Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Hey you guys! You may or may not have noticed that I took my Facebook page down for a bit. People have been asking, so I need to let you know. I’m okay. I’ll probably bring it back up soon. I just lost my taste for it. Yanno? I felt like staying on top of it was sucking me dry. You guys need a lot of attention, and I don’t always have it in me to give it to you. You’re like houseplants or something. I forget to water you and you wither and I feel guilty. So instead I put you out on the patio and hope it rains and doesn’t get too cold. And OMG some of you (trolls I know, but still) with the negativity, misunderstanding on purpose, people who seem to feel the First Amendment applies to whatever the fuck axe they have to grind on someone else’s stage. But it’s all good. A little break never hurt anyone.
What can I tell you except I’m battling the same things you guys are, watching in horror as American political-socioeconomic system (for lack of a better term) twists and writhes like an effigy in the wind. I really shouldn’t read the news and I DEFINITELY need to stop getting in comment wars on Facebook pages, that shit is for the birds. Roche Pharmaceuticals stock goes up five points any day I scroll through my Facebook feed, see a controversial story and wonder what gems await me in the comments section. What is the opposite of adrenaline because I need some of that after a good verbal jousting match with fellow members of the Screedwriters Guild. That’s not a typo, that’s me being clever.
What I’ve been thinking about lately, because I know you’re just aching to know (dripping sarcasm): I’m doing the math on whether it’s worse to die alone and be sad and scared about that or to die alone and give zero fucks about it, unless you count panic attacks (which are sneaking up on me with increasing and alarming frequency) in the fucks-given tally. This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time. Thanks, Tyler Durden, Thanks, Chuck Palahniuk. One inexorable minute, the length of the pool, underwater with lungs bursting. Swimming metaphors. Kill me now.
I’m crying a lot lately. Mostly it’s just something that strikes me in the moment, I hear a song maybe, or someone says something either amazing or terrible. It just washes over me, this need to cry. Last weekend on our hike PreMed said this about her dad, “Pretending no one could see him behind the door of the liquor cabinet doing shots while the rest of the watched TV in the next room is NOT NORMAL, Momma. You did the right thing.” I cried when she said that because I felt so validated (i was right i was right i was right) and at the same time, miserable (i was wrong i was wrong i was wrong) that I had let it go on as long as it did before finally gathering up my “courage to change the things I can.” How long it took me to get The Gamer out of that toxic, toxic environment, to set up a nice, quiet place for him to feel calm and safe, to be himself and not tensed up all the time as you ACOA know all too well, a groovy crib to have friends over without worrying about what they'd be walking into, a little taste of Normal-As-I-Have-Come-To-Understand-It.
So anyway. I cry a lot. Out of nowhere. Whatever. I’m still a BAMF.
Back to the forever alone thing -- I’m mostly okay with it. I was talking with my online friend the other day. (I have very few IRL friends. We'll wait while you unhinge your shocked jaw.) The conversation went a little something like this:
Me: I really don’t need anyone in my life right now or maybe ever. I mean, who else thinks popcorn and Coke Zero for dinner while binge-watching The Good Wife is a perfect way to spend an evening?
Him: Good point. You should put that in your online dating profile.
Me: Yeah, about that. I really only made that to gather material for the blog.
Him: Which you still haven’t written.
Me: Good point.
And I really do prefer it, this being alone, although I guess it would be nice to have someone in my life to make plans with that I would then dread, and resent the person for taking up so much space in my head when let’s face it, all I really want to do is lie around in sweats, drinking coffee and messing with people on the internet. I really don’t feel lonely until I think about what my life must look like to other people. I feel their scorn masquerading as unnecessary (and unsolicited) pity for me because I prefer the richness of my solitude to wearing a bra and waiting for a bartender to notice me so he can get started patronizing me for my drink choice while making agonizing small talk WITH THEM.
Is that so wrong? <hint: nope>
I'm going to post this now because I'm out of ideas (LIE - I'm really just lazy and I want to be done) and because I wanted to let you guys know I'm okay. I know you worry, but you can knock that off now -- all is well as far as I can tell but take that with a grain of salt. What does that even mean, "take it with a grain of salt?" Where did that come from? Too bad we don't have a big book or something we could look stuff up in. Someone should get on that.
Posted by Mina Klonopina at 9:44 PM