awkward and it felt like he wanted to leave but didn't know how to tell me he had to leave and that I would accuse him of not really having to leave and he was trying to avoid a fight. Eh, probably my fault because Mc got a puppy without asking me and I asked if G thought that was ok and G kinda went off on me about it. G thinks it's ok. Obviously. -Problem is: we are just Not Connecting. At all. On any level. He is so busy and I am not useful to him. It's a problem. A major problem. He's being a shitty friend. Maybe so am I. I just can't figure out what to do differently.

Ok. I'm gonna get myself and my crapola together and get Dad some breakie. Then I have to plan the evening meal. Boo.

It's true, I'm UP!

So I start work in a little less than 5 hours. At least that's when I need to be there. I need to leave in 3 hours 45 minutes. Ugh! And I've been awake for 2 hours, 15. In the interest of saving time, I've actually taken my shower and done my hair. (Hair: only so much that I don't really have to mess with it tomorrow.. I can sleep on it.) (( Did I write "tomorrow" - It is actually TOday! ))

Went out today and looked at condos and houses again. G and Mc came with. (BTW-Mc and I made up, again.) I got very excited about a house or two. Mom really wants a condo. I mean in so much as that the little house I was excited about she has already pooh-poohed. Oh, well. She wants a condo and it is her money. Long story.

WHY am I awake? This, I fear, is going to be disaster. I mean, it's always hard to sleep the night before you start a new job. . . but this is ridiculous!! Seriously!! I'm totally going to get tired and then not be able to concentrate and if I could just grab a couple of more hours, I think I might be safe. But as it stands now: I'm going to need coffee and sugar.. which, of course, means that I will be all hyper and freak-like and then crash and be all yawny. AND I'll probably need it at least twice. FCUK! (typo on purpose-sorta)

Anybody out there? Anybody have ideas, other than to lie in bed until I make myself crazy? The other school of thought is that you are supposed to lie there xx minutes (what is it, like, 20?) and then get up and do something else for xx minutes (this time I have no idea). But I've tried lying there and then getting up and anwering emails and playing computer solitare. Then back to bed. Then reading a chapter in my book while lying in bed and then lights out. Then getting up and taking a shower and doing my hair. And then back to bed. (this time I didn't stay the required xx minutes - I basically just popped back up.) Have played more solitare (I'M ADDICTED TO SPIDER SOLITARE and I currently suck at it.). Then decided to go back to bed but before I made it, I decided I could blog.

Another aside - someone once mentioned that bloging came from somewhere - where exactly? I'll have to look it up. According to Wikipedia - A blog is a contraction of the term "Web log." Just wondering. Wondering concluded.

I'm going to try the bed again. Wish me luck.

FEELING (uncomfortable)

OK.

I need to just feel. I’ve been trying to think through all of my problems: all of my weight control/eating issues & dilemmas. And I have been wondering why I stuff myself with food so I don’t have to feel the feelings, because the feelings (or feeling the feelings) make(s) me uncomfortable.
Obviously. Always known this. Haven’t I?

I need to just feel.

This morning I started freaking out (perhaps it started yesterday) because I should not have weighed myself, and yet after weighing myself yesterday (another no-no), I knew that today I would probably be less than 300 pounds. (That’s right chickadees, I’m massive.) (OK ENOUGH WITH THAT KIND OF TALK!) Well, I wasn’t. And I guess I should have felt relived, but I didn’t. I think I started panicking. But I don’t know. Because I don’t know what I feel, ever.
----side note: Nutritionist asked: “What’s it going to feel like to weigh under 300?” I didn’t have an answer. I was thinking, “Normal,” but I knew I shouldn’t say that. I thought it would feel exactly the same—sort of numb, I guess. So instead I replied, “I don’t know.” Also the truth. I don’t ever Know how I feel.

All day today, I’ve been feeling hungry. Or I think it’s hunger. Do I really know? Perhaps I do not.
-----flashback: Scene: An mid-1970’s California burger chain Carl’s Jr. A young flawed-heroine (very young) eating burger and fries with nice young friend and young friend’s mother. And eating everything. And young friend saying she’s full. And young heroine remarks that she isn’t. And parent is mildly astonished. And young heroine replies that she never gets full, she just starts to get a stomachache. And parent and young friend share momentary glance and parent tells young heroine that the stomach ache IS full.

I’ve been writing down differing feelings of my body (read: stomach) and my responses to them and if/what I eat on sticky notes while at work. An attempt to feel my feelings and recognize . . . patterns, perhaps. I’m not sure. I’m sure there was logic behind it originally.

I think I’m panicking at the idea of losing the weight. That’s why I’ve stopped. But I haven’t really been gaining because I won’t give up.

That’s it: I won’t give up.
I cannot.

I will get over this hump and it will be a memory.

Money: unsweet bedfellow

Uncomfortable.

Money. Lovely fricken money. Fantastic when you have it. A mother when you don’t.
Yeah, and I don’t. Wonderful, smart me wasn’t exactly paying attention and I spent and I spent and now I have nothing. Nope, for more than a week I will have to subsist from my credit card, which is precariously close to being maxed.

Lovely feeling, isn’t it? That feeling that you might not make it. What are you going to do? Not enough money for gas, food, lights, water. Actually, I have paid for lights. But not for water, or Hot water. And, strictly speaking, I haven’t paid for Hot or water in two months. So, yeah, they want their fricken money. As it is, I’m going to have to run from one account and take out half (of my lovely forty dollars-for the math geniuses out there that’s a twenty-dollar bill) take all the cash in my wallet (six smackaroos) and deposit it to cover gas (for car: already purchased) and pilates (check already written: but who knows when it will clear) and then call and beg my nutritionist to NOT cash the check I wrote last night for 60-some-odd dollars, because it will be as a giant rubber ball.

Back to the feeling of it. How does it feel? Have you felt that way? The “oh-my-gawd-I-have-not-enough, what-am-I-going-to-do-?” feeling and question that is indelibly tattooing its mantra through your head, through your veins, attacking your heart and then seems to ooze through your skin, so you stink of it? Ever felt that way?

Confession: I intentionally didn’t pay bills. Was freakin’ tired of having nothing. Nothing! So when I would be completely caught up and pay my Hot bill and my water bill: I didn’t. Just didn’t. B urged me not to do it. I said it would be fine. And the truth is, I would probably be fine, but I broke down and paid the light bill-which I had finally caught up, and therefore, wasn’t late yet. That’s right, folks! Wasn’t late (yet).

Bully for me.

So now that I’ve written my stupidity down. Ehh. Doesn’t feel too bad. But I have yet to start dwelling. And I live it. I move in, make a little space, plop down and begin to nest. I wrap myself in it – get all warm under the oppressive mantle and begin to smother and as the blanket blocks out most of the light, I begin to pray to I know not what that the lights will not go out, and I will make it through.

Ever felt like that? It’s damn uncomfortable. But yet, as it is known, it’s not scary or truly intolerable. That’s frightening.

Anger

So, last night.
G is over with Mc. And Mc starts in on how month's ago at G's birthday festivities, I spilt water (seriously) and blamed him. I honestly didn't remember the interaction because that particular night I had just told off sister and was emotionally over wrought. But as he wouldn't let go, I began to piece together the incident.
And here is where the anger comes in. I didn't move. I didn't push my plate which, by chain reaction, caused another mysterious article on table to push into Mc's glass and thereby making it fall over, at which point Mc, rescued said glass (of water) and placed it back down on said trecherous table wasteland in aforementioned exact hazardous spot to, instantly and at once, fall completely over and spill all over table and splash several festivities participants. I apparently made flippant remark about dumbasses spilling some such.. and am instanly accused of causing said chain reaction by Mc, thereby making the entire incident my fault. Miracle of Miracles, people side with me, saying obviously I didn't spill water. Mc is humiliated.
Whatever. Humiliated over spilt water.
Ok, back to anger. Who cares? Happened months ago. Was water. Mc didn't have to clean it up, was at restaurant. Was not really public--just a few close friends who could give a rat's ass, except to laugh at each other's foibles.
G is my BEST friend. Or at least used to be. Now that G is involved in long term relationship, I am back seat baggage that only once in a while gets hauled out and gone thru, just to make sure what's still in there. And of couse, when needed. (That's not exactly fair, but who cares? My blog. Fuck you.)
Mc is selfish. Spoiled. Bratty. Mc has to have everything Mc's way. Mc is going to be 30 soon. One would think Mc might eventually grow up. But would you? If everyone continually gives in to you? I'm not sure that I would, except that I have. Because I feel bad if people have to go sooo completely out of their way for me. Constantly. All the time. For no reason. Other than to appease my ego. I mean, once in a while, sure. We all need an ego stroke. But all the time? Get over it. Get over yourself.
Oh, yeah, anger.
So what, in the last (?) 5 years, G has sided with me once. Over a glass of water, that everyone saw him spill.
But Mc had a cow (apparently) with G over incident. Why didn't G trust Mc? If G didn't see the beginning of the chain reaction (ie Me evilly pushing plate-to cause another unnamed object to push into evil glass of water) which he at once Rescued, but Mc saw said happen, why didn't G believe?
Ok, fuck you, Mc. It isn't as if I saw (or all of us for that matter) you standing over a bloody corpse with a knife and I said something damning like, "You murdered him. Ha ha." And then people believed me, and your partner of (?) 5 years has to have faith that you wouldn't kill someone. It was a glass of water.
Ok, so you have little fit in privacy of own home with partner.. accuse accuse. Fight over (eventually). But then to bring up retarded subject months later? What's the matter with you? Was your manhood so impuned, your honestly so taken into question, your ego, your spirit, your soul, so crushed that you cannot recover because someone once believed me over you?
Let me repeat, fuck you.
In the years that I have know you, you have been a horrible partner to my best friend. You are selfish. You have to have your way, all the time. You never, ever compromise. Never, not once.* You spent months (read: over a year!) out of work, forcing the supposed most important person of your life, the one you supposedly love more than anything, to work double duty To pay all bills. To be the adult while you got to carry out your childish fantasies.
And I pushed these things aside. But I am angry that you don't seem to be making any progress at all. You don't seem to be growing as a person, to be maturing, to be wisening, to becoming more of a complete, whole person.
Old fears and hurts resurfaced. In the five or so years that you've been with my best friend, I have felt so much pain. As my best friend continually choses you over me. Believes idiot things you say, over me. Believes you to be funnier, kinder, smarter than me. Fine. Love is honestly blind. I can't wait for someone to think I'm the funniest person in the world, the smartest, the cutest, the nicest, etc. And it hurts when Mc says some horrible thing (or I've started it this time), and the responses fly-- and G always always sides with you. Implies that I am somehow, not as... smart, or nice, or whatever. That Mc is right, that Mc is always, always right.
Lugging out the entire arsenal, years of pent-up hate, and hurt, and disappointment to be directed towards you. I long to tell you how you don't measure up, how you don't deserve all that you get. How when you make a mistake, you don't have to pay for it, others do -- in blood, sweat and tears. And you just go skipping merrily on your fucking way (exept to say, why they were mean. Of course they were you fucking moron. It's punishment. Everyone else let you off the hook. They are there to wake your ass up--let you know that you fucked up--but you still don't get it.)
But I have to stop. I cannot tell you what you so desperatly need to hear. I can't put my best friend in that position, not only because, of couse, I will certainly loose, but because I don't want to hurt G, to make things harder on G. To tell G, your long-term partner sucks, and is sucking the life from you.
But I will be more mature, and I will compromise.

Pity, because I feel like being childish. I feel like hurting people, and destroying myself.

* Wonder of Wonders! We all went to a movie on Saturday night. Instead of doing Mc's first choice, he compromised. Perhaps he is growing after all. Perhaps I've grown enough to enable me to see it.

Hours tick by. Or do they?

Day One without My Beloved.

sugar

Ok. Here we go again kids. Trying to kick the juice, the junk, the dope, the lightening. The Sugar.

Hour Two.

Actually, I’ve been up a little more than two hours. . . but who’s counting. Oh, that’s right, I am.
I am depressed and weepy. I tell myself not to despair. Nothing ever comes from despairing—nothing, nothing ever gets done. And it’s true.
Did you see Scarlet O’Hara despair? No. She decided she was too busy trying to fix things, trying to save the beloved Tara, trying not to starve, trying to keep her family from starving. She just didn’t have time to despair.
And it helps. (Telling myself that.) Oh, and also I’ve been telling myself that it’s just coming off of the juice, the smack, the sugar that is making my emotions so . . . volatile. And it could be true. What it really feels like is going insane. And not so slowly. Kinda quick, so you notice it is happening. “Why am I behaving like this?” You ask yourself. “Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the sugar. Perhaps you are insane.” You answer yourself rationally. Heh. Rationally. Answer yourself.

I watched a lovely movie last night. I Capture the Castle. Lovely young women: English and poor. Lovely young, rich American men (and one was Henry Thomas... makes me kinda glad he survived ET). OK SPOILER. So, the lovely young woman, our heroine.. winds up with.. well, not nothing.. . and not alone, she has taken care of her family. But not with the object of her affection. And the end of the movie (my hand to gawd) she says, “I love. I have loved. I will love.” Fade to Black. Fuck. What the hell. Ok, great. But that’s why I watch movies. I need a mother-fucking, even-if-it-makes-no-sense, twisted plot, don’t-care-how, HAPPY ENDING. Need it. Like I need to breathe. And so yeah, a little hope, but not really happiness. And I’ve discovered in my pitiable life that HOPE kills you every time. Every time. Obliterates you. Crushes your soul. Kills your spirit. Makes you waltz then sticks out its big, rude foot and purposely trips you. So you fall on your face, in the most dramatic, theatrical, humiliating, public way, ever.

What am I complaining for? Well. After that and I just wanted to cry, I got on my newly returned, fixed computer. (Moment of silence and reverence for the COMPUTER.) And I checked my horoscope. And it was all.. You have had to relive part of stuff you thought you already handled, but didn’t (and pushed deep into your subconscious, you pathetic idiot. And will now wake up out of a very real dream and cry inexplicably for an hour whilst you are overcome with sadness and deep, deep, hidden trauma) and now that you’ve re-dealt with those aspects, move on and push your boundaries. Made complete and total sense. [Now I know that these are vague. And allow for various interpretations, but seriously, folks, how do they do it??? And as I write this… this is what they’ve written:
“Circumstances in your life may be full of drama and you'll need to use all channels of communication to share your story with those around you. Although you can be putting on quite an impressive show, you may not realize that you are only telling part of the story. Your beliefs are coloring your perceptions more than usual and you can only see what you believe.”
So here I am thinking I am giving myself therapy, and hopefully entertaining people. But I’m not being totally honest, with myself or with you, dear reader. Fuckers calling me a liar. But I digress.]

Soooo, anyway…I felt really sad. And I did a little (expensive) tarot reading (but considering they gave me the credits for free, wasn’t really a bad deal). And what was this wondrous question I inquired about in my future? I couldn’t really decide. Would I find love.. that’s not right, I have love. I love my mother. I love my friends, etc. And what if I love someone who doesn’t love me back? Would I be loved? No, that’s not right, either. G loves me with all his heart. Just can’t work out. So, I settled on “Will I find happiness in love?” So lovely Tarot tells me to push my boundaries…let my passions come through (because this is obviously something you are uncomfortable with, you fucked-up, damaged prude). And then goes on.. and I’m all.. who is it talking about?
Yeah, well. Money well spent.

Oh, look it’s been about 3 hours. And no sugar. Good for me.

And yet, the discomfort lingers. But I’m not weeping at work either. So. There ya go.

The Thing?

Ok, here’s the thing. I’m totally bored. And a little paranoid. G said that I should come with a sign that reads, “Warning: Paranoid when stoned.” Heeee. Well, I wouldn’t say that I was paranoid, except for that I just did. But yesterday, during the dental procedure, when they cut open my jaw and removed my icky, so yucky tooth, and then replaced some jaw bone… sounds horribly complicated, they put me to sleep, but not really. They mostly used laughing gas, and then some sleepy, IV stuff. So that I could be “responsive.” Yeah, well. You are supposed to get all dreamy, far away on the laughing gas (although some people get violent, etc). I got stoned. And then really paranoid. And between my slurring words, my mind went into overdrive—“Oh, no! You’re stoned. You’re out of control! Danger! Danger!” At which point I force myself to take relaxing, deep breaths to calm the fuck down. Except guess where the gas is coming from. But luckily, the nice, go-to-sleep now stuff started to work.
And here I am at work. Work. Where I make my living. And get paid to do stuff, that no ordinary person would do just for the hell of it. And as EB, or I prefer bitcherella, is in an extended meeting. I’m writing a little ditty.
And apparently, I’m a little lonely. I guess from being by myself all day yesterday, except that I wasn’t. I was drugged and sleepy, but I woke up. And wanted to leave. So, my not-so-thought out plan involve G and me going somewhere. But I shouldn’t drive, that much I knew. But he wouldn’t come over. So I drove, mostly asleep and met him. And we walked around a big mall, and then I drove, kinda asleep, and went home and really slept. And now, I’m lonely. And probably a little drugged.
I started this blog… and kinda had the idea that it would be based, at least somewhat, around the idea of discomfort. And so far, it has.
Here’s the thing (again). It is utterly astounding to me how we, as a populace, are always so thoroughly ill at ease. At all times. Why is that? So, I’ve been examining (not really) my own comfort level(s). And I’ve discovered: NOT MUCH. Except that I rarely feel comfortable. Truly relaxed, ya know?
Yesterday, on the way to see G, I was becoming more and more – eh, not really upset, but uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be driving. I knew I shouldn’t be. But I am strong, and I could take it. I could make it. And I kept thinking, once I get there, I will be safe. G will be waiting for me. And then he wasn’t there, as I pulled up 2 minutes before the agreed upon time. In other words, right on time. And the disappointment I felt as I rang him, and he hadn’t left home yet, was acute. But not surprising. I love him, I truly do. But the feeling of being disappointed by him is not new. Our entire relationship, it seems as if he has disappointed when I needed him. But that is not necessarily the truth. I mean, I was fine. It wasn’t a big deal. And he has come through for me more times than anyone else.
But I always feel as if those I love have disappointed me. Always. Perhaps I am like Prince’s mother and just never satisfied. Or like Bette in Beaches- always wanting attention, and I wear people out. I don’t know, but this line of questioning is making me uncomfortable.

After Lunch

Attempting to work. Thoughts of this stupid blog run through my head. Wanted to have the theme of discomfort run through it. So far, I think I’ve succeeded in advertising that I am uncomfortable in my own skin.

Need to do work. Address an envelope and realize that I won’t send it. My handwriting is appalling. Have to open Word to type the address. Jacksonville, FL. Wonder if those people are at work. Did Hurricane Charley tear them up? Were their homes destroyed? Was their town spared, but they get a couple of well-deserved days off? How do I know they are well deserved?

Brand New

Discomfort.
Disquiet.
Fidgety –

Happiness. Is it real? Is it tangible? Sometimes I think I can feel it, other times I swear I can taste it [and I’m not talking about Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia-or even cheesecake –which I’ve often equated to being better than orgasm. C’mon, the average orgasm last 2 seconds. 2 measly seconds. A good slice of cheesecake can last long, delicious, glorious, exuberant minutes building to the pinnacle of just licking the fork clean because you are spent and exhausted from all the lovely endorphins and chemicals (read sugar) rushing into your blood stream and slamming into your neuro-connectors. Closer to heaven than actual happiness.] I’m talking happiness. Does it last or is it some fleeting feeling that even our idealist forefathers knew we could not obtain and keep, hence the whole “pursuit” liability clause?
Sometimes I feel happy. Sometimes it overcomes me and I feel that I will burst from fear or joy or just shatter because I cannot contain all the simultaneous emotions I know are going to erupt and, like Mount Vesuvius, take every thing and everyone and destroy us all.
And really I know that it’s me, being crazy. Because if I feel that kind of joy, it isn’t real.
Sooner, rather than later, I’m going to fall, not necessarily hard, but just come down and be bummed. Bummed that I no longer feel elated? Possibly. But this feeling, this overpowering sadness, I would say is real, and it lasts.
But happiness, true happiness: does it exist? Is it just fleeting moments and with luck, we can string all the moments together to craft a crown or a netting that covers us, protects us, reminds us, and comforts us?
Is it a state of being—a state for your soul to reside in? Pop culture artists, authors, publishers, advertising execs, and the religious say a resounding “Yes!” Buy this book and beer and subscribe to this god and witness the beauty of the synergistic harmony of all of today and know that it is art and art is life and aren’t we happy? I just got a new Jaguar.
I’ll tell you the last time I was happy. I went dancing. Now I love dancing, or at least I used to. I loved to move with the music. I loved the way my body felt and swayed. I loved the songs and the feeling of freedom I used to get. Of course, I used to be free. I was under 18, out until 4 a.m. and had my own car. My parents trusted me-and most of the time I was just out dancing. Not much to fear. OH, yeah, and they gave me an allowance, clothe, fed and sheltered me. All I had to do was go to school, which sometimes I did.
I’m talking dancing now, or at least, last night. Going out with friends and worrying if they will have a good time, because it was my suggestion. And I think it’s a blast, but they could be uninviting to the “happiness” bird, or the laugh bug, or the silliness cootie that you can catch, but really it catches you. Luckily, I wasn’t out with antiseptic types (they stayed home). And we relaxed and enjoyed.
And I am much larger now than I was in high school. Much. (More on that later, I’m sure.) And at first I felt self-conscious about dancing. It’d been ages. In fact, I hadn’t danced in this millennium. Not even in my underwear, knowing it doesn’t make me Madonna. I hadn’t felt loose or comfortable. And I started to dance and feel self-conscious (danger: poison to dancing well), but then I had a startling thought through my 80’s self-torture: I’m at a lowly club. A club (which shall remain nameless because currently I cannot afford a lengthy, expensive trial) that, in my uninformed but highly prejudiced opinion, only holds stupid people—losers, if you will—who only want to look cool, to see and to been seen, people I don’t have the time of day for. So who cares if they think I’m fat? Who cares if they think I can’t dance? Who cares about their opinion? --They go to (insert lowly club name here), for pity’s sake!
So last night, when friends came… not just acquaintances, I was ready. Except for the nervous, will we have a good time mantra (see above). And I got out there and boogied. And it was good.
And I was free. And even (male) friend got on the floor. And I was so happy. I clapped my hands and announced it (not that anyone could hear over the racket). And I realized that I had perfected my 80’s, bored, look far away glance, the I-could-stand-to-be-here-but-I’d-rather-be-there look. And he was looking at me. And making eye contact whenever I would allow him to. And I would see a flicker. My soul matching his. A longing, a connectivity. And I would have to look away. My eyes would skim away and I would force myself to look again. But I could feel myself falling and longing.
Background: I have fallen for this person no fewer than 3 times. 3 times! What is that? We have been friends a very long time. And he is a hard person to get to know. But he is sensitive and fantastic. And I feel a certain affinity toward him. Like we have kindred spirits. Anyway, it’s been a long time, and he (although quite dense) has never wanted to go forward, or so I gather. And all his chickee’s have been small, slender type girls. I’m not slender. I’m not small. And even if I were, I am not mousy. Let’s put it this way: I’m as big as life-I’m big in every way. Loud, rambunctious, obnoxious, annoying, I have a cackle when I laugh, and you could never, never not see me (although seems like some people try). Even if he wanted to take things further-we would be a disastrous couple. I would walk all over him. Not that I would want to, I just would. I would rail all over his feelings and he’d be miserable. He’s that sensitive.
So here I am dancing and I get the floaty, uncomfortable feeling that means—what does it mean? I am in danger of drowning in his eyes, and I keep forcing myself to look back at him, to meet his gaze (it only seems polite). And I can’t stand it. I smile, I look away. I swallow. I look around and come back. I get off the dance floor. Finally, after this ritual is repeated-my disquiet has me at breaking level. I feel giddy, I feel Stupid (yes, with capital “S”). I take off my glasses. And maybe that way, I cannot see into his soul when I look into his eyes. I go smoke a friend’s cigarette. I calm down, as he didn’t come. And the happiness subsides and so does the illness, but the antsy-ness remains.
And why is it so uncomfortable to not have pavement beneath your feet? Why is it sickening to not have something familiar to cling to (ahh, lovely puff of smoke)?
Why are we uncomfortable with joy, love, freedom? (How many times have you heard of someone who just became lost/sick after retirement, because they had no place to go everyday?) Do we just trudge along because we have OCD? Were we not taught to expect more? Did we need to be taught that? Or did we have “Expect Less!” drilled into our heads until it seeped into our souls? I return to reality, laugh at myself and thank goodness that I am myself again. Dull, boring, and sad. But comfortable.