Still in the cloistered infirmary of my germ-ridden room, I feel like talking about things and I don't feel like talking about things. I feel like I should be online shopping, but I don't feel like it and shouldn't spend the money. IF I do start online shopping, it'll be after I take my Ambien, and then next week, all kinds of crazy shit will show up at the house that I don't remember ordering.
Hurry, before I start coughing again.
Onto other subjects:
I want to gush about the crush, but maybe that's not such a good idea yet, chiefly because I don't know at all where I might stand in the frame of his life (at least he's not married--that, in itself, is an achievement for me). It's a really long shot that started 20 years ago that's always sparked a twinkle in me when I'd reminisce, or we'd run into one another virtually, when we'd exchange flirtatious banter or he'd compliment me on my writing, or when I'd tell people he taught me more about writing than any professor in college ever taught me. Let's just leave it as he's incredibly talented, funny, charming and keeps getting more and more adorable the older he gets. He's also smarter than I am. The only frame of time reference I'll share is that I was overcome with jealousy when he showed up at the first Twisted Christmas with a girl, which shouldn't have bothered me since I was engaged to Craig, but bugged me anyway. Had he been really bolder, I'm pretty sure I would've called off my wedding. Seriously. Still, I have no idea if he's attached, or if he thinks I'm as cute as I imagined he thought I was when we were a lot younger. I don't even know his orientation for sure, to be honest. Then there's the fact we live most of the way across the country from one another, which is a further complication.
The last blog he read was "The Gift of Bipolar Disorder" which I wrote over the summer, and my fear is that I scared him away from wanting to be friends with me. It's an unwarranted fear, I understand, but it's real. For as normalized and de-stigmatized we're all trying to make mental health, sometimes I wonder if I have too many battle scars to be worth it, even though I know I am worth it. Completely. Bipolarity is a fact of my life, but I try not to let it control every action in which I engage. Much like drinking, I just try my best to keep it under control.
I promise myself I won't hope for anything.
Hurry, before I start coughing again.
Onto other subjects:
I want to gush about the crush, but maybe that's not such a good idea yet, chiefly because I don't know at all where I might stand in the frame of his life (at least he's not married--that, in itself, is an achievement for me). It's a really long shot that started 20 years ago that's always sparked a twinkle in me when I'd reminisce, or we'd run into one another virtually, when we'd exchange flirtatious banter or he'd compliment me on my writing, or when I'd tell people he taught me more about writing than any professor in college ever taught me. Let's just leave it as he's incredibly talented, funny, charming and keeps getting more and more adorable the older he gets. He's also smarter than I am. The only frame of time reference I'll share is that I was overcome with jealousy when he showed up at the first Twisted Christmas with a girl, which shouldn't have bothered me since I was engaged to Craig, but bugged me anyway. Had he been really bolder, I'm pretty sure I would've called off my wedding. Seriously. Still, I have no idea if he's attached, or if he thinks I'm as cute as I imagined he thought I was when we were a lot younger. I don't even know his orientation for sure, to be honest. Then there's the fact we live most of the way across the country from one another, which is a further complication.
The last blog he read was "The Gift of Bipolar Disorder" which I wrote over the summer, and my fear is that I scared him away from wanting to be friends with me. It's an unwarranted fear, I understand, but it's real. For as normalized and de-stigmatized we're all trying to make mental health, sometimes I wonder if I have too many battle scars to be worth it, even though I know I am worth it. Completely. Bipolarity is a fact of my life, but I try not to let it control every action in which I engage. Much like drinking, I just try my best to keep it under control.
I promise myself I won't hope for anything.
You know what happens when I get my hopes up about things. That's my inner Charlie Brown talking. I should be more positive. Ok, I'm positive things probably won't materialize. There we go.
I feel better but am still quite unwell with the bronchitis. Not wheezing as much. Not as many coughing fits. I was supposed to drum this weekend, but I had to bow out. I can't cough, cover my mouth and play at the same time. And I don't want my unholy, diseased spores floating about the sanctuary. That'd be icky. And demonic!
Don't even bother asking if Guy's checked in to see how I'm doing, medically or otherwise. He hasn't. He probably won't. And that has to be ok. It's been really hard resisting the urge to text him with bits of goings-on, or thoughts I'm having, or sentiments towards him. I'm staying radio silent.
I feel like doing something, but I also feel like doing nothing. Today, I took a 4 hour nap sitting completely upright in bed with my laptop on my lap, never moving. I still have that damn research paper over my head, now due New Year's Eve. I'll start working on it tomorrow, scout's honor. I guess if I were hard-pressed to choose a mood, it'd be that of fatigue or malaise (which are really the same thing).
Prepping for an incredibly boring New Year's Eve, as has been the case the last few years. I have Luke this year, and Ma's not going out so we have to include her in our plans. Maybe we can go out to dinner and go home and play "Apples to Apples" before we toast with sparkling grape juice (give me a break!) at midnight and wistfully wish we were with a special someone. Last year, my mom and I watched "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," had some snacks, toasted and went to bed. It was the first time I'd seen the movie, ever, which is surprising since I live in the cuckoo's nest, but it's easily now in my Top 5 favorite films.
I should be looking up syllabi at school and ordering books, but I don't feel like doing that either, nor do I know if my courses are even up yet. (Malaise, hi.)
Until I get some God's honest energy, I'll amuse myself with unrealistic thoughts of the crush. (He may need a pseudonym if anything interesting transpires.) He uses words like "mawkishness!" Swoon!
8 comments:
We have to keep things that give us hope, even if those things are long shot crushes. Or, in my case, long shot doesn't begin to cover it. But, we have to have hope, right?
I've started my list of non-negotiables and things I could possible wiggle on (har har, I said wiggle on) in the event of anything next. I'm definitely wanting an artist type, who is actively an artist. And none of this lame shit where they "used to" do this or that. Hell naw. I want someone who creates!
Anyways, my point to this is, know what you want. Isn't there something that says something like, we manifest what we want into our lives by believing it exists? And if there isn't, there should be something that says that. I'm also trying to manifest a better narrative to my life.
I decided today that I won't have a salt shaker in my house, wherever that winds up being. No no, I want a salt pig. Priorities!
If there isn't something somewhere that already says that (I'm too lazy to research), yes, it should be a truism.
I need someone who stimulates me intellectually and artistically. When I wrote the poem for and about Guy, he didn't know what being a muse was whatsoever and I had to explain it at great length. OY. I need someone to push the limits of my brain and creativity, not someone who criticizes and ostracizes every mishap in my complicated life. I tried to show Guy what culture was, and exposed him to all sortsa groovy stuff, and he still thought playing jigsaw puzzles with Lady GuyGuy was more fun. F that. For a long time, he made me feel really good about myself. But I'd say in the last year, he's made me feel really shitty about myself, and that's not love, buddy.
Do you want a salt shaker in the shape of a pig or is this some type of animal of which I'm not aware? I have a cow cream dispenser! Man I need my own place, stat.
If he's not otherwise paired up, or doesn't swing in your direction, I know who you're talking about and he'd be really cute with you. He'd definitely challenge you and is way more interesting than Dr. Devo.
Don't give up hope, princess. You just never know.
http://www.emilehenryusa.com/Salt-Pig-Slate-plu790201.html
Except in a red, or orange. Because it's what I want!
Ahhh, context. That was a cool .02 second fantasy.
My salt shakers have been in storage for so long, I don't remember at all what they may have looked like. Well, actually, that can be said of most of my earthly baubles.
Oh, BMF, we'd be adorable together. Not you and I, though we are too, but he and I would be awfully cute.
I feel like buying Guy a 50,000 piece jigsaw puzzle and telling him to have fun with ALL that for the rest of his life, fool.
Andrea, your salt shakers aren't the only thing that have been in storage too long. Go, beautiful girl!!!
Dont forget to deliberately leave one piece out of the puzzle!
ROB!!!!!
That's just genius!
Then they'll get into a big fight over who misplaced it, or where it might be, or why did Guy let that snarky bitch Annie give him a jigsaw puzzle in the first place. Then he'l be sleeping on the couch for a month. Which serves him right.
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