I am supposed to be learning something. That’s the positive spin on having to stay off a broken ankle for two months. I am tired of learning. I am sick of never leaving the house and I’m not even at the halfway point and then I feel TERRIBLE for being so miserable because it could be so much worse and I have so many blessings so really I am just a horrible ingrate.
I am bored. I wish I could go to the movies. I wish I could walk. I even wish I could go to the gym.
I want a BIG BOX of milk chocolate Godiva truffles–just that specific truffle in a quantity–and it cannot be ordered from the website which means that technology has failed us.
My mom is here. My father has been in and out. I am grateful for them even though they won’t let me lie in my darkened bedroom all day and be depressed. No, I have to like “get up” and “interact” and sit in a “sun-filled” room.
My mom has redecorated parts of my apartment, mostly against my will.
Or maybe the problem is that after years, decades really, of telling myself I don’t need anything or anyone I have found that I was deluding myself. There is so much I need. Accepting this need is humbling. Accepting that there is a person who can satisfy some of this need is terrifying. Accepting that you don’t always get to be with the person who satisfies your needs is humbling.
I cannot stop believing in fairytales? Where did my cynical self go? I used to be so hard and closed off to everything. I let nothing in. I was not happy but everything was under control and now nothing is in my control, literally, nothing at all. I’m a control freak so this does not thrill me.
I am finally taking showers now because my dad installed a new shower head—one with two heads, so I was able to sit with my broken leg hanging out of the tub and use the hanging shower head. The first one I took was my first real shower in three weeks. I love showers. It was, truly, a glorious experience. I shaved my unbroken leg. I washed my own hair. I felt clean. I like feeling clean.
Lately, I’ve been thinking, “I should be more of an emotionally unavailable asshole,” after moments where I feel vulnerable because I have been emotionally open. I think, maybe there is such a thing as too much love and maybe what women want is an emotionally unavailable asshole. I get that from magazines, television, and movies, mostly.
But then I think, do I want to be treated in an assholish manner? I’ve had my share of assholes. It was tolerable when I was younger. I don’t think it is tolerable anymore. I am okay with trying a little tenderness, both giving and receiving.
To be clear, tenderness is not all I want to be about but mostly, yeah, I am okay, I think, with being open about where I stand and how I feel. I won’t have a single regret.
There are more and more days when I like myself, despite how cranky this post sounds.
I like this thing I’ve got going with this other human, and who we are together. I just do.
She wrote a book, has been working on it for a few years, pushing forward one word at a time, while carrying a whole lot of other stuff and then she finished it and I read it and it made me cry it was so good. I cannot wait to see what the book becomes. I read the book as a critical reader as best I could. I said, “Self, you cannot read this with your heart.” The book is brilliant and utterly original and dark and heartbreaking. It is an achievement. I couldn’t be prouder or more excited.
Lore says I should be envious or jealous of someone who has written something so impressive. I’m not. I’m glad I am connected to someone who writes so majestically. I’m lucky (see also: PROUD). And I have no bigger supporter than her. She has been my loudest cheerleader for many years , the light when I could see no light, and I get to be her biggest cheerleader and I do so happily.
Maybe this is love–wanting to see her star ascend so high I can barely see it with my naked eye and then I want her star to go further still.
Maybe this is the lesson for this year—I am learning to be human and it’s hard and beautiful and necessary and hard.