It’s currently
11:20 at night and I am exhausted. To me, this is completely random and nearly
inconceivable (I just suddenly decided I like that word), because I almost never
go to bed unless it’s a really obscene hour in the middle of the night. Or
in the middle of the morning, which is a much more accurate description. I do
have a reason for this, one which is blatantly obvious to me, but which some
people just don’t get.
I am a freak.
My roommates yell
at me when I say that. If I had a beer for every time Randi said, “No, you’re
not,” or Jenn(ifer, for Sean’s sake) said, “Oh, Becka,” I’d be drunk for weeks.
They spend a rather large amount of time trying to convince me that I’m not
crazy or silly or... well, I was going to say, “random,” but that is one of the
few adjectives we agree on. I think our agreement might be based on the fact
that I have the mental stability of a monkey on crack and thought processes
similar to those of a gnat on speed. I realize that I’m not giving you much
substantial evidence to support my claims, but bear with me; I’m getting there.
However, besides being random, I have the most disturbing tendency to ramble,
as you would know if I’ve ever left you a message on your answering machine.
Following a single train of thought is not my strong point.
If you know me
at all, you already knew that, so I’m not even going to claim that’s part of
the argument. Let’s move on. I’m aware that everyone has faults and that
everyone does stupid things and blah, blah, blah... Based on probably
incoherent, subjective reasoning, I’ve been led to this conclusion, and not
even being locked in an isolation room with only Britney Spears’ music to keep
me company would change my mind. Actually, that might do it, but for now, we’re
playing pretend.
Oh, which
brings me to my first point....
Yeah, I know
this doesn’t mean much unless you live with me or have pretty constant contact
with me. The problem that arises from playing pretend is that I do it all the
time, about all kinds of things. I know it’s gotten bad mainly because if I’m
wandering around the apartment and I say, “Let’s play a game,” my roommates
automatically respond with, “What are you and where are you hiding?” In the
past hour, I’ve alternately been a notebook, my keys, ginger, a street sign,
and soda. However, I would like to point out that I only found the ginger and
the street sign. I apparently wasn’t bonding with the rest of the articles on
the list.
Ignoring the
part where playing pretend is the only way I ever find anything, it’s really a
bad game. Some things should be avoided while playing, most of which I’m not
going to get into because it involves names, places, and occasionally,
misdemeanors. None of these are horribly relevant to the topic, nor are they
extraordinarily productive for me to think about, so I’m going to pretend like
they don’t exist. And, considering that this whole paragraph is about playing
pretend and that I didn’t intentionally type that -- though I realized directly
after I did -- I should probably take that sentence out. If it didn’t highlight
my point nicely, I might.
Unfortunately,
one of my favorite uses of the game is pretending like things don’t exist. This
can range from debtors and work to stupid boys and phones. When approached by
random guys on the street and asked for my number, I like to tell them I don’t
have a phone. Sometimes this stops them; sometimes it does not. One guy had the
nerve to ask me if he could stop by (after he followed me from the stoplight
into the parking lot when he wasn’t even going to the mall). I proceeded to
tell him I didn’t have a home. He did not get that I was blowing him off and
offered to drive me somewhere warm. While I am a bitch, I was still too nice to
laugh in his face, so I took that as my cue to walk away. Though, in
retrospect, perhaps pretending worked well in that case.
Let’s try this
again. My roommate likes to pretend the Vicks Corporation is not raping her for
money, because the amount of medicine you get versus the prescribed dosage does
not compute. Times like that are probably when you should find a better
solution, like not being sick. Or at least pretend you’re not. My friend Mi
likes to pretend she’s found her brain, because she claims she lost it
somewhere a few years ago. I’m not inclined to disagree with her, though our
opinions might differ on whether that’s a bad thing. I personally like to
pretend I don’t care about things when I really do. I don’t recommend this,
because it resolves absolutely nothing and actually only perpetuates problems.
Odd how that doesn’t stop me from doing it.
And on that
note, I’m going to move onto a different reason, because I completely lost any
point I might have had about my game.
So you can’t
really fail it. Failing involves trying and attempts, and I really don’t like
effort of that kind. Plus, it’s not a test, it’s a scale, which kind of
precludes failing. The point is, I suck at reading people, not because I can’t
do it, but because I doubt myself far too much. When I think I’m getting mixed
or random signals (i.e. am confused), I don’t know what to do, especially if
the behavior isn’t what I am used to. I have the feeling I’m going to say
things I’d really rather not admit in a very short amount of time, but what the
hell? It’s not like I have to worry about offending anyone, because most of
them won’t realize I’m talking about them anyway. I’ll tell you right now that
I’m going to give incorrect names and vaguely falsify data in order to make
sure of that. Of course, now that I’ve said that, I realize they might be able
to pick out situational clues and that I should have kept my damned mouth shut.
Oh, well.
Just for
clarity’s sake, I’m first going to point out that I sometimes have the
self-confidence of a neurotic rabbit examining poisoned carrots. Not about
everything, of course, but when it comes to certain things (guys I like, for
example, though many people feel this way), I might as well wear a sign saying
I am completely clueless. Either one of two things happens with members of the
opposite sex: I am completely oblivious or I read far too much into it. Being
oblivious is something I excel at; the latter even more so. And even worse is
when the signs are slapping me in the face harder than the door I walked into
three minutes ago, but I still can’t let myself accept them, because I have too
much self-doubt.
I recently (as
in less than three hours ago) went to E’n’P with one of my friends, where I
again managed to vent all the issues I’ve been venting to anyone who would
listen for the last three days, or however many days ago Thursday was. As I’m
not really sure what today is, I don’t feel I’m qualified to do that math.
First, I expressed my desire to join a convent, then my desire to live in a box
in England, and finally, my desire to drop out of school and become a
grapefruit. Whatever works, right? Of course, we also got into more specifics
than you’re going to get here, mostly because I was extremely honest and very
detailed in my venting. Plus, he apparently knew who I was talking about,
despite the fact that I tried to deny it profusely.
On the other
hand, I didn’t exactly try to be circumspect about which identifying
characteristics I busted out. I was hoping he wouldn’t pay enough attention to
pinpoint an actual person, but whatever. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’ve
threatened him with dire retribution if he tells, plus I have blackmail. Not
that I would use it, but it still gives me leverage.
Anyway, during
the conversation, the topic turned to my best friend from high school. Or
rather, my best guy friend. Sometime between the end of our last “free” summer
and Thanksgiving break of our freshman year... Wait, that’s not right. Let’s
back up. Sometime between December of my Senior year and November of my Frosh
year, things got really, really sketchy, at least from my perspective. The
touchiness, the immediacy... whatever. I’m too lazy and unfocused to break out
the Comm. technical terms. At this point, I’d known him and we’d been close for
about four years, give or take a few months. He’d dated my other best friend
(who I am happy to say is female). They’d both nursed me through my lapdog
crisis and my upper lip obsession. When our relationship suddenly changed, I
completely freaked. This reaction peaked during a moment of truth over
Thanksgiving break. So, me being me, and also due to expectancy violations, any
contact died a rapid and lamented death.
Which brings
me to my next point...
If you’ve ever
seen The Cutting Edge, you might remember the scene where Doug, one of the main
characters, yells, “I’m sorry, I don’t downshift that fast!” to his partner as
she exits the elevator in the middle of a crowded lobby. I don’t feel like
getting into the entire storyline, but this occurs the morning after she throws
herself at him, drunk, and he refuses to take advantage of her. Anyway, right
after she kicked him out for not taking advantage of her, he slept with some
other random chick, which his partner found out. That’s probably confusing, but
I don’t really care. At any rate, he’s talking about not being able to adjust
to the change in their relationship.
Yeah, well,
he’s not the only one.
I have major
issues getting past any history I might have with a person. With my best
friend, for example, I could most often be heard saying, “Yeah, but it’s Matt.”
For the purpose of this rant, I’m just going to refer to every male as “Matt,”
regardless of why I’m referring to him, though I’ve not exactly been subtle so
far. Anyway, I did the same thing at E’n’P tonight, but these are two highly
different scenarios. High-school Matt and I spent massive amounts of time
together and he knew all -- er, most -- of my deepest, darkest secrets. Not
that I had many, pure little Catholic school girl that I was. College Matt (for
lack of a better qualifier), on the other hand, is... well, he’s not
high-school Matt. We don’t spend as much time together, etc., etc. When we do
spend time together, though, I have problems getting past a) any past
occurrences (of whatever sort) and b) wanting him.
I was told the
other night that I am a smart ass. I think this might be the biggest
understatement I’ve heard all year. And let me just tell you, the more
uncertain I am about something, the more of a smart ass I become. If you recall
from earlier in the rant, one of my points was that I can’t read people. This
is partially because I like clearly defined lines. Straight ones
are also a plus, but not a necessity. When someone I’ve been friends with
suddenly becomes more physical or more personal than they have been, my brain
skips right past the “What the hell is this?” question straight to shutting
down (i.e. I don’t know what to do, so I don’t do anything). Especially if I’ve
known that person for three years and been attracted to them for the entire
duration of our friendship. I could qualify that a bit more, but if I wanted it
to be that obvious, I’d just rent a billboard.
That being the
case, let’s pretend being a smart ass is a protection. Or I could just admit
it, which is probably a better idea. When my clearly defined lines start
blurring into tie-dyed spots in front of my face, distance becomes the first
thing on my mind. In fact, I rather like to put about a thousand miles and
maybe a few moats between the other person and me. I’d like to briefly point
out this is not because I don’t want anything to do with the situation or
because I don’t like that person. It’s got a lot more to do with the fear that
I’m reading too much into what’s going on and with the fact that I’m so stunned
I don’t know what else to do. Based on past history, except for those people I
was completely oblivious to, I’ve come to the conclusion that people do not
want to date me, though I seem to be okay for a random lay.
I am not all
about casual sex. I have too many issues. Just to recap, let me point out two
I’ve already mentioned: clearly defined lines and past history. Now, I’m not
saying past history gets in the way. In most cases, it’s a good thing. Most.
And I’m not saying the clearly defined lines are written in indelible marker.
But really, some warning is nice. Point A is usually connected to Point B in
easy-to-follow lines (though not necessarily clearly defined ones), unless
Point A and Point B involve my thought processes. If the latter is the case,
you’re lucky if you can even find Point A and Point B in the deluge. Still,
development is supposed to occur.
Hence the
reason I shut down. It’s really less hazardous to my health than trying to
think, or than drawing my own conclusions, especially since my conclusions
rarely blend with reality. As much as I would like to interpret things in my
favor, I hesitate to do so.
And perhaps an
explanation of that...
Yay, me. I
finally figured out what my greatest talent is. I suppose I should feel special,
but considering the subject matter, I’m going to pass. Ignoring that brief and
unfulfilling moment of excitement, let’s pretend I played interpreter. And
failed utterly, which should come as no surprise. Seriously, I have the
attention span of a two-year-old with ADD, and when I say “oblivious,” I mean
it. The fact that I could walk into a brick wall and be astonished it’s there
is nothing new or unusual. And then we
have the other extreme, which I abuse equally. Both lead to complications. If I
were feeling less lazy, I would look up and define the word as given by the
dictionary.
We all know
that’s not going to happen.
So instead,
let’s focus on something I’ve been mentioning all night: reading too much into the
situation. I am not a straightforward person unless something means very little
to me, or I figure it’s not going to happen anyway. I’m afraid of getting hurt,
so I become random enough that I’m more confusing than usual. Since I like to
cling to my hopes occasionally, I also tend to talk and think in circles no one
else seems to be able to follow (which simply goes along with being a smart
ass). Now, I don’t know if this behavior is a bad thing. Probably, but because
I’m not going to dwell on it anyway, it’s hardly relevant.
What I do
want to point out is that I can no longer tell what the hell I’m thinking or
doing half the time when confronted with a situation, so I just don’t. I’m
trying to think of an example involving a person no one will recognize, but I
am failing miserably. Oh, hell. Let’s just go back to high-school Matt. He’s
been popular over the last five pages.
Or maybe we
won’t use an example, because I’ve just realized that’s more personal than I’m
willing to get when I’m planning to stick this up on my web page and my user
info. Moving right along... I don’t handle intimacy well, at least when it’s
coming from someone I really don’t expect. The earlier point about casual sex
was given because I’m twice as likely to assume that’s not what it is
than the other way around. Well, except with college Matt. Having already
gotten my hopes up once -- whether he knows that or not -- I opted to assume he
just wanted laid. That being said, I would also like to mention that I am
utterly confused as to that whole situation and don’t want to talk about it in
any greater detail, because I think it would be bad. We’re back to that
billboard thing.
And since this
is getting far too long, let’s jump ahead.
Reason I Am a Freak #5: I Listen to People (and Other Miscellaneous Issues)
Yet I do not
listen to myself. Funny how it works
like that, isn’t it? Some of you might
have read the “Boag, I’ve really got to bust it out” essay from this summer. In
that, I listed reasons why “busting it out” is a good thing. If I were braver
and doubted myself less, I would call up college Matt and do so. Unfortunately,
I see two problems with this. The first is that I don’t have his newest number,
and his cell phone number (if I’ve even got that right) is programmed into my
cell phone, which has been sent off to China to get fixed. Or at least that’s
why I’m assuming it’s taken so long. Second, I have no idea what to think about
the situation (refer to Reason #4 and my confusion).
Everyone keeps
telling me just to do this or to do that and blah, blah, blah... And, yes, I
know it’s not supposed to be easy. Or something like that. But this time, I
really can’t. Well, I mean, I’m sure it’s possible, but from my perspective,
it’s not really something I want to do. I’ve had so many experiences where
things just didn’t work out that I’m leery of anything and everything. And
based on those mixed signals, I’m even more uncertain.
Since this is
so long, I am going to pretty much just shut up now. If you’ve made it this
far, you deserve a cookie or something even more exciting than that. Since I am
craving chocolate chip cookies right now, that’s all that sprang to mind.
I realize, of
course, that none of these five things really makes me a freak, and especially
not when taken separately. Combined, it may be a different story. I know I
missed all sorts of things in this rant, but due to the length, I simply
omitted them. If I hadn’t been so fixated on one particular topic, the rant
might have been different.
I just needed
to vent.