Off-Limits

(Me and friends at an opening night party on 12/04/09)


I talked to Brian tonight. He's getting deployed again. And for the longest time ever. It's going to be weird not being able to call him up. We have an incredibly (and shockingly) functional exes-who-went-back-to-being-good-friends friendship.

I talked to him tonight about the weird boy drama in my life. There are things that have happened recently that I feel like I can't talk about down here. Perhaps that I shouldn't even acknowledge.

Usually, my flirting radar is defective in the sense that I don't notice when it's going off. For so long, I've held this concept of "As Good As Gay" in my mind. To remind you (because I wrote this post long before many of you knew this blog existed)...

In the past, I have often placed men in a category that I call "As Good As Gay". For one reason or another, I have (consciously or unconsciously) deemed them off-limits, crush-wise. Reasons that a male might be put on this list include:

1. I am in a relationship. (automatically makes all other men AGAG because of my famously successful "relationship blinders")
2. He is in a relationship.
3. He is interested in another female on a level somewhere between “significant crush” and “stalker-like obsession”. (You would be surprised how many times I've come across the latter... usually it has to do with "the girl who got away")
4. One of my friends is interested in him.
5. He has previously dated one of my friends.
6. He lives far away.
7. We have never actually met in real life.
8. He's actually gay.
9. I suspect that he MIGHT be gay.
10. He is friends with one of my exes.
11. He is in my class/program. (this one was added when I came down to grad school)
12. He is under the age of 22 or over the age of 29. (I just made up this rule right now, because I think those are probably my extremes, dating-wise, at my present age of 25. Although according to this formula, I could date anywhere from 19.5-36 before things got creepy.)

And honestly, the thought of dating someone who gets labeled AGAG doesn't enter my mind. Unless he does something that changes that. Which usually involves flirting with me in an obvious manner. Or flat out telling me that 1. he wants to date me, 2. he wants to kiss me, 3. he would dump his girlfriend for me... you know. Something along those lines.

So, fine, once the switch gets flipped, all rules are off. Examples:
- I dated Ex #1, who had previously made-out with one of my best friends, and whom about 5 of my friends had crushes on before I dated... Awkward.
- I dated Ex #2, whom my then-roommate (the same girl who had made out with Ex #1) had a crush on not long before. Also, he had a crush on another girl when we started dating (which I didn't actually know about until a few weeks into dating him, but continued to date him anyway. Actually, I should thank her... Part of the reason I started this blog was because he said his crush on her developed out of his love for her blog. So thank you, blogger-chick-whom-my-ex-had-a-crush-on. You changed my life).
- I dated Brian, who was in Nebraska while I was in Chicago. Also, my crush on Brian totally began while I was dating Ex #2 (although I think I already knew things weren't going to work out with him).
- I dated The Filmmaker, who was over a 5-hour drive away... and continued dating him when he was in California, and I was in Connecticut/Florida.
- I went on a date with a 38-year-old when I was 21. (Note: After finding out that he was 38, there was no second date.)
- I kissed a guy who was a 3rd-year in my program when I was a 1st-year. (Note: this is precisely why I don't drink anymore.)


I feel wrong about going into the awkward male situations in my life at the moment... but to satisfy a little curiosity...

- Guys who are in relationships who seem to be hitting on me. (I have to write "seem to be" instead of "are obviously" because it feels somehow safer if I don't fully admit to it, even on here. It just seems so wrong... Actually, I'm only positive about one of them still being in a relationship. The other could very well have broken up with his girlfriend by now, but I'm treating him like he has one until I know otherwise.)
- Guys who have previously dated (or quasi-dated) my friends who now appear to be hitting on me.
- Guys who have hooked up with my roommate are hitting on me (including one who hit on me the same day that he had woken up at my house).
- A guy who is friends with one of my exes has a crush on me.
- A guy who is out of my self-instituted datable age range is hitting on me.

So basically, they're all off-limits, by my own definition. And normally, they'd be AGAG... but they're flipping switches all over the place, and that makes it all much harder to handle.

And there are so many thoughts that fly through my head about these things, but I can't say anything. Because I don't want to spread rumors. Because I don't want to upset anyone. And because what if I'm wrong? What if they're just being friendly, and I'm so lonely that some part of me is, dare I say it, wanting it to be something more?


I will admit to the following:

1. I like to flirt. I'm not terribly good at it. And I don't always know that I'm doing it. But okay, fine. Yes. I'm a flirt.

2. Touch is my strongest sense, according to me, my Movement Professor, and probably most of my classmates (which is unusual; people are more likely to have sight or hearing as their strongest sense). So I touch people a lot. And I acknowledge that could be construed as flirtation.

3. I have social anxiety, and touching people is actually one of my coping mechanisms. It grounds me, somehow. So in large groups of people, I find a way to work touch into conversations as much as possible. And I acknowledge that it could be construed as flirtation.

4. I am an non-discriminant cuddler, and I believe in platonic cuddling. I will cuddle with anyone, regardless of my attraction to them. And I acknowledge that it could be construed as flirtation.

5. I often dance in a suggestive manner. As a result, I have a general rule that I will only dance with people after giving them a verbal disclaimer that I dance in a suggestive manner, and that it does not mean that I want them. (I haven't danced with anyone lately, but I felt this belonged on the list because of past transgressions.)

6. I have lately been mentioning on a regular basis just how lonely I am. I actually said it on Tuesday while I was on stage in front of 22 of my schoolmates. I acknowledge in retrospect that statements like this could lead someone to believe that I am looking for offers... Which I'm not (as far as I know).

Yes, I flirt. Yes, I cuddle. Yes, I encourage people to touch me. And yes, I'm guilty of more than I'll be admitting on the internet tonight.

And I realized something particularly horrible about myself yesterday. Brace yourself:

Sometimes it feels safer to flirt with people who are unattainable.

Because really, I don't want to be in a relationship right now. I don't want to become "...and Angela". I don't. So as stupid as it is, I think I'm actually MORE likely to flirt with people in relationships. Or, at the very least, I'm likely to flirt BACK when they initiate it. I don't always realize that I'm doing it at the time, but I see it retrospectively.

But in my defense:

1. I once slapped a guy who had a girlfriend who said "kissin' ain't cheatin'" and tried to kiss me in his car. And I plan to do the same to any future non-single guy who attempts to make any sort of move on me. I do not condone cheating, and I will not be a part of it. Period. (NOTE TO BOYS: The difference between cheating on a girlfriend and not cheating is picking up a phone and breaking up with her first. If you're not willing to do that, then you shouldn't be trying to hook up with anyone but her.)

2. I very directly stated to TWO of the guys hitting on me that I am not going to sleep with them. (Which, frankly, they should have realized, as they are both well aware of my lack of a sexual past.)

3. I very directly stated to one of them that nothing is going to happen between us because he has a girlfriend.

4. As soon as I (very recently) found out a guy had a past quasi-relationship with a friend of mine, I stopped talking to him. Out of sight, out of mind.


I was talking to a classmate yesterday very vaguely about the things I've mentioned here. She basically said.
1. She thinks I'm an attention whore.
2. She doesn't think that what I actually want is someone to cuddle with (which I've been thinking would be the solution to my physical-loneliness problem), because she thinks I could easily get that if I wanted it. She thinks the issue is more complicated that that.

I don't think of myself as an attention whore. Although, I am a blogger, so that's not exactly evidence to the contrary.

But maybe she's right on the cuddle buddy issue.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, I suddenly got a feeling of déjà vu as I was typing this post, so I took a break and I checked over my archives... And I found a post that I actually deleted after the initial posting (well, "Saved as Draft", if you want to get technical) that I wrote 11 months ago. A post where I mentioned the very same "kissin' ain't cheatin'" story, in fact. A post where I wrote about 4 guys who were interested in me under strange circumstances.

And that deleted post involves one of the very same people that I'm writing this post about. I actually wrote, "...it has been strange for me to be around him. Less comfortable than normal. I guess that night flipped the switch. Maybe he's no longer easily fitting into my tidy little label of As Good As Gay."

Which means his switch was flipped way back then. And then he went back into AGAG territory (probably around the time of The Filmmaker, if not The Engineer). And here we are again, at the end of the year that we started off in an awkward position.

The deleted post was deleted for a reason... but Past Angela just surprised Present Angela with this:

"But I'm not going to lie: I liked it. More than I'd like to admit. If he were single, I probably would've let things go in a different direction that night."

OH. MY. WORD.

I don't even want him! I don't! I swear! He's wrong for me, I'm wrong for him, we're wrong for each other. And IF he's intending to hit on me as he has been, I'm sure it's purely out of his need for chasing unattainable sexual conquests, and not because he's interested in me on a romantic level, and I have no desire to be used in such a manner.

But, man, the game is fun sometimes. Maybe it's because I know it's not going anywhere. Maybe that's why it feels safe. Maybe that's why. And it's got to stop. I have to stop flirting with him. Have. To. Stop. Now.

I'm leaving for a couple of weeks. To Connecticut, with my family, where I'll be working, and in a state where the only males I know that I'm not related to are over the age of 50. A state in which there is absolutely zero potential for flirtation.

I told Brian that. I thought this hiatus from temptation would be a good thing. He thinks the opposite. He thinks that as soon as I come back, my emotional baggage is going to explode after having been packed away for weeks. I hope he's wrong, but I'm not sure if he is.

So here we are. Another un-concluded post. *sigh*


May you be able to stay within your limits.

~A~



P.S. Don't you wish I blogged more? If I get a 20SB Bootleg Award Nomination, I'll try to do just that. :) My 20SB URL is http://www.20sb.net/profile/angelaboration

P.P.S. After this post, I thought it appropriate to throw in a quotation from one of my favorite book series...

"The tales we tell ourselves about ourselves make us who we are... and who we might be."
~ Jessica Darling, "Perfect Fifths" by Megan McCafferty


P.P.P.S. I ate an entire bag of Christmas-colored sour gummy bears while composing this post. And they were delicious.

Out of the Networks

(Me and Wifey at a pizza place. 05/22/09)

So since about, oh, August, I've been difficult to reach. I thought it would be a good idea to start calling all of the people who I scroll past in my contacts list and think, "Oh man, the next time I have time for a good long talk, I NEED TO CALL YOU" about. As it turns out, that list has gotten very, very long.

Occasionally one of those people will do the calling (like my friend John, whom I spoke with a couple of weeks ago for the first time in about 9 months). And usually, I say, "It's so great to hear from you! Can I call you back?" But the best laid plans of mice and Angela go oft awry.

I've neglected so much while being at school -- which is, of course, exactly what I needed to do. The days are gone when I can come home at 5pm and work on my less-than-Pulitzer-worthy chick-lit novel. I can't hold myself to a blogging schedule of twice a week (I've been barely clinging to once a month). And I certainly can't keep up with all the people I care about.

I thought about making myself some kind of schedule. Call one person a day or something. But that seemed formulaic and somehow disingenuous. Like "I'm calling you today because you're the next person on my list" as opposed to "I thought about you today and I genuinely care about what's going on in your life."

I used to be better at this. Keeping up with people and information. Brian, my ex-metaphysical-boyfriend, has said that whenever he wants to know what someone from our high school is up to, he knows his best bet is to call me. I know about the girl who's engaged to a girl, the girl who has three kids and just got divorced, the girl who is now a guy, and the girl who is now an exotic dancer. Some of it I get from facebook, some from my mother, and some from all the conversations I used to have with people I went to high school with. But now that I'm living away from all the people I knew back when, that flow of information has been cut off. Or maybe, for the most part, I just don't care anymore.

I still care about some of them, of course. The people who were (and are) important to me in one way or another. But I've gotten to the point where I'm beginning to forget names and faces. My friend had a crush on a guy for a couple of years, and I can see his eyes and his hair, but I can't remember his name for the life of me. I can, however, remember the name of the girl he was dating (though not her face... I think she was a redhead?).

My mother used to say, "The world is so much bigger than [Town] High School." That statement was, of course, obvious, but I don't think you really come to grips with it until you're away from everyone you knew there. Every community I've been a part of in my life, with the exception of my immediate family, I am currently separated from. The last time I saw someone I went to college with was October. I don't remember the last time I saw Phil, who was my best friend through some of my hardest times in high school. I haven't seen my dear friend Greg since the week before we graduated college back in May of 2006.

I've passed through so many networks and stations in my life. Not just your standard "High School" (Heidi, Ian, Kate, Katie, Lauren, Monica, Sara) and "College" (Renee, Deet, Rachel, Christina, Lauren). I had "Chicago" (John, Cleric). I had "Rome". I had "Chicago Workplace". I had "Summer Shakespeare", "Tony 'n' Tina's Wedding", and countless other casts and crews for the plays and musicals I've been a part of. I've had "NaNoWriMo"(Ricky, Jim, Michael, Valerie, Amanda). I've had "Shakespeare Classes" (Aileen). I've even had "Karaoke" cliques, in a couple of different places. I've had the "Broadway Message Board" (Chris, Christine, Papa) and the "Baby Name Message Board". And then I have the one group that I'm never fully away from because I was rarely with them: the bloggers (Barry, Nico, Chele, Andari, Tipp, Carrie Lea, and so many others it would be insane to list them all).

(And believe me when I say I miss being in Chicago that had 20sb meet-ups on a regular basis. It is SAD to not have people like Jenn, Rachel, Jessi, Joy, Pete, Jessi, K, Cheryl, Kayleigh, Jamie, Angie etc. in your life once you've gotten to know them.)

The network that has mattered most to me has been "Grad School". And I don't even really mean that in a social way.

But now I'm in Connecticut, and even that network is gone. Let me tell you who I know here: my mother, my father, my two younger brothers, my brother's girlfriend, and a large percentage of my parents' neighbors (because apparently in Connecticut everyone is friends with their neighbors). Through the wonders of facebook, I've discovered that two people I know from high school are in this state, as is a gal I knew years ago from that Broadway Message Board (I've known her online since 2004, but we've never met in real life).

But instead of building a new network here, like I've so comfortably done wherever else I've been in my life, all I want to do is reach out to the ones I've had before. So maybe I will go through my contacts list. Maybe I will finally get a chance to talk to all the people that I wonder about. Maybe soon.



Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver and the other gold.

~A~

Compromised

This is no longer the safe space for me that it once was.

Actually, it hasn't been for awhile. I just didn't know that.

I don't know who's reading; I just know that they're in my city, and it seems from my StatCounter that my blog address is being passed around.

And I do know someone else who's reading. He admitted it freely. He showed up once, and it didn't even register as a threat. But RSS feeds are sneaky things, and in a blink, he became a regular reader without me knowing it.

Actually, I don't mind so much about him (although it's so strange to me that he knows more about me than anyone else down here, as I've barely talked with him). I'm more bothered by the possibility that he's not the only one.

I feel like my security has been compromised. But can you really have privacy when you put your life onto the internet?

I've been dealing with so many things, and so afraid to write them here for fear of who might read them. But they just keep piling up, and there are so few people here that I'm willing to discuss them with.


I'll give you the short versions:

- I got into an argument with a classmate during our group therapy (my whole class has therapy together once every two weeks to work out our problems... it is NOT frequently enough). I mentioned that I think he's racist against me, and he responded by saying that I'm a "stereotypical white girl who can't dance". (Ouch.) He also then spent a fair amount of time saying that I'm not "real" and he doesn't understand me. Some members of my class seemed to silently agree. I realized that I'm the resident alien of my class. I'm the freak. I'm the one that no one understands. And I felt so hurt and upset. And so very, very lonely.

- I met with my acting professor a week ago Friday. He thinks that my heart isn't in the work, that I'm not working hard enough outside of class, and that I don't trust myself enough. You have no idea how hard that was to hear. I put my heart into everything I do, especially theatre. And I have been working. The trust thing is true, but I'm working on it.

- My entire class got yelled at because of our lack of a sense of ensemble. We can't do anything together. And I resent some of my classmates. When I got here, being part of an ensemble was in my given circumstances. I just accepted that we were one. We were going to work with each other through thick and thin for the next three years. But not all my classmates felt that way. Some of them are still questioning whether they're going to stick it out for the three years. And I gave up.

- That night (after the bad meeting AND the ensemble speech), I was at a bar with a group of about 20 people, and I was being ignored by all of them. We crossed the mark of midnight, so it was technically my birthday. At one point they sang Happy Birthday to me, but CCM was flirting with a random girl and barely looked up. When I tried to join in on conversations, I apparently chose the wrong ones where people were discussing serious things, and people gave me dirty looks and brushed me off. (In my defense, I was intoxicated, lonely, had a painful day, and it was my f***ing birthday.) I ended up sitting by myself in the corner crying.

- On my birthday, I decided to have a gathering in my own honor. I bought a bunch of alcohol, mixers, and food, and told people to come at 9:00. So it was a little upsetting that no one was there at 9:00. Or by 9:30. Or by 10:00. Or by 10:15. I felt so lonely and unwanted. I knew that my roommates would be home around 11:00, so I took some comfort in that. My first guest showed up at 10:20, and then more came after that. It ended up being a fun night (you may have seen this video), but it was a rough start.

- I went to a Halloween party last Sunday. One of my (drunk and high) classmates spent HOURS attacking me, saying I was a weak link in the class, that I was bringing too many of my personal problems into the ensemble, and that I wasn't working hard enough for the good of the group. He said I cry too much, and it's pathetic and he thinks I'm a whiny attention-whore. He laid into me, shouting all the things he thinks I'm doing wrong, and I just sat there crying. I was too drunk to know how to get out of the situation. A few of our other classmates tried to break it up, but were unsuccessful. At one point, he got physically violent, and threw me into a sliding glass door. Somehow we ended up leaving the party and going to another classmate's apartment to finish the discussion. Which was so stupid and I should've just left, but in my intoxicated state, I didn't want to leave with things unresolved. It was unbearable.

- This entire week, I have sucked as an actor. It's been horrible. I completely lost all the courage I had because of that classmate. My acting professor called me out on it. I went up to him during our 10-minute break and told him that I had broken because a classmate had criticized my work. He told me that I have everything that I need to become a great actor, except the self-confidence to bounce back from things like that. I told him I'd work on it.

- A 2nd-year wrote a long, venting, angry blog post about how angry she is with my class not being supportive enough of them. She then specifically quoted something that I wrote in my Grad School Blog as an example, and turned it into a "How dare you" prompt. What I wrote was something that I wrote with good intentions, and I felt terribly about making her so upset. I thought I HAD been being supportive. I've loved the work that class has done. I bawled my eyes out during the show that she felt I criticized. And now I feel like a horrible person. I called her and apologized (somewhat emotionally), and we talked it out for awhile. I think it ended on a positive note, but I'm still carrying around a lot of guilt.

- I went to another Halloween party on Friday night. The short version of that? I stuck around for a long time to give CCM a ride home, but then he ended up hooking up with the host and staying over there. Let's just say that it didn't improve my insufficient self-esteem. Of course, that didn't stop him from flirting with me yesterday as though nothing had changed. Maybe he's the kind of guy who always keeps his eyes open, looking for better prospects. Whatever.

- I've been in tech rehearsals for the last several days for a show that the 2nd-years are doing. I'm typing this on my dinner break. I'm on stage crew, but I'm also helping costume crew with some fast changes. There's surprisingly little for me to do, which makes the tech process even more exhausting.

- I'm considering going back on my medication for ADHD. I've been off of it for a year and a half. Going on the drugs makes me a better student (I can write papers like nobody's business), but a worse actor (I get stuck in my head and can't tap into my vulnerability). In the past, they've also screwed up my sleeping habits and my appetite. I think it might help me socially, but I feel like I'm compromising who I am if I'm using them to make people like me (shouldn't they accept me for who I am, regardless?). I asked my voice professor for a recommendation of a doctor, but I haven't gotten brave enough to make an appointment.


So there you are. That's why I haven't been giving real posts. I'm so stressed, so emotional, and so... broken. I don't feel good enough as a romantic interest, as an actor, or as a person. I'm trying to keep my problems out of the classroom, but in order to do that I feel like I need to hide them from my classmates in general.

All-The-Way has been a really great friend and listener. She's probably my closest friend down here, but I'm in perpetual fear that she's only my friend because my freakishness amuses her. I don't trust her enough to tell her everything. Heck, I haven't even written everything here. There are some issues that I can't discuss here anymore. And there are details of some of the other issues that shouldn't be put on the internet. And there are some things that I don't want to discuss.

I was hesitant to tell anyone about considering medication (you have no idea how painful it becomes when people relate your good days and bad days to drugs, and make accusations of "did you forget your medication?". It gives them power over me that I don't want them to have.). I told Iceman last night, and he was so caring and loving in his responses.

It would be easier if I had friends down here who weren't in the program, but there's no good way to get them. These are the people I'm perpetually surrounded by, for better or for worse. I tried to become one of them, but it never seemed to really take hold in the way I wanted it to.

I have to stop. I have another rehearsal from 7pm to midnight.

But my life isn't all misery. I'll leave you with pictures of my sensational Halloween costumes.

(Me as a Freudian slip. The top ones say "Please pass the boobs... I mean mustard." The others include a drawing of Freud, several Freud quotes, and phrases like, "What are you suppressing?")


(Me with D-Train, who went as James Dean)


(Me as a Jackson Pollack Painting. I made the dress myself over a few weeks. The white tag said something like "Pollack, Jackson; #55, Tulip paint on cotton; Ringling Museum; Anonymous Donation". My hair and makeup became extensions of the art)


May you learn to compromise.

~A~

Chicago Blogger Meet-Up

I've been breaking my own rule and posting more than semi-weekly lately. Please forgive me.

I made some new friends last night. Lovely ones. I attended a meet-up of Chicago-based bloggers from 20-Something Bloggers.

They're neat people. You should check out their blogs.

- Big Time Fancy
- D-Blogged
- PB & Razz
- Places Never Planned
- SoMi
- To Kiss the Cook
- You are flawed if you are not free

It was a bit weird meeting people who already knew things about me (a few of them were familiar with my blog). And I've been attempting to read their blogs so that I'd be ready to meet them, although I just started and thus knew very little. It was interesting to attach faces, personalities, and psycho-physical rhythms to people who had previously only existed in my head by what was evoked through written word. A fascinating little social experience.

I uncomfortably shifted between acute social anxiety and story-mode all night. Sometimes I could talk, share, and laugh. I told stories. I discussed the positives and negatives of various blog platforms. I explained why I try to limit my posting to a couple of times a week (because I could write this much on a daily basis, but no one would read it). It was fun. And I felt like a part of the team.

Other times I had to tune everything out, close my eyes, stare into my lap, and learn how to breath again. I had the misfortune of sitting in the middle of the table... That awkward place where there's a conversation to your left, another to your right, and you're not sure how to be a part of either as you're listening to both. It's like there's too much input to properly sort out anything.

It's hard to explain social anxiety to people who have never experienced it. The best I can put it is that it's like claustrophobia. Like I'm going to drown in a sea of sights and sounds. Like I'm being suffocated by the breaths of others. Like the crowd is strangling me, wrapping around my body like a snake. I choke, my soul turns blue, and I worry I'm going to faint.

Luckily, no such thing happened. Once I had a couple of cherry cokes in my system, I started dancing. And that helped. I think they may have thought I was a lunatic (not that such a label is new to me), but I had to dance so that I could breath.

Sometimes I feel so alone in this city. It's nice to know that I can connect with people I don't know. It's good to know that we all have ways to relate to each other. That there are people out there who understand. At least a little.


Big Time Fancy, Free and Flawed (from "You are flawed if you are not free"), and D (from "D-Blogged").

PB & Razz, Nilsa (from "SoMi"), and To Kiss the Cook.

D and Places Not Planned.

Big Time Fancy, me, and Free and Flawed.

PB & Razz and To Kiss the Cook.

After the meet-up, I had a long conversation with Brian.

I don't want to talk about it. Yet.

Let's just say that it involved a lot of crying (me, not him), and I was up until close to 5:00am.

I don't cry very often. I don't know why Brian has a tendency to bring that out of me. Maybe he's the only person I care enough about to cry over.

Or maybe it's just February. And I'm dealing with S.A.D. or something like it. And maybe I just need to cry.


May you find lovely people and learn to connect.

~A~


P.S. The offers period for grad schools begins tomorrow. Please pray for me.

ETA: The bloggers I met with have also written about our meet-up.
- The Big Time Fancy version
- The D-Blogged version (and his pictures)
- The PB & Razz version
- The Places Never Planned version
- The SoMi version
- The To Kiss the Cook version
- The You are flawed if you are not free version: Part One; Part Two

Something Better

Every few hours I realize it again.

I really think I'm going to grad school in the fall.

My life is going to be completely uprooted and changed. I'll have to quit my job. I'll have to leave my little hole-in-the-wall apartment. I'll be moving to a state that I'm completely unfamiliar with. I'll probably be living a plane ride away from everyone I love. My life will be consumed by theatre, as I've always hoped it would be. I'll have to work harder than I ever have before. But I know that my passion, dedication, and talent will carry me through. I know that I can do this. I have to do this. I want something better for myself than I have right now.

It's terrifying though. The idea of leaving everything.

Not that I live some sort of ready-made life. But I've never been truly, truly alone before. When I studied abroad, I knew people that were going with me. When I moved out to Chicago, I moved in with a guy I barely knew and another guy I'd never met. But even then, I sort of knew what Chicago was about, and I knew one of my roommates... And I'd known plenty of people who had lived in Chicago already.

But now... Three of the five schools I was interviewed by are intriguing to me. And they're all in places I know nothing about. Places that are no where near anything or anyone I know. And they seem to like me as well.

I really think I'm going to get an offer this time, and not just be left hanging like I was last time. This just feels right.

The waiting is the hardest part. I'm just waiting for an offer (or four) to come in. I want to hop on a plane and visit the schools. But I can't use any more vacation time from work until things start to look serious from these schools... Because if I don't get an offer (God forbid), I have to make my vacation time last until the end of the year. If I do, it only has to last until about July...

It's good that I didn't go to grad school two years ago. I wasn't ready. I had a lot to learn before going. But I'm ready now. And I can't stay here much longer.

Brian said something to me that I have to agree with: there's nothing else I can gain by staying where I am. I've dealt with rejections here. I've discovered how much I truly love Shakespeare. I've learned how to make my own money, pay my own bills, figure out my insurance, plan my 401k, go to the doctor by myself... I've learned how to pretend to be a grown-up. I've learned that my life is not nearly as fulfilling or joyous when I'm not in the theatre. I've learned that what flows through my veins is a solution of passion, creativity, and blood.

I can't get what I need here. I need to get out. Life is... Stagnant. Static. Still. I'm not growing through being here anymore. I've reached a plateau. I need to find the next incline.

I can't sit here waiting for something to happen to me. I have to go find it. I have to get out.

Maybe I'm just saying that because the wind chill put this city into the negative 30s today. Maybe it's because I'm in my apartment with layers of clothing on and freezing because no water seems to be flowing through my radiator. Maybe it's my S.A.D. busting in. But I'm nearing my Chicago expiration date. It's dreary. And cold. And miserable. And so very, very lonely.

Ian came out to visit me this weekend. He thought I was lonely. And depressed. And angry. He wanted to help me talk through some of the things I'm dealing with right now in person as opposed to over the phone. He thought he could help me. And he did. It was a short weekend, made shorter by hassles involving retrieving his car after it was towed. He made me watch Lucky Number Slevin. I made him watch Arrested Development. Good times.

We went to a "games night" party that a friend of mine threw on Saturday night. We played Apples-to-Apples until nearly 4:00am. And then waited in the way-below-freezing cold for an L train that took far too long to arrive. I don't remember the last time I was that cold for that long. I thought we were all going to die before it showed up. And then when Ian and I got to my apartment, it wasn't much warmer. I was shivering for another hour before I could get to sleep, even under a pile of blankets with two pairs of pajamas and a fleece on.

I was glad Ian came. I think he was right. I think I was lonely. I needed there to be someone else here. Someone just to sit with and watch television with. Someone to complain about the weather with. Someone to shiver with. Someone to discuss politics with. Someone to prevent me from sitting in my apartment silently freezing for the majority of my weekend. Someone to help me begin to sort out the problems without solutions. I think he may have saved my sanity. For a little while, at least.

My penless pal Ricky has been incredibly helpful in helping to keep me sane as well. Through our facebook video exchanges, I feel like I'm having face-to-face conversations with someone... even if the reactions are a bit delayed. And he came over last Monday pre-auditions and let me express myself and chill out for a while. It was nice to have him around.

I am lonely.

I'm in this city, surrounded by buildings and people and events and ideas... And I feel so alone. And stuck.

I don't get nearly enough hugs in my life. Or physical closeness in general. And it's not even about wanting to make out with someone or anything like that. It's about almost falling asleep on someone's shoulder between L stops. Or having someone close enough to stroke your hair in silence. Or being able to huddle for warmth in the dead of winter. I want more cuddling in my life. Romantic, platonic, whatever.

Someone recently told me I should buy those sun lamps they sell for people with Seasonal Affected Disorder.

What do they sell for people who suffer for physical attention deprivation?

I need that.

I need something new. Something different. Something better.


May you find something better for yourself.

~A~


P.S. Not really related to this post at all, but there's a great Natalie Imbruglia song called "Something Better" that I like. I'm not sure that it's right for this blog or for my life at the moment, but I've temporarily put it on my ProjectPlaylist. It's about someone staying in a fun-but-imperfect relationship until something better comes along.

More Issues Than Newsweek

WARNING: This post is Nyquil-ed out, and probably completely irrational. Why? Because I'm completely illogical and paranoid. And hopped up on medicine isn't helping.

You might be thinking to yourself right now, "why is she writing another post? She just did one on Saturday. And you'd be right. This doesn't fit my normal schedule. But I can't sleep. And I can't turn off my brain. And my last post was short (well, for me... it was only about 2 pages in Word). And this is my blog, and I'll post whenever I darn well feel like it.

When I got home from my coaching session on Friday night, I was ecstatic. I called my parents first, but only because they're in another time zone. And then I called Brian. Because I needed to call him. I needed him to be as elated as I was.

God, I'm needy.

Brian's right. I have trust issues. And I have commitment issues. And I have abandonment issues.

Sometimes I feel like a lost little girl.

I'm just so terrified of being forgotten. Or unwanted. Or alone.

I think I latch on to people too often. I use them like security blankets. I wrap myself up in them as much as I can in order to protect myself from anything else. And when the blanket begins to fall to the floor in the middle of the night, I wake up shivering and try to grasp it before it falls out of reach.

Brian's right. I'm terrified that he's going to stop caring about me. It scares me more than anything else. It doesn't help that he's so far away. And that I can't read the thoughts on his face during our silences on the phone. And that sometimes he's too busy to talk to me at all.

When did I start needing him so badly?

He somehow inherited a role in my life that has been passed on from person to person for years. The person whom I need. Is it a best friend? That's what I always called it. Either that, or an emotional affair... Maybe it's something else. Maybe you're not supposed to need someone as much as I need people. But that's why the "desperately needed" role exists in my life: because I can't properly exist without it. It was Katy, and Amy, and Isyemille, and Megan, and Phil, and Annie, and Marisa, and Mary, and Greg, and Mike, and Liesl, and Anna, and Jake, and Dave... And now it's Brian. It's the person that I need the most in the world. And it's the person I'm most afraid of losing. It's the person that I'm worried is going to stop liking me back.

I ask myself how I got so jaded. In many respects, my life has been simple. I have a loving family and really haven't had a lot of struggles. But somewhere along the line, I became screwed up when it came to inter-personal relationships. And now it's easier for me to communicate with people through the internet than in real life. Gosh, that's pathetic.

I think I can trace a lot of it back pretty far, actually. One of my childhood best friends didn't invite me to her birthday party one year. I convinced myself that she hadn't had one. Another good friend decided she wanted to hang out with the popular kids (a group that I was decidedly not a part of), and made fun of me in front of them using information I had trusted her with. She traded me for them, and threw me to the wolves in the process. With a couple of other friends, I always felt like the third wheel. Or I was a back-up best friend. And I felt as though I needed to fight somehow to keep their friendship. I needed to prove that I was worth staying friends with.

I feel like an inconvenience a lot. I feel like I'm burdening people. Or throwing a wrench into their lives somehow. I sometimes wonder if I deserve friends. Or if I have any at all. Maybe people are just pretending to like me out of pity. That's depressing as hell.

Some days, most days, I just retreat into my apartment. And I wonder if anyone will call me. And I try to convince myself that it'll be alright if they don't. I'm great at convincing myself of things like that.

I have a couple of friends who have the sorts of cell phones that are always ringing. To the extent that you can't hold a conversation with them without getting interrupted. Clearly, my cell phone is broken. It doesn't ring nearly as often as theirs. And when it does ring, it's usually my mother.

I never wanted to be the girl who sits next to her phone, waiting for the boy to call. But that's exactly what I've been doing. Brian said he'd call me Sunday night. I sent him a text message during the day to remind him to call me. He usually goes to bed around 10:00. I actually sent him a text message around 10:15, accusing him of having forgotten me. He ended up calling about half an hour later. You understand why he accused me of having trust issues.

He said he's going to stop calling me for a while. He wants me to understand that just because he's not calling, doesn't mean he hates me. Doesn't mean he's mad at me, or that he's forgotten about me, or that he doesn't care. I promised to try my best not to be paranoid and freak out about the whole thing, as is clearly my nature.

I think this is Brian's way of teaching me something. But I can already tell you that it isn't going to work the way he hopes it will. Because right now, what's going through my mind is that I want him in my life more than he wants me in his. Irrational, I know, but that's how I operate. I play defense. I worry. I think up the worst case scenarios.

I wish someone were here right now, physically here, to tell me that everything will be alright. I wish there were someone to cuddle with. Or someone to stroke my hair. Someone to softly sing an Anna Nalick song as I drifted off to sleep. Just so that I didn't feel so helpless and alone. Because, as I type this, it's 2:00am, and if I were the sort of person who cried regularly, I'd be near tears. My soul is rolled up into a ball in the corner. Tonight, the air carries the pain of February with it. Please, God, may I not get S.A.D. early this year. I can't take it. Please let it not come until after grad school auditions are over.

I want to trust people more. I want to have close friends without feeling as though I have to fight for them. I want to be emotionally available. I want to learn to be as vulnerable in life as I am in my writing. And I want to trust others enough that it feels okay to do that.

I want to be able to be in a relationship without feeling suffocated. I want to be able to find another person who cares about me an equal amount, not more, not less. I want to know what it is to complement another person. Not to need them. Not to have them need you. But to know that, although you'd be able to survive without each other, both of your lives are improved because of each other's presence.

I want to stop fearing that people are going to leave me. I want to know that I'm worth loving. I want to know that I can be the sort of person whose phone rings several times an hour, so that I'm not perpetually checking my email in order to pass the time.

I want something that I can't define. Something that words won't explain. Something that I can't wrap my head around. All I know is that I don't have it now, and I haven't a clue as to what it is or how to get it.

Sleep is kicking in... I'm not even going to bother proof-reading this. It's probably a disaster in terms of sense and spelling, but I'm too tired for me re-reading it to do much good.

May you be able to sort through your issues.

~A~

P.S. In case you're unaware, it is possible to "pause" the music on this page. It is also possible to switch to whatever song suits your fancy by clicking on the track.

Fighting the Plague

I'm starting this on Saturday night. I chugged the dregs of my Nyquil bottle and decided to start a blog post. So this could be a weird post. And I'll probably fall asleep before I finish it, but I figured I'd give it a shot.

Brian seemed to enjoy my last post, although I'm not entirely sure why. He said something about liking my honesty. He also said something about wanting to give me a hug. Did that post make me sound as though I needed one? Maybe I did. Maybe I still do.

Every couple of years, I get a super-illness that I refer to as "The Plague". I know I've got the Plague when I have a wide variety of symptoms, and I can't figure out if/how they're related. That, and I can't sleep for long periods of time even when taking medication that's supposed to knock me out. (I once had 64.25 sleepless hours while taking a DOUBLE-dose of Codeine... It defied medical logic.)

I was pretty sick at work all week. I didn't sleep Sunday night after writing my blog entry. I spent the entire night feeling hot, sick, and generally miserable. I was alright most of Monday morning, but when the afternoon hit I was suddenly falling apart. I started sneezing and coughing again, and my throat hurt. I got a stress stomach-ache and headache. The I got dizzy and nauseated, so I took some ibuprofen and Tums.

Suddenly, the room became freezing, so I put on my fleece, hat, and scarf while I was doing my work. I took my break by passing out on my keyboard. My boss walked up at that point, saying "You know she's really sick, because usually she's such a jitterbug." My coworker responded, "She's all tuckered out."

Upon hearing female pronouns, I assumed I was being spoken about (which, actually, I always assume when I hear a female pronoun. I suppose I'm paranoid. Or extraordinarily egocentric). As I lifted my head and opened my eyes to look at them, my boss said, "Look at you. You're all bug and no jitter". I said I was fine. She asked why I was wearing a hat and scarf. When I said it was because I was cold, she instinctively put her hand to my forehead and declared that I had a fever. She sent me home early with strict instructions: "don't come back until your jitter outweighs your bug." (No joke.)

I went home, crawled into bed, and attempted unsuccessfully to will myself to sleep all night. I fully planned to go into work on Tuesday, but I couldn't. I stayed in bed all day, too awake to sleep but too weak to move.

By Wednesday, I was back in the office against my better judgment. Can't waste all my vacation time this early in the year. I shoveled cough drops into my mouth as though they were Lifesavers. But the last three days of work were definitely rough.

On Friday, against my better judgment, I went to a poker party being thrown by my work-buddy Ben (the pudding guy) and his girlfriend. I was doing pretty well with the poker, until I let my high chip count lead to hubris. Then, it was only a matter of time. (For example, I thought I had one hand wrapped up with a straight, but then I lost to a flush on the river. Drat.)

I sat at the losers table and played a very tense game of Scattergories (which I'd never played before). Turns out, I love it. And I won by a full 10 points.

Once the poker had ended, I talked to Ben for awhile. He apparently used to read this blog, but stopped once he read about himself. Now, he prefers to hear stories in person instead of reading them. I keep a notebook in my purse where I jot things down. Random things, like items to add into my book of lists, books that I should consider reading, bad names, and blog topics. He leafed through the notebook, occasionally pointing at subjects that he wanted to hear about, and I'd oblige. It was probably just as much fun for me as it was for him.

By the end of the night, my voice had started to disappear. I was becoming increasingly more hoarse (blame Scattergories... lots of yelling involved in our game). It became clear that I wasn't going to have a voice in the morning.

I met several lovely people at the party, including one guy who insisted on walking me home. And then asked for my number. I gave it to him, because I saw no good reason not to. He seems nice enough. I'll let you know if I hear from him.

I was supposed to be an extra in a video shoot today for my ex-roommate, a funny little Indian guy named Himanshu. I sent him a text message to let him know that it wasn't happening. It would've been uncomfortable to traverse the public transportation system in 20-below weather on any day, but I certainly wasn't going to do it with my current level of illness.

I was actually in one of Himanshu's music videos over a year ago (for a song called "Klub Tyme" by an artist named Aderrick), in a "blink and you'll miss me" sort of way. You'll see my hands in the beginning, picking something up (0:04) and smoothing a tie (0:05). Then me dancing in a very dark setting (0:12), Then my hands buttoning a shirt (0:17). Then you'll see me walk into the club with the artist, Aderrick, as his "date" (0:20). I separate from him as we walk into the club (0:52). You can catch glimpses of me throughout, in the background (on the left... 1:10, 1:15, 1:17, 1:24, and on the right touching my hair at 1:33). Then, later in the video, Aderrick opens a bottle of champagne, and it spills on my arm (1:54). A guy then licked it off, but you can't see it in the final cut (we did take after take of my being covered in champagne and getting it licked off me... all for naught). By the end of the video, Aderrick leaves the club with another man. You can watch it, if you like.

(in case the embedded version doesn't work, it's here:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6B1FLT0ay4)
Exciting, I know.

I couldn't even tell you what I did today. I mostly sat around. I attempting to chat with Brian on the phone at one point, with what little voice I have. I threw my trash out. I watched the latest thing to arrive from Netflix: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (which I very much enjoyed). I surfed the internet. I ate tomato soup (instead of the traditional chicken soup, due to my new-found vegetarian ways). I drank juice. And I did a lot of coughing. I tried to sing, which was completely unsuccessful. And I took a bunch of pictures of myself, trying my hardest not to look sick (see above).

It's weird not being able to talk to myself. You wouldn't believe how much I talk to myself now that I live alone. It helps me to keep loneliness at bay.

Alright, the Nyquil is kicking in... Continuation coming... 12:39pm


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So it's Sunday now...

My ears hurt today. And I have cramps. And I've started coughing up stuff (including something that looked a little like blood... I thought that only happened if you had consumption... should I be worried?). Yup. This is definitely the plague. The black death has evolved to something that can't kill you, but makes you want to put yourself out of your misery.

I've been sick since New Year's Eve. If I were a horse, I'd be glue and gelatin by now.

My voice is maybe starting to come back a little... I only say that because I watched a video I made for someone yesterday, and then I tried to speak, and I think it's a little better... But if I didn't have something to compare it to, I'd still say it's missing. Quick, send out a search party for my voice!

It's like I'm the little mermaid Ariel, and Ursula has my voice... Except there's no Prince Charming to seduce. I'm voiceless AND alone. I clearly did not get the fair end of this deal. Remind me to start reading these contracts more closely before signing them. Or maybe show them to a lawyer.

I don't even have a plan of what I'm going to do today. I'll probably just sit here. Doing nothing. And pray that the demons leave my body soon, so that I can put all of my energy into grad school auditions instead of self-healing.

I'm going to go putter around my apartment, thinking all the sarcastic thoughts that I'd prefer to say aloud, and trying to distract myself from the illness at hand. And, hopefully, I'll finish editing Chapter 3 of my novel.

In case you missed the memo (and a few intense entries to boot), if you're interested in reading my unfinished novel, leave your email address in the comments section. It's in a private blog that you can only get to if invited.

May your immune system be able to fight off the plague when it comes your way.

Good health and many blessings,

~A~

ETA: In Scattegories, for the letter "G" and the category "Things You Find on a Map", I wrote "Genome". Be impressed.

Angela Rigby

Congratulations to me. Today is my anniversary. I have lived in Chicago for exactly one year.

And to commemorate this occasion, I'm sitting in my apartment, alone, writing a blog entry.

There’s a song by Pink called “Leave Me Alone (I’m Lonely)” that seems to align with my life. The lyrics describe a contradictive state that I usually find myself in. I want to be away from people, but the moment that I am I can’t help but want them back. For Pink, the problem seems to be rooted in romantic relationships. For me, it’s human interaction in general.

Solitude is sort of built into my life now that I live on my own. I do love living alone. My stuff is all over the place, and no one is here to care. I don’t have to deal with someone else’s temperature preferences (which would likely be too cold for my liking). And I know I’ve mentioned my fondness for going without pants (I suppose I could do that with a roommate, but it’s so much easier without one).

The problem now is that I’m constantly wishing I had other people around me, to erase this sense of emptiness and isolation. And then, instead of doing something about it, I find a way to turn my computer into a friend... Exploring the internet. Listening to music. Writing this blog entry (that’s actually probably why I like writing in blog-form so much. It makes me feel more social than anything else I can do alone).

I find ways to feel like I’m among the living. I visit people sometimes, although that’s usually only for a short time and only happens about twice a week. I spend time on the phone every evening. A couple of nights ago, I didn’t really want to call any of my friends, so I just called my parents and talked to them for an hour. They call me every couple of days (and if I don’t answer, they assume that something horrible has happened to me), and I didn’t really even have anything interesting to talk with them about. I just needed to talk to someone other than myself. I occasionally take classes, but I’m not in one at the moment. Other than that, I guess there’s just my job (thank God for work, actually. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have that built-in people-time eight hours a day, five days a week).

Usually, these silly habits of mine tide me over until the next workday. It helps me to feel less suffocated by the walls of my shoebox-apartment (as I’m writing this, I can hear the man next door doing his exercises to his Latin music. He has crazy loud breathing noises… Maybe he’s doing some form of martial art? I don’t know). Nonetheless, I feel like something is missing. I want there to be someone here with me when I wake up in the morning. I want there to be someone here when I go to bed at night. And I want someone to be here in the evenings after work so that I’m not left here alone, talking aloud to myself about my day and my plans for the rest of the week. It’s depressing.

Maybe this is why so many people my age seem to be ready for marriage. The cohabitation aspect of it does seem appealing, and I can understand why you would want it if you were ready for it. I, obviously, am not. I want someone to eat breakfast with, but I don’t want that person’s stuff to be all over my space. And I want them to not be here about five minutes after breakfast is over. I’d like to just be able to summon them, quite like a master would a genie. Why can’t that arrangement be possible?

People have been backing out on me a great deal lately, leaving me marooned in my apartment. I had a rough night earlier this week when three different people I had plans with ditched me (the plans were all tentative, but it was still upsetting). I hate that. I hate looking forward things only to be disappointed. It made me want to crawl into bed at 8:00pm on a Saturday night in the city. Stranded, abandoned, forgotten... Life is too short to feel that way.

I hate not knowing what to expect. That’s probably a good part of why I hate being surprised. I like planning. I like dependability. I don’t like things being sprung on me.

There are other reasons I dislike surprises. The first of which is that I feel as though I’ve been lied to (because if a surprise has a great deal of planning behind it, then I have). The second is that I feel powerless, and as though I have no control over the situation at hand. It’s not a good feeling.

Actually, that’s probably why I don’t drink often. I don’t like feeling out of control. What’s the appeal in that? Alcohol is far less tasty than a cherry coke, and soda pop doesn’t make me feel like something’s amiss.

A certain friend of mine would chalk the alcohol, surprises, and dependability things up to me having trust issues. I would argue against that. If anything, I think I trust people more than I should sometimes (it’s part of why I’m gullible). But it is, in part, true. I have borders, boundaries, walls, and defenses. And yet I wonder why I’m lonely…

I’ll have to delve into my issues another time. Right now, I’m getting self-conscious about how long-winded I am (someone recently pointed out this flaw of mine in my comments section, and now my awareness of it has gone into hyper-drive).

May you find companionship, stability, and your own ways to cope with loneliness.

Much love,

~A~

P.S. The title is a reference to one of my favorite Beatles' songs, "Eleanor Rigby" (which was, thankfully, not ruined by the movie Across the Universe, which I saw earlier this week... Tangent: If you plan to go, make sure you pack some ibuprofen in your pocket. You'll probably need it.)
P.P.S. I remember hearing that one of the first recorded usages of the word "lonely" is in William Shakespeare's play "Coriolanus". I'm not sure if he invented it, but I wouldn't put it past him to create an adjective for the state of being alone. He was, after all, Shakespeare.

Pantslessness & Delayed Goodbyes

I promise you that I will not be updating this blog every day in the future (maybe every week or so... we'll see). For the moment, it still has its novelty. It’s remarkably cathartic. I forgot how much I truly enjoy rambling in written form. For those of you who don’t know (which I assume is most of you), I had an online journal in the past. I began it when I went off to college as a way for my friends from back home to be able to know what was going on in my life. I wrote for four years. I never allowed anyone I knew from school to read it, in case I wanted to vent about them without them knowing (I also wouldn’t have wanted a couple male friends of mine to know that I was completely crushed on them. Of course, I’ve since told them this, but it would’ve been mortifying at the time). I promised a couple of my friends that I would allow them to read the journal as soon as we graduated (because after that point, who cares?).

Then, tragedy struck. Just a few short months before I left college, my journal disappeared. Actually, lots of journals did. Curse you Diary-X and your server failure! I was heartbroken. It felt as though a part of me died that day. I believe I actually wept over it. And I’m fairly certain I made a couple phone calls on the verge of nervous breakdown to people who didn’t quite understand the magnitude of this calamity. I put gads of time into carefully chronicling my existence, and all evidence of that was gone.

I eventually realized that I don’t need those old entries (as much as I would like to have a record of them). I learned a lot from the book Dear Mr. Henshaw (it was required reading for me around third grade, I believe). There was a boy who kept writing letters to his favorite author, never receiving a response. As the boy grew up, he realized that he didn’t need one. It was nice to think that someone was reading about his problems, but the important thing was for him to be able to write them down. He was only truly honest with himself when he was writing. It allowed him to have distance from his problems, so that he could better solve them.

The same is true in my life. Writing things down created more vivid memories for me. I don’t need to rely on re-reading those entries in order to recall events clearly (although, rest assured, I have set it up so that every entry I create for this new blog is automatically e-mailed to me. And I’m saving them as Word documents for good measure). I don’t need anyone to comment on what I’ve written (allow it does add a touch of sparkle to my day when they do). I kept a journal in high school that was an actual book. No one ever read that to give me advice, and it was still worthwhile. Actually, I’d be horrified if they had. It’s lurking in my closet right now. I’m embarrassed just thinking about the things I did back in the day. For example, I was awestruck by certain boys in high school, and in retrospect I am perplexed by what it was that drew me to many of them. My point (yes, there is occasionally a point to my tangents) is that it’s not about the readers. It’s about the writer. This is all a sort of therapy for me. Anyone who’s willing to trudge through these waters, God bless you. If, by some fluke of nature, I gain faithful readers, I will do my best not to scare them off. After all, it’s rather flattering if people choose to become an audience for you.

I’m already somewhat of an internet celebrity. And by internet, I mean “intraweb”. At work, I am the current “Employee Profile” on the homepage (and I will continue to be for somewhere between 2-6 weeks, if past profiles are any indication). This means that every time anyone in my company attempts to go online for any reason, they are greeted by a particularly unflattering picture of my smiling face. I’ve been getting recognized in the elevator a lot. It’s always a bit awkward. After I admit that I am, indeed, the person they thought I was (and they take a moment to seem pleased with their own brilliance for making the connection), there’s nothing else to say. So we continue to stand next to each other for a few more floors, wondering if it’s best to make an attempt at conversation, or to just endure the silence. I’ve also been stopped in the ladies room, on the café floor, and in the lobby. Just this afternoon I chatted about it with a friendly chap while waiting for the L to arrive. I have had grazing acquaintanceship with him on account of us both previously being staffed by the same temp agency. Then the train came, he sat down with his book, and our fringe-friendly relationship returned to its normal “smile-and-nod” state.

As soon as I left the station, I came straight home to my apartment, giggled when the change in air pressure I created by opening the door knocked my fan over, and promptly took off my work clothes. We had to dress in business casual attire today, for reasons unbeknownst to me. Actually, they sent us an e-mail explaining it, which I chose to delete unopened, in favor of ignorantly grumbling about the inconvenience (there was another cause for grumbling at work today: a major protest encircled our building, the exits were blocked off, and we were instructed not to leave. I’ve never seen the café floor as crowded as it was today. I ended up skipping lunch and watching online video of Britney Spears’ phoned-in performance at the VMAs instead).

Honestly, taking off my work clothes is always my first priority when I get home. I have a completely different wardrobe for “me” time. I never wear socks when I’m alone (frankly, I don’t wear them to work very often either. Albert Einstein never wore socks because he said they cluttered his thoughts. He was a genius, so it was probably a little more acceptable for him to not wear socks… but I don’t care. I dislike wearing them if I don’t have to). And often, my around-the-apartment outfits don’t include pants. It’s a new thing I’m trying. Turns out, I’m happier when I’m not wearing pants. Walking around in underwear is both comfortable and liberating. It makes me feel like this space I pay hundreds of dollars in rent for every month is truly mine. I dance around in my underwear. I fold clothes in my underwear. I wash dishes in my underwear. I highly recommend it. Being stripped down to essential articles of clothing makes all activities slightly more enjoyable.


This evening, I cooked dinner in my underwear and a t-shirt. And by dinner, I mean I put 4 eggs, half a red bell pepper, and two slices of colby-jack in a pan, cooked it, and called it food. For me, that’s some hardcore cooking. I’m horribly out of place in a kitchen, which is unfortunate, since I adore food. One of my attempts at baking brownies resulted in a strange brownie-soup that refused to solidify. It defied all scientific explanation. Most of the time, I know what I’ve done wrong after I’ve done it. Like the time I accidentally put the Jell-O in the freezer instead of the fridge and ended up with inedible Jell-O-flavored ice. I can make sandwiches rather well. And I’m brilliant with all forms of pasta (I am, after all, half Italian). For most things, though, it’s better if I’m not involved with the preparations.

Evidently, I’m a finicky eater. I don’t understand how that’s possible, as I can think of a sundry of foods that I would delight in devouring. But apparently my tastes don’t align with the things most people are willing to eat. My mother actually has to keep a list of the things I don’t eat for when I come home to visit (she’s puzzled as to how she ended up with a child who doesn’t eat fennel, lentils, or gnocchi. I maintain that these foods are not found in the average kitchen on a regular basis). In case you were curious, I don’t eat any animals that I deem “cute” (so no pig, duck, or sheep, but I’m cool with chicken, turkey, and cow), anything that used to live underwater (with the occasional exception of tuna), most nuts (except cashews and peanuts, although I think peanuts are technically legumes), and oranges (which most people are especially disbelieving of. I don’t like oranges, orange juice, orange Creamsicles, orange candy, etc. I’ve never liked them, and I doubt I ever will).

I have cravings for combinations of food that other people would call “strange”. I think this originated in elementary school, where I had a penchant for mixing all the foods on my lunch tray into an unappetizing goulash and eating it so that the other kids would find me entertaining (I was willing to try whatever I could to make friends. It rarely panned out). I put condiments on just about everything I eat. I eat mashed potatoes with red wine vinegar and Worcestershire sauce. I eat slices of provolone with yellow mustard. I once ate a particularly odd concoction of Half-Baked Ben & Jerry’s ice cream (it’s chocolate-fudge-brownie crossed with chocolate-chip-cookie-dough), caramel sauce, hot fudge, and green olives. Yes, you read that right. Green olives. With pimentos, if that makes a difference. And you know what? It was sensational. Of course, I was sick as a dog all through rehearsal the next day, so I won’t be revisiting that one. Unless I’m ever pregnant, in which case, all bets are off (although it has been hypothesized that if I become pregnant, I’ll start eating like a normal person. I think that theory is more for entertainment than plausibility, but one never knows).

My mother is a fantastic cook. Seriously. If you know my mother and are ever near her, I suggest conning her into making you a meal. It shouldn’t be too difficult. She’s Italian. It’s in her blood to feed people. Of course, I’m half Italian, and I don’t cook… But even if I did, I wouldn’t cook for others. No one but me would enjoy the foods I make for myself. If I’m going to spend time with someone, we’re going to have to have an event planned that has nothing to do with eating something I’ve made. Let’s go to McDonald’s, order off the dollar menu, and waste a significant amount of time discussing absolutely nothing. That sounds like a much better way to spend an evening.

Some people have described spending time with me as getting lost in a vortex. You lose time (usually large chunks of it). It’s like being abducted by aliens, but without the nasty anal probe to deal with. I think the time disappears because I provide such an entertaining alternative to anything else you could've possibly done. After all, time flies when you’re having fun. And fruit flies like a banana (sorry… I felt the need to throw that in, despite the fact that it was an intentionally horrible misquote). It probably also doesn’t hurt that I have no concept of time myself (which is probably why I have a tendency to be late for things… I blame that lack of skill on genetics).

I think the real reason time disappears is because I manipulate it. On a level that is not entirely conscious, I distract people from paying attention to the passing of time. A possible reason behind this is that I have a difficulty saying goodbye to people. Well, people I like, that is. I’m fairly certain I could do without people I don’t like… Anyway. Whether it be at the end of a night of hanging out, or the end of a phone conversation, it’s something I struggle with. If I enjoy the pleasure of someone’s company, I don’t want our time together to end. If we were having a blast, then obviously I would want the fun to continue. If we weren’t, I feel like we need more time in order for the good stuff to begin. In addition, I am plagued by a fear of loneliness. When I leave at the end of the night, I’m going back to an empty room. I’m going to sit on my computer, check my e-mail, see if anything is new on facebook, and then lie awake in bed (darn cathemeral sleep pattern) for an undeterminable period of time, wishing that I weren’t alone. When I hang up the phone, I have no one to talk to but myself (and believe me, I talk to myself plenty), and I end up in this boring, suffocating silence. I feel as though somehow, when a conversation ends, I’m being rejected. I wanted to be around you for longer than you wanted to be around me. I’ve been abandoned in some way. Saying goodbye hurts every time, even if only a little.

So I try everything I can to stop that goodbye from happening. I start one last story. I ask one last question. I give one more hug. When I am successful in delaying separation even by a few minutes, I feel as though I have proof that the other person likes me, and wants to be around me (again, this isn’t completely conscious… in fact, at the moment I’m writing, this is the first time I’ve admitted it to myself. And I’m a little shocked that I’ve never noticed it before. This writing stuff is great for cheap therapy). I won’t say that I have a sense of accomplishment, but it certainly gives me joy, especially if the other person gives up all together for a short period of time. If they put down their coat, or if they decide they’ll crash at my place, or if they ask me if I want a drink. *sigh* I feel a little more content just thinking about it.

I guess I’m emotionally needy. I always knew I was physically needy. I’m all for hugs and cuddling… and I’m a completely indiscriminate cuddler. If the person I’m cuddling with leaves, I will move on to someone else. I will cuddle with a stranger. I will cuddle with people of either gender (see? I’m not sexist). I will cuddle with the nearest pillow, if necessary. And I often miss my friends’ physical presences despite conversing with them frequently through other means, such as phone and e-mail. And now, on top of all of that, I’m emotionally needy as well. I crave companionship. Perhaps it’s a form of reassurance that I deserve love. Or maybe it’s a cry for attention. But if you don’t have anything to hurry off to, and you decide to pry yourself out of my grasp instead of lingering, there’s a good chance that you’re hurting me without knowing it. And if you give me a few more minutes, you will have left me a little bit more satisfied. Just feel flattered that I want to spend those few extra minutes with you, and consider allowing me to do just that.

I rather like the familiar Shakespeare quote on the subject, from Romeo & Juliet:
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Alright, I’m off to go attempt to sleep and stop thinking about the not-so-abrupt goodbye I said earlier that clearly left me slightly disappointed for no good reason (why else would I have felt the need to write about this?).

Much love, sweet dreams, and lingering goodbyes,

~A~