On not doing things I enjoy doing

Have you ever noticed that you tend to have a really long list of things you enjoy doing, most of which you don’t actually do very often?

Music, reading, writing, photography, travel, pedicures, massages, yoga, drawing, knitting, learning new languages, ice skating and roller skating, spin classes, long walks, going to the beach, going to the gym, etc ad nauseam..

Then there’s the list of things you’d like to learn to do. Learning to cast jewelry, welding, bungee jumping, sky diving, flying an airplane, making furniture, pottery…

A certain number of those things are just too expensive. Maybe there isn’t somewhere in your area that teaches something you want to learn. Maybe you just don’t have time.

Flying lessons are not in my budget. I can afford the occasional massage or pedicure, but not as often as I would like.

In my case, I could do a lot of the things on both lists. Somehow I don’t though. There’s an ice skating rink a few miles away, and it doesn’t cost very much. I’ve gone once in the last year. Yoga? Love it. They offer it at the community college and at most gyms. I haven’t done a session for three or four years. Spin class? Not since September. Maybe that is a bad example since I have a spin bike of my own.

Still.

Jewelry making? I have a class that is all paid for. All I need to do is schedule it and go. Why haven’t I? I like jewelry. I like making things. It seems like it would be a perfect fit. It’s once a week. I have the time.

Same for learning another language. I have time. It isn’t very expensive. I am good at it, and I know I would enjoy it. It’s even good for me. It wouldn’t even have to be a new one–I could pick up one of the ones I studied that I never got very proficient with. It would be good for my brain.

Some activities are simply more fun with someone. Going to a movie alone is OK, but then you don’t have anyone to talk it over with. Skating is more fun with someone to laugh at you when you fall and help you back onto your feet. Going to the beach or the mountains or wherever is better when you have someone to talk with along the way.

A lot of things are fine alone. The gym. Going for a walk. Art classes.

So what is the hang up, if it isn’t time, money or a lack of company? I don’t think it’s laziness. It’s not like I am sitting around watching TV. I’m sitting around reading and writing, but I could take a few nights off. I might even meet some lovely new people.

Oh. People. New people. Could that be the problem? I really don’t think so. I mean, I signed up for online dating. I must want to meet a few new people.

It’s pretty simple, really.

Pure inertia.

I have enough pleasant things to do at home that I am not very motivated to go out.

At this point, I’m not even sure that is a bad thing. I do need to do the jewelry class. Casting silver sounds fun. I should really call.

Somebody give me a shove…

An imaginary conversation about going to the movies alone

Maybe I should go see a movie. I found some movie tickets today.

They do sort of tend to accumulate.

We missed the window of opportunity for the Christmas movies though.

Yeah, we kind of forgot to go and see some stuff.

We suck.

No we don’t. Things just happened.

True.

So what are you going to see?

No clue. I still haven’t talked myself into it.

What’s the big deal?

No big deal, I don’t mind going to movies alone. It’s just that then there isn’t anyone to talk about it after the movie is over. And no one to hold hands with, or lean on.

That’s also the case if you stay home.

Oh, I am well aware of that.

I didn’t mean to rub it in. It’s the same thing here.

I know.

So why do you have to talk yourself into it?

Part of it is that whole woman going out alone at night thing–the movies I am thinking about all start between 9:45 and 10:15. I am not super nervous about going out in this neighborhood alone, but it does make me think.

Plus you’d be walking to your car alone at midnight. I don’t know if I like that, either.

Right. The joys of being a woman.

There are compensations, aren’t there?

Are there?

There must be…

I don’t know. I’ve never been anything but female. I have no idea what it’s like to be anything else.

Boobs must be nice to have.

They are. I’m not sure they are adequate compensation for a lifetime of less pay and more risk of sexual violence.

Probably not. Would you be a man if you had a choice?

Not a chance.

Why not?

I’d get my dick caught in my zipper too often.

It really isn’t a frequent problem.

Still. I would just as soon keep my internal genitalia.

How did you get from movie tickets to genitals?

It’s a gift.

Straw, meet the camel’s back..

I didn’t know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of the throat and I’d cry for a week.
–Sylvia Plath/The Bell Jar

It is not a secret that the last few weeks have been challenging.

Big stuff. Death. Divorce. Diarrhea. Vomiting. The Full Meal Deal of bad times. No big tears, though. No outbursts. I was coping remarkably well, all things considered.

What killed me, finally?

A clogged kitchen sink spewing swamp water all over me when I ran the garbage disposal.

Funny how we can cope and cope and cope until one little thing has us sitting on the kitchen floor clutching a plunger and bawling like a baby.

All I needed was one day without a problem or event. One. In that cute way Life has of throwing curve balls, I got sprayed with dirty water instead. I was probably back talking some minor deity or something earlier that day. I probably deserved it.

Sometimes, Life is a dick.

I must have had a great cry though, right? It must have been great to get it all out. You’d think so, but no. I couldn’t even have my emotional collapse properly.

My emotional response to the very minor issue of the clogged sink was so over the top that I ended up laughing at myself and ruining everything. I didn’t even get to have the Seriously Big Cry I was hoping for.

Laughter. Bah.
Nothing ruins a Seriously Big Cry more quickly than self mocking laughter.

Next time, I am going to cry anyway. I don’t care how much I laugh at myself.