Too cranky for titles
It’s first thing on Monday morning and I’ve had tears kinda welling in my eyes multiple times already. Does not bode well for the rest of the day.
It even feels a little good. Moistens the contacts.
My weekend was fabulous. Besides the concert, TG and I had a great night together Friday, and I spent Sunday afternoon at the Fine Arts museum and walking around the Pier getting to know someone new who has the most adorable southern accent. (Evidently the word granddaddy makes me swoon. Who knew?)
So, technically, I have no reason for the water works.
But I haven’t been sleeping well for weeks now. First it was a week of bad dreams. Then a week of adjusting to a schedule with more physical activity. The weekend prior to this I slept in beds other than my own every single night. This last weekend it seemed everything conspired against me.
Yesterday I felt slow in interactions, like I was on a different RPM. I kept remembering things I meant to tell people and then debated between re-contacting them so I wouldn’t forget again or locking up the phone and laptop for the evening because of the high probability I’d just confuddle things more.
But this morning? It hit me like I was a crack whore and sleep is my pimp. I felt too fragile to handle anything more than half my usual caffeine intake. I would have thrown up otherwise. I contemplated taking the day off. I got downstairs and there were orange cones in front of my usual exit gate. It was just too much. Commence eyeball hydration.
The Phoenix trip is this upcoming weekend. I haven’t been looking forward to it as much as I wish I could. I’ve been trying to psyche myself up for it, in part knowing that I always enjoy a trip more than I think I will when I’m planning the travel.
But driving into work this morning, I realized I’m going to have two five-hour flights within two days, cross two times zones twice, and sleep on lord knows what for two nights.
Sniff.
Hopefully I’ll feel better as the day goes on. It sucks to be at work, but at least it’s routine and that’s what my body handles best in this state. I’ll bet by this afternoon when I get home I won’t even want to post this. It will seem silly.
Hi! I love the new place. :-)
Sorry you’re feeling yuck. I cry easily/emotionally overreact when I’m overtired and stretched too thin too. :-\
May I join in with a few wails and whimpers, for solidarity’s sake?
Also I am totally insanely in love with the phrase “It hit me like I was a crack whore and sleep is my pimp”. F’ing genius, girl.
x
[...] For lack of anything better or more creative, his name is ST. He was given the chance to name himself, as well as the chance to tell me not to write about him. He declined both, saying I could call him whatever I wanted and write whatever I wanted. “I think it was Caesar who was known for saying, “Better to be hated than never remembered at all.”* It’s not EXACTLY what I’m shooting for, but the sentiment behind the statement is the same. Memorable is a good start. So if you write something that isn’t complimentary about me, I’ll simply accept it as part of the deal and get on with it.” *The closest I’ve come to this was, “It’s better to be hated than ignored.” And it was attributed to Hunter S. Thompson. I am going to have to school this boy in literature. He’s not reading here yet. But I suspect he will soon. I know I’m of a different opinion than a lot of people in this arena. Perhaps it’s because I’m so closed off in real life. This is one way I can safely open up a bit. I mean, I let strangers judge me based on my writing, why not the men in my life? ST and I met over a month ago. He is the charming southern accent I got to know that Sunday afternoon. I had no real high hopes for the date, except we seemed to be on the same wavelength in how it should play out. Meet up for an activity early enough to do more, but don’t plan anything else. I’ve been lucky in trusting my gut and the first dates I’ve had in the past year has been at the most a bit of awkward silence. I’ve definitely had dates that I didn’t want to extend, but none I absolutely felt I must cut short. The first thing I noticed was that he is cuter than his picture. (What else is the first thing I notice supposed to be? I did not bring along my X-ray goggles (heh. I wrote googles.) so that my first impression could be of his great bone density.) He’s thinner than my usual type, which amuses him because he says he’s overweight. He needed a haircut, which meant he had little curls corkscrewing through the back. I liked it. I haven’t seen it that long since. And evidently I am over dating tall guys. I don’t think I’ve had a date with someone over 5’9” since the new boy. I thought the museum would be a good idea. It definitely was fun and interesting, but I hated how we couldn’t really talk. I forget it’s not the Art Institute where the shear size and volume of people allows you to at least murmur without the entire room overhearing. There is a courtyard/garden area (I saw the Chihuly exhibit there) and we took a break at one point to sit out there and talk. My only interest was the Aperture at 50 exhibit, but he wanted to see the whole museum. It was a little cute and a little annoying. On the one hand, wasn’t he supposed to pay attention to me, not the art? On the other, it was fun to see him really enjoy himself. And nice that he didn’t just *say* he was interested in the museum to agree with me. (Again, for myself, I do not really go to the museum except for special exhibits. Growing up in Chicago has made me a bit of a museum snob; not just the Art Institute but also the Field Museum and MOSI.) I almost kissed him in the room of Pre-Columbia art. But he’s not as extroverted as most guys I date and that makes me shyer around him. I’m forever concerned about saying the wrong thing, coming off too rough and demanding, etc. when the other person is quieter than me. He keeps saying he’s been holding back to be polite, but I don’t think he used the word Fuck in front of me until just last week. (We’d been watching The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly and it turned into making out on the couch. When he chastised me that I was missing the movie, I promptly turned back to the TV. “Um, I was fucking with you.” “Uh huh. And now I’m fucking with you.” I kept my eyes on the TV until I started to drift off to sleep. I believe he learned a lesson.) I was glad he wanted to extend that first date, and we walked for an hour or so around the neighborhood. As he walked me to my car I could feel the heat in my face. Here’s the thing. I hate a first kiss to be at the end of a date. HATE it. It’s why I consider kissing someone in the B section of Barnes and Noble, during an opportune moment of audience participation at Howl at the Moon, or in the Pre-Columbia art room. I don’t know why. I like to be the one who initiates the first kiss. It just sets the tone that I’m going to be the one calling the shots physically. Also, I like to get an idea of how someone kisses as soon as possible and in a non-serious setting. It takes the pressure off and you have some time to decide if you’d like to work more kissing into the rest of the evening. So I was a bit relieved when he didn’t kiss me. He’d been sick, and it didn’t to pass it on. But he made a point of saying that he would have kissed me. Somehow, that was the perfect ending. We can only see each other about once a week. It’s slow, harder to get to know him. More than once I’ve contemplated whether there’s any point. I don’t mind casual relationships but if that’s what I’m going for, I’m looking for something easier than an hour commute. And if it grows into something more? Well, all the problems still exist. I’m putting a little trust into the idea that once I am a student it might be different. And he swears up and down his work schedule will lighten up in the next two months. (I am not holding my breath. I have resigned myself to the fact that many of my problems in relationships stem specifically from personality traits (such as workaholic) that I find attractive.) He’s…different. Usually when I say that I mean, “I really want to like him, I really should like him, but I just don’t like him.” I definitely do like him. He’s a different different. It is unnerving how well he observes and reads people. Just last night I mentioned in passing how I am clumsy and sort of bump into things unconsciously and move on. He replied, “Yeah, I’ve noticed that twice.” I wanted to ask, “What two times? What was I doing? Did I look stupid?” It is weird to feel someone else is more aware of me than myself. Other things he notices both calm me and confuse me. “On some levels you seem to be emotionally closed off.” Well, yes. Circle gets the square. It’s nice someone cares enough to notice. But once noticed, what the fuck do I do about it? I AM emotionally closed off. That and a quarter will buy you a newspaper. I am really not up to any huge improvement projects in my psyche. I think I’ve learned a lot about myself and come to pretty stable and happy point. I have no desire to go mucking up in that. I wonder though… I wonder if the thing “different” about him is simply how two people usually get to know each other. I wonder if I chose these situations so that I don’t have to open up…I wonder if that will change… [...]