Finally.
Last night I intended to have a quiet dinner in with a friend, and instead I somehow ended up at the local gay club for karaoke night. As horrific as that sentence sounds, it was actually one of the best nights I've had in a long time. There was (responsible, moderate) drinking and (ridiculous, excessive) dancing, and for about three hours I lost track of everything except laughter and music and good company. Josh has taken to calling me "lesbian bait," which really isn't anything new for me, but it's pretty flattering and totally worry-free; I establish up front that I'm straight, they flirt anyway, and everyone has a good time. Now why can't it be that simple when I'm actually attracted to someone?
Rhetoric aside, that's a pretty good question. The obvious answer is because I care too much, and I'm wondering what I can do to change that. I had such a delightful time last night with these smart, witty, charming people, and I didn't waste any time worrying that I looked weird or can't dance or any of that. I bought a couple drinks, had a couple bought for me, and just laughed and moved and wore myself out. It amazes me, in retrospect, that I wasn't a big spazz or totally awkward, or even particularly nervous. I was charming and fun to be around, and even got a couple compliments on my dancing. I had a good time. Dancing. At a club. I was sweaty and unselfconscious and apparently still rather attractive. I want to learn to tap in to this energetic, positive self at other, more important, less inebriated times.
My legs are so sore today, and my mood is better than it's been in weeks. It's sunny and warm outside, and I've already done my homework for the weekend. I think it's time to take a lawn chair out and do some reading in the sun.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Censhorship as Sustenance (eating my words)
I haven't had much to say in this space for the past week or so. I got tired of hearing my own negativity reflected back at me, and I've been quite busy running around with new people, which is more cheering than grumbling to the anonymous expanses of the 'net. More exhausting, too, but I'm still having trouble sleeping. I think the solution is to work some physical exertion into my daily schedule. There's a free "workout center" at my apartment complex, but I'm really, really not comfortable in the gym atmosphere. But it's bad weather for outdoor pursuits.
See? Four sentences in, and it's already whine, bitch, moan. *scowls* Too bad I can't scold myself into cheering the hell up, because I'm pretty good at scolding.
I've spent a good chunk of my afternoon considering whether or not to post a response on a friend's blog to someone who some might call a troll, though from what I can see he's just opinionated and a little more forceful than I consider polite. Of course, so am I, so it would be pretty ridiculous to ignore him on that ground alone. By the same token, I have to ask myself if even the most reasoned, compassionate response is will be taken as anything beyond disagreement and an invitation to criticize my perspective.
I find that anything I can say about what I don't like about this guy's style applies equally to my own. Pedantic, forceful, argumentative and sometimes a little lacking in perspective. It's more convicting than humbling, which is nice; I'm thinking about how I can communicate myself more gently, evoke understanding rather than discord, instead of just beating myself up.
I've been a regular member of a student group this semester (shocking!), and I often leave the meetings thinking about how I could have been gentler and more concise. I won't give the name (I don't want any google hits off this one) but in their own words they are: "a group for free thought, geared towards discussing secular world views, challenging conceptions, promoting tolerance, encouraging skepticism, and fostering a better general understanding of secular philosophy and the sciences." Nice. The meetings are mostly filled with traditional undergrads, so I sometimes feel like a bit of an old woman, but that's sometimes a good feeling. I can hold my tongue while the kids talk through their ideas, step in with a firm word when I see someone getting verbally trounced for no good reason, and generally be something more of a leader than a follower. I haven't felt that way in a while, and it's a good feeling. I have to balance it with awareness of my own fallibility and a healthy does of emotional detachment, while not forgetting my compassion; healthy exercises all. (And it doesn't hurt that the person there who most exemplifies these traits himself is attractive, single, and blushes every time we make eye contact. More on that if and as it develops.)
And as I was reading through that considering how to wrap up, Pandora played something new that caught my ear and is surprisingly on topic. In closing, a bit from "Little Bird" by The Weepies:
"Sometimes it's hard to say even one thing true
When all eyes have turned aside
They used to talk to you
And people on the street seem to disapprove
So you keep moving away
And forget what you wanted to say
Little bird, little bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said, say it again
They tell me I'm crazy
But you told me I'm golden"
See? Four sentences in, and it's already whine, bitch, moan. *scowls* Too bad I can't scold myself into cheering the hell up, because I'm pretty good at scolding.
I've spent a good chunk of my afternoon considering whether or not to post a response on a friend's blog to someone who some might call a troll, though from what I can see he's just opinionated and a little more forceful than I consider polite. Of course, so am I, so it would be pretty ridiculous to ignore him on that ground alone. By the same token, I have to ask myself if even the most reasoned, compassionate response is will be taken as anything beyond disagreement and an invitation to criticize my perspective.
I find that anything I can say about what I don't like about this guy's style applies equally to my own. Pedantic, forceful, argumentative and sometimes a little lacking in perspective. It's more convicting than humbling, which is nice; I'm thinking about how I can communicate myself more gently, evoke understanding rather than discord, instead of just beating myself up.
I've been a regular member of a student group this semester (shocking!), and I often leave the meetings thinking about how I could have been gentler and more concise. I won't give the name (I don't want any google hits off this one) but in their own words they are: "a group for free thought, geared towards discussing secular world views, challenging conceptions, promoting tolerance, encouraging skepticism, and fostering a better general understanding of secular philosophy and the sciences." Nice. The meetings are mostly filled with traditional undergrads, so I sometimes feel like a bit of an old woman, but that's sometimes a good feeling. I can hold my tongue while the kids talk through their ideas, step in with a firm word when I see someone getting verbally trounced for no good reason, and generally be something more of a leader than a follower. I haven't felt that way in a while, and it's a good feeling. I have to balance it with awareness of my own fallibility and a healthy does of emotional detachment, while not forgetting my compassion; healthy exercises all. (And it doesn't hurt that the person there who most exemplifies these traits himself is attractive, single, and blushes every time we make eye contact. More on that if and as it develops.)
And as I was reading through that considering how to wrap up, Pandora played something new that caught my ear and is surprisingly on topic. In closing, a bit from "Little Bird" by The Weepies:
"Sometimes it's hard to say even one thing true
When all eyes have turned aside
They used to talk to you
And people on the street seem to disapprove
So you keep moving away
And forget what you wanted to say
Little bird, little bird
Brush your gray wings on my head
Say what you said, say it again
They tell me I'm crazy
But you told me I'm golden"
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Winter for One
Crass commercial hearts tell me
I've got fourteen days to find love,
just a couple more weeks
or it's another year I spent alone.
I'm trying to tune it out
listen to my self, listen to the rain
and remember that March
is for the fishes who swim upstream, down.
But sunshowers seem miles away
and this cold, dripping rain
trip-trap trapping,
your talk, talk talking
is falling on deaf ears.
I wriggle harder, but it only cuts my mouth:
February's got its hooks in me.
I've got fourteen days to find love,
just a couple more weeks
or it's another year I spent alone.
I'm trying to tune it out
listen to my self, listen to the rain
and remember that March
is for the fishes who swim upstream, down.
But sunshowers seem miles away
and this cold, dripping rain
trip-trap trapping,
your talk, talk talking
is falling on deaf ears.
I wriggle harder, but it only cuts my mouth:
February's got its hooks in me.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Today was another day of trying; while I succeeded in a couple obvious ways, I still feel like a failure. Stupid February. Stupid fucking depression. I've given up winning this battle, but at the moment I don't even really want to keep fighting it. I'm trying to be healthier and save some money, but what I want right now is to get really, really drunk and cry myself to sleep.
My day started later than it should have; I think "overslept" is an understatement of inexcusable proportions. I went to bed shortly after five yesterday (that's pm, for once), slept until 10:30, ate some "dinner," went back to bed at midnight, didn't get up until almost noon. That's close to 18 hours by my count. I think it's a safe bet I'll have some trouble getting to sleep tonight. I woke up every bit as weepy and emotional as I was when I went to bed, and got next to nothing done for the first couple hours I was awake. Realizing I wasn't going to get anything done at home, I packed up my notes for my Monday night class and went to a coffee shop. I bought a bagel and too much coffee, managed to get all my homework done, even did a bit of writing.
Class was good, I think, but I felt like I kept interrupting the flow every time I opened my mouth. I really liked all three poems we workshopped tonight, but I it seemed like every time I said anything my voice was too loud, too harsh, and was followed by too much polite silence. I'm pretty sure I'm still that over-eager, pushy little swot and everyone just wishes I would keep my big mouth shut. We didn't get around to my poem, and I was more disappointed by that than I want to admit. I cried the whole way home, for no discernible reason beyond simple self-pity. I feel attention starved, and I want to tell myself to grow the hell up. I don't have a valentine, boo-fucking-hoo.
Yesterday I identified anger and the individuals I'm angry at. Today I seem to be sulking and re-directing that anger at myself. Sam taught me to recognize this pattern, but I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do to stop it. I want it to be all about me and how great I am, and it's not. I hate when feeling small is coupled with feeling alone, helpless against this overwhelming, indifferent world. I'm trying to meet my own emotional needs, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do tonight. Wait it out, I guess. Make dinner, try not to cry, or drink, or call David. Keep trying. Keep waiting.
My day started later than it should have; I think "overslept" is an understatement of inexcusable proportions. I went to bed shortly after five yesterday (that's pm, for once), slept until 10:30, ate some "dinner," went back to bed at midnight, didn't get up until almost noon. That's close to 18 hours by my count. I think it's a safe bet I'll have some trouble getting to sleep tonight. I woke up every bit as weepy and emotional as I was when I went to bed, and got next to nothing done for the first couple hours I was awake. Realizing I wasn't going to get anything done at home, I packed up my notes for my Monday night class and went to a coffee shop. I bought a bagel and too much coffee, managed to get all my homework done, even did a bit of writing.
Class was good, I think, but I felt like I kept interrupting the flow every time I opened my mouth. I really liked all three poems we workshopped tonight, but I it seemed like every time I said anything my voice was too loud, too harsh, and was followed by too much polite silence. I'm pretty sure I'm still that over-eager, pushy little swot and everyone just wishes I would keep my big mouth shut. We didn't get around to my poem, and I was more disappointed by that than I want to admit. I cried the whole way home, for no discernible reason beyond simple self-pity. I feel attention starved, and I want to tell myself to grow the hell up. I don't have a valentine, boo-fucking-hoo.
Yesterday I identified anger and the individuals I'm angry at. Today I seem to be sulking and re-directing that anger at myself. Sam taught me to recognize this pattern, but I still haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do to stop it. I want it to be all about me and how great I am, and it's not. I hate when feeling small is coupled with feeling alone, helpless against this overwhelming, indifferent world. I'm trying to meet my own emotional needs, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do tonight. Wait it out, I guess. Make dinner, try not to cry, or drink, or call David. Keep trying. Keep waiting.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
thinking cheerful thoughts. grumpily.
Another sleepless night, roughly a month since the last one. I'm starting to think this might be as much a hormonal thing as anything else. Maybe I'll start marking them on a calendar or something.
Urg. I'm doing my best to fight through this awful February funk. I did a good job of it for the most part yesterday: cleaned, bought groceries, cooked, watched a movie with a friend. The cooking was pretty awesome and cheered me considerably. I baked a butternut squash (with maple syrup and a bit of brown sugar) and tried to make black bean and turkey chili, but got a bit distracted and ended up with something of a stew instead. It was thick and hearty and delicious, and complimented the squash perfectly. A little low on starch, but that's probably something I should aim for, diet-wise. The beans came from a can, but pretty much everything else was from scratch. It felt good to flex my domestic muscles (figuratively speaking; the physical flexing comes later today when I make bread).
I haven't kept up with the cleaning as consistently as I had set out to last month, but it certainly could be a lot worse as well. I've put off doing laundry for lack of quarters, so I've been reduced to baggy pants and an oversized corduroy shirt this morning. I'm reminded why I chose to dress this way for so many years. In a word: cozy. Giving myself a bit more latitude to be girly is all well and good in many circumstances; I feel more confident when attempting to blend into crowds or make new friends, and marginally less ridiculous when trying to flirt. But when it's just me and my laptop, it feels nice to revert to the frump. And David told me I should take this shirt to Goodwill. Hrmph. Shows what he knows.
Not going to dwell on him right now. More musing on positive things: In the past week I've had a couple moments with new friends that cemented in my mind certain character traits that I appreciate and want to cultivate in myself. Clark has this gentle intelligence coupled with a sharp wit that makes for fantastic conversation. He's more verbal than most men I know and much less preoccupied with awkwardness and social grace than most women. It's hard to explain what this adds up to, so I'll go with an anecdote. He was telling me about his grandfather, who has some serious health issues and is in palliative care, and that raised the subject of end-of-life care in general and the notion that choosing to end a long, full life as a very different thing from suicide in adolescence or early adulthood. I got a bit self-conscious to be expressing my thoughts so freely when this is all abstract to me, but to him it's a very real, immediate issue. I covered with my usual verbal bluster, a stream of rambling that ended in a terribly awkward mixed metaphor: "…so the body is a temple, sure, but what do you do when the temple is falling down around your ears?"
I didn't quite mange to stop talking even then, just mumbled an apology for a botched metaphor and was starting to feel really stupid, but Clark gave me his gentle little smile that's almost a smirk and said "Find some big, long-haired guy." It was so quiet and subtle it took me a minute to realize that not only was he not derailed by my rambling, not only had he actually kept up, but he somehow managed to save the metaphor for me. We were talking about his grandfather's failing health, and still he was considerate and self-controlled and smart. I'm sincerely proud to call him a friend.
What I saw from Josh that impressed me so much can't be shared in too much detail, as it's much more his story than mine, but the bare bones of it should get the idea across well enough. I was hanging out at his place and he invited another friend over, someone I've met before and liked well enough. Said friend got a little drunk and a lot belligerent, picked a fight, and generally turned an awesome night sour. Josh dealt pretty well at first, but eventually lost his temper, raised his voice, tried to set a boundary and kinda failed. Drunk and belligerent stuck with what he knew and drank faster, yelled louder, and eventually stormed off in a huff (far too drunk to be driving in my opinion, and I don't think it helped things that I chose to point that out). Josh paced around for a bit after he left, clearly upset, but didn't take his frustration out on me in the least. He didn't even badmouth his friend, which is what I would have expected to see in that situation. Instead, he poured himself some water and asked for my input, wondered aloud what he could have done to make things go differently.
The next day he mentioned it again, said he was planning on air quote apologizing. I'm not sure that's the best thing for him to do, in the long run, but I can't help but think it's exactly what I would have done in his position at his age. I'm very impressed by his humility and willingness to examine his role in creating conflict. It makes me trust him more to realize that, should we find ourselves in a serious difference of opinion, he's more likely to talk it through and try to fix things than just vilify me and play the victim.
Wit and humility. Turns out, when coupled with compassion, they're pretty much the best things ever. That gives me hope for me.
Urg. I'm doing my best to fight through this awful February funk. I did a good job of it for the most part yesterday: cleaned, bought groceries, cooked, watched a movie with a friend. The cooking was pretty awesome and cheered me considerably. I baked a butternut squash (with maple syrup and a bit of brown sugar) and tried to make black bean and turkey chili, but got a bit distracted and ended up with something of a stew instead. It was thick and hearty and delicious, and complimented the squash perfectly. A little low on starch, but that's probably something I should aim for, diet-wise. The beans came from a can, but pretty much everything else was from scratch. It felt good to flex my domestic muscles (figuratively speaking; the physical flexing comes later today when I make bread).
I haven't kept up with the cleaning as consistently as I had set out to last month, but it certainly could be a lot worse as well. I've put off doing laundry for lack of quarters, so I've been reduced to baggy pants and an oversized corduroy shirt this morning. I'm reminded why I chose to dress this way for so many years. In a word: cozy. Giving myself a bit more latitude to be girly is all well and good in many circumstances; I feel more confident when attempting to blend into crowds or make new friends, and marginally less ridiculous when trying to flirt. But when it's just me and my laptop, it feels nice to revert to the frump. And David told me I should take this shirt to Goodwill. Hrmph. Shows what he knows.
Not going to dwell on him right now. More musing on positive things: In the past week I've had a couple moments with new friends that cemented in my mind certain character traits that I appreciate and want to cultivate in myself. Clark has this gentle intelligence coupled with a sharp wit that makes for fantastic conversation. He's more verbal than most men I know and much less preoccupied with awkwardness and social grace than most women. It's hard to explain what this adds up to, so I'll go with an anecdote. He was telling me about his grandfather, who has some serious health issues and is in palliative care, and that raised the subject of end-of-life care in general and the notion that choosing to end a long, full life as a very different thing from suicide in adolescence or early adulthood. I got a bit self-conscious to be expressing my thoughts so freely when this is all abstract to me, but to him it's a very real, immediate issue. I covered with my usual verbal bluster, a stream of rambling that ended in a terribly awkward mixed metaphor: "…so the body is a temple, sure, but what do you do when the temple is falling down around your ears?"
I didn't quite mange to stop talking even then, just mumbled an apology for a botched metaphor and was starting to feel really stupid, but Clark gave me his gentle little smile that's almost a smirk and said "Find some big, long-haired guy." It was so quiet and subtle it took me a minute to realize that not only was he not derailed by my rambling, not only had he actually kept up, but he somehow managed to save the metaphor for me. We were talking about his grandfather's failing health, and still he was considerate and self-controlled and smart. I'm sincerely proud to call him a friend.
What I saw from Josh that impressed me so much can't be shared in too much detail, as it's much more his story than mine, but the bare bones of it should get the idea across well enough. I was hanging out at his place and he invited another friend over, someone I've met before and liked well enough. Said friend got a little drunk and a lot belligerent, picked a fight, and generally turned an awesome night sour. Josh dealt pretty well at first, but eventually lost his temper, raised his voice, tried to set a boundary and kinda failed. Drunk and belligerent stuck with what he knew and drank faster, yelled louder, and eventually stormed off in a huff (far too drunk to be driving in my opinion, and I don't think it helped things that I chose to point that out). Josh paced around for a bit after he left, clearly upset, but didn't take his frustration out on me in the least. He didn't even badmouth his friend, which is what I would have expected to see in that situation. Instead, he poured himself some water and asked for my input, wondered aloud what he could have done to make things go differently.
The next day he mentioned it again, said he was planning on air quote apologizing. I'm not sure that's the best thing for him to do, in the long run, but I can't help but think it's exactly what I would have done in his position at his age. I'm very impressed by his humility and willingness to examine his role in creating conflict. It makes me trust him more to realize that, should we find ourselves in a serious difference of opinion, he's more likely to talk it through and try to fix things than just vilify me and play the victim.
Wit and humility. Turns out, when coupled with compassion, they're pretty much the best things ever. That gives me hope for me.
Wednesday, February 03, 2010
In which sadness and anger are really the same.
I've been feeling blue since I got back from visiting Ryan, not deeply melancholic or terribly anxious, just... down. Sad. It's February and the weather is being entirely true to form, so really that's explanation enough, but I'm a curious little creature so I keep looking for other whys. I'm tired, but restless, and there's a subtle ache that seems a bit like loneliness but hasn't been easy to soothe even with good company.
I fell asleep last night thinking of good things and the people I care for, but I dreamed of Livvy. It was another violent dream where I was cruel and said all the vicious things I wouldn't ever say aloud, won't even allow myself to think about when I'm awake. I scratched her face, held her head down, but she didn't mock or ignore me the way the people in those dreams usually do. At first she made a show of telling me she didn't know who I was, then laughed with apparent pleasure at being attacked, gave every appearance of enjoying my abuse. She seemed utterly certain of her moral high ground. I felt guilty even in the dream, aware that I was the one in the wrong and that I should have had the fortitude to just ignore her in return. We were at a party, and once I saw her I couldn't socialize with anyone else, because I was afraid they had seen the way I had treated her. I was ashamed and outcast, but there was cake, and people kept saying nice things to me, so I was more or less okay.
And now that I put the whole thing into words, it's almost too obvious to be taken seriously. I guess I hadn't realized how much this was still weighing on me, but there's nothing to be done for it now. I've been avoiding people and events that I associate with her, sticking to the parts of my life that she was never really a part of. I suppose that's really fairly limiting, since this isn't that big a town and facebook informs me we share 25 friends (a massive underestimation by my count). I'm still angry after more than a month. I'm angry at Lain too, of course, but the geography makes it much easier to ignore that. In truth, though, I haven't made time for any of the events down in Dallas that I went to last fall, and it's a tossup whether that's more about the risk of seeing Livvy or thinking about Lain.
I don't like feeling this way. I've also been feeling angry with David the past couple weeks, and I'm not sure whether to file that under "still" or "again." The last several times I've reached out to him he's made transparent excuses and dusted off the same cold, insincere apologies that were the thing I hated most about being involved with him. I wish I had more time to talk, but I've just been really busy. I'll spend the next 20 minutes telling you what I don't like about my life right now, but only if you keep your mouth shut and don't ask me about anything that has any emotional depth. Sorry. Which is a valid boundary to set, even if I don't like it, but I hate hearing it wrapped up in that bullshit "sorry," as if it's out of his control or something.
Hollow apologies and broken promises bother me in a way that little else does. They're almost a challenge to take someone at their word in spite of my experience and intuition, and I almost always take them up on it. Maybe he really is sorry this time, maybe he'll call when he as more time. But experience suggests he'll call when no one else in his life is offering him the sort comfort and support he's come expect me to give at the drop of a hat. And the worst part is, I spent the last three years training him to treat me this way. It's as much my fault as it is his.
I fell asleep last night thinking of good things and the people I care for, but I dreamed of Livvy. It was another violent dream where I was cruel and said all the vicious things I wouldn't ever say aloud, won't even allow myself to think about when I'm awake. I scratched her face, held her head down, but she didn't mock or ignore me the way the people in those dreams usually do. At first she made a show of telling me she didn't know who I was, then laughed with apparent pleasure at being attacked, gave every appearance of enjoying my abuse. She seemed utterly certain of her moral high ground. I felt guilty even in the dream, aware that I was the one in the wrong and that I should have had the fortitude to just ignore her in return. We were at a party, and once I saw her I couldn't socialize with anyone else, because I was afraid they had seen the way I had treated her. I was ashamed and outcast, but there was cake, and people kept saying nice things to me, so I was more or less okay.
And now that I put the whole thing into words, it's almost too obvious to be taken seriously. I guess I hadn't realized how much this was still weighing on me, but there's nothing to be done for it now. I've been avoiding people and events that I associate with her, sticking to the parts of my life that she was never really a part of. I suppose that's really fairly limiting, since this isn't that big a town and facebook informs me we share 25 friends (a massive underestimation by my count). I'm still angry after more than a month. I'm angry at Lain too, of course, but the geography makes it much easier to ignore that. In truth, though, I haven't made time for any of the events down in Dallas that I went to last fall, and it's a tossup whether that's more about the risk of seeing Livvy or thinking about Lain.
I don't like feeling this way. I've also been feeling angry with David the past couple weeks, and I'm not sure whether to file that under "still" or "again." The last several times I've reached out to him he's made transparent excuses and dusted off the same cold, insincere apologies that were the thing I hated most about being involved with him. I wish I had more time to talk, but I've just been really busy. I'll spend the next 20 minutes telling you what I don't like about my life right now, but only if you keep your mouth shut and don't ask me about anything that has any emotional depth. Sorry. Which is a valid boundary to set, even if I don't like it, but I hate hearing it wrapped up in that bullshit "sorry," as if it's out of his control or something.
Hollow apologies and broken promises bother me in a way that little else does. They're almost a challenge to take someone at their word in spite of my experience and intuition, and I almost always take them up on it. Maybe he really is sorry this time, maybe he'll call when he as more time. But experience suggests he'll call when no one else in his life is offering him the sort comfort and support he's come expect me to give at the drop of a hat. And the worst part is, I spent the last three years training him to treat me this way. It's as much my fault as it is his.
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