Into the shell
I’m going back in! Curling up! Lining the walls with cork! You can’t stop me!
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I feel so silly and pathetic and sad and stupid and lonely and depressed for no real reason –
Everything in my life is going well. I was happy with my annual review at The Bank, my writing class this semester is excellent, my personal coach continues to rock, I scored 8-10 points at my last basketball game, jello wrestling continues to amuse and give me unexpectedly good workouts, I get to play with my camera and cook up yummy foods du temps en temps, I’m going to Aruba within the month for a week of sand n surf –
But I continue to feel like a total failure when it comes to the matters that matter. The matters of the heart.
F-
And no matter how much the outcome of events are entirely logical, it doesn’t make my empty long arms any happier non-emptier when my laptop is the only warm thing around which they can wrap themselves.
(Open source product idea: electric blanket + body pillow mash-up.)
Oh, how I wish I could have my heart removed a la Mortal Kombat and turn into a robot via a robotomy!
Instead I plod on, and wonder how on earth I’m going to find the time between all the stuff I’m doing to meet someone new that will let me (a) be nice to them (b) sniff their armpits.
:(
Also, advice needed: what’s a friendly way to say, “No, I don’t want to work any bachelor parties for $175 an hour as a jello wrestler, because I’m doing this for fun, not for an objectifying creepy male gaze and certainly not to make money and yes, it does creep me out a little when I see you leering at me from twenty feet away, so please stop asking me, and no I do not want to go to a fetish party afterwards, and just because I’m not judging you doesn’t mean I want you to continue peppering me with this line of questioning, and no I don’t care if I would get a lot of money wrestling men since I’m so tall. Do you think I’m paid so poorly by The Bank that I need to supplement my income by working bachelor parties?”
And yes, feeling stark and alone and somehow unprotected last night with no one to say “Good Job” followed by a hug made me feel that much more lonely and terribly vulnerable as I trekked to my car feeling naked and cold and not unlike how I felt that November on that desolate road near the Ear Inn. And this melancholy makes me want to lie in bed for a couple of days & eat sticks of butter with lard-infused ice cream while feeling sorry for myself.
Then again, I could be taking care of two kids who keep puking on themselves, and me.
Suddenly my woes seem not so bad.
Angie, can you FedEx Adam to my lap so as to refocus my attentions and get some puke on my clothes? Merci.
My friend, you are going to be OK! If it’s any consolation, I’m right there with you. Let’s chalk it up to the bloody cold weather. I always say that New Year’s Eve is just one downward spiral towards a lonely Valentine’s Day. As of the 15th, we’ll be back on the rise! We’re smart, ambitious and talented. (I’m giving myself the pep talk too as I write this.) Our optimism and hope is still a good thing that continues to lead us to new adventures and there will never be the thrill of success without the comprehension of disappointment. And, of course, we have Aruba coming up to soothe our souls and get ourselves away from all those men who are just too stupid, scared and/or self-involved to realize that meeting us was the best fucking thing that ever happened to them.
all those men who are just too stupid, scared and/or self-involved to realize that meeting us was the best fucking thing that ever happened to them.
I was composing something in my head like this, but this statement expresses the sentiment very well. In other words, its not you, its them. It has the added benefit of being totally, like, too true. You are top shelf goods, mentally, physically and spiritually, in the realm of 99th percentile. That means 99.01% of the male adult population is completely undatable. Or something–you’ll have to check my math. But the point is, the pool for potential soulmates is small.
How do I keep my son from becoming one of these creeps? With all these countervaling forces pounding him the wrong messages. It weighs heavy on my mind.
[…] An evening of self-indulgent weeping + super nice comments from The Babs and The ALo + a cuppa joe + an email from my girl in the NL = all better. […]
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