Category: Words

My brain hurts

Dain bramage. I have dain bramage. From financial paperwork. And overthinking my personal life. And general mental overload.

So I am going to take a day off. No writing.
Except for the writing that I did earlier today which doesn’t count because it is not for public viewing.

Here’s the plan:

First I am going to curl up on the sofa and stare at a wall for a while.

Then I am going to listen to some music and continue to stare at a wall. Maybe a different wall.

Then I will turn the music down and try to read something. If that fails, I will go back to step one.

Some of you may be thinking that this does not sound like a productive way to spend the evening. You are wrong. I have already made peace with a loved one, filled out a mortgage application complete with eleventeenthousand pieces of documentation, and been attacked by an enormous white spider.

It’s been quite a night.

Which wall should I stare at first?
Maybe I should light some candles.
I like candles.

Shut up.
Writing about how I am not going to write doesn’t count as writing.

An imaginary conversation about dating

You know what I would like to know?

What?

How do you even know when you’re on a date and not just out with a friend of the opposite sex?

Seriously?

I’m a dating dumb ass. Humor me.

Are you making out at some point after you’ve spent time together?

No.

Then you aren’t dating, you’re out with a friend.

Oh.

You sound disappointed.

A little bit, but mostly I just miss making out.

You should start dating then.

Noooooo. It’s too grim and scary and scary. And scary.

Really? Scary three times? It isn’t that bad.

Is too. How would you know, anyway?

Stop pouting. Guys do not like pouting.

Can’t I just be friends with someone and have sex with him sometimes?

Some people do…

It worked for me in the 80’s. I’m not hot now though.

You’ll do.

That is quite an endorsement. I will put that on my online dating profile.

Are you on an online dating site?

No, but it seems inevitable.

Why?

Because I am friends with all the single men I know and they aren’t interested.

Are you sure?

That they are single?

No, are you sure that they aren’t interested!

Yes. No. I don’t know. How the fuck would I know? I used to be able to tell, but now I am just confused.

What’s changed?

My interest detector is all uncalibrated. People say they are interested but don’t do anything to show it and it throws me off.

Like what?

Like asking me out, or calling me or trying to stick their hand up my skirt. The usual.

You may not be sufficiently evolved to date.

I worry about that.

Of course you do. You worry about weirder shit than anyone I know. Anyway. If someone says they are interested and then doesn’t even try to make plans to spend time with you, there is a good chance he isn’t all that interested.

It would be easier if people would just say what they mean. I hate guessing. I am really bad at it.

I know what you mean.

Maybe I should just pick a new mantra. One specific to dating and being single.

You have a mantra?

Yeah. I had to have one in fat camp, remember?

Oh, right. “Give yourself a fucking break.”

Good memory!

Thanks.

Maybe I need one for dating.

Like what?

I know what needs to be driven into my brain…

What?

“He’s just not that into you.”

You understand what a positive affirmation is about, right?

I need something that’s more of an affirmation of reality.

I’m sure someone is into you.

Like who?

I don’t know, but if there isn’t anyone now, there will be. You’re pretty cool.

Am I?

You are.

Huh.

You ARE.

Then why doesn’t anyone want to stick his hands up my skirt?

Maybe you should have a date first.

“He’s just not that into me.”

Who??

Whoever. It’s a rhetorical affirmation.
What?

Oh my God, you’re weird.

I’m hoping someone will describe it as “interesting.”

Good luck with that.

All I want is someone who is not just willing to see me occasionally, but is actually excited about it. Someone who tries to see me as often as possible. Someone who does dumb little things to make me smile because he likes me to be happy. It’s not too much, is it?

No, sweetie. It isn’t. You deserve that.

Remind me of that once in a while.

Deal.

Uncomfortable about being uncomfortable

We wanted to find love
We wanted success
Until nothing was enough
Until my middle name was excess
–PJ Harvey/We Float

I held a dandelion
That said the time had come
To leave upon the wind
Not to return
When summer burned the earth again
–Elton John-Bernie Taupin/Curtains

So, I was writing about being uncomfortable and it was making me feel more and more uneasy. So I pretty much just bailed on it in the middle.

I told myself I was sleepy.
I told myself I had said what I needed to say.
I told myself it was finished.

I was lying to myself, and that made me even more uneasy.
Kind of like an itchy scar.

There are aspects of myself that I do not like, or that other people don’t like. Same as everyone else. In the past I have tried to sort of cross them out. Like I could just take a big fat eraser and rub out any perceived flaws. The trouble is, the things I try to change about myself resist such shabby treatment. They try to leak out in other even less appealing ways. Such as promiscuity, binge eating or other abusive behaviors.

I am naturally flirtatious and prone to be friends with guys. I do have women friends, but I probably have more men as friends. For the record, I am also naturally prone to be romantically monogamous. One serious boyfriend had big problems with my friendships with men, he was jealous, we fought about it. I quashed it. I had no idea how to not enjoy talking to men. I was pretty. I got a lot of attention from men and I couldn’t figure out what to do with it if I couldn’t be myself. I couldn’t figure out why simply not being myself was making me so unhappy if I was doing it for the “right reasons.” Actually, I didn’t even try to figure it out. I just thought there was something wrong with me if I couldn’t do this one little thing to make someone happy.

So I started eating. The attention from men diminished as my size got larger.
Problem solved.

Except, I had found a new way to deal with any sort of discomfort. Squash it and eat something. Promiscuity was certainly better for my figure, but apparently in a committed relationship it is frowned upon. Perhaps I can revisit it now that I am about to be single again.

Anything but dealing with the issue at hand, right?

Nobody really likes talking about this sort of thing. And nobody likes hearing about it either. Thinking about it sucks, too.

While I am more and more at ease with most of my quirks, and less and less inclined to change to suit anyone else’s expectations, I still struggle with actually liking myself for who I am. Or feeling like I deserve to be treated the way I want to be. Or rather, feeling like I am crazy for putting up with less while simultaneously feeling like I must be crazy for thinking I deserve better.

And I am still prone to all kinds of excessive behavior when there is something about myself or someone else that I am having an issue with. Even sometimes when I don’t quite know what it is yet. Like now.

Or when I might know deep down but not want to admit it.

It makes me so uncomfortable to think about it that I know I need to.

If you’re one of the people I vent to, you might want to buckle up. Some of you probably already have…and I am sorry for it.