look me in the eye

I don't quite know where to begin. But I suppose that's a part of it. And there's nothing to do but to start.

I don't attach the way that I feel entirely to my recent birthday. There is nothing in this that is tied to my 36-ness, anymore than it is to Thursday-ness or anything else so incidental. I suppose that the birthday has something to do with it; birthdays in adulthood have inevitably been something of a letdown. Is it the lack of a party? No, because twice there have been parties and each time I was more uncomfortable than excited, more nervous about my various sorts of friends getting together (high school friends mixing with college friends? neighborhood friends with grad school friends? uuugh) than I was elated to be the center of attention. I'm never glad to be the center of attention. Is it the lack of gifts? No, because my friends are incredibly generous and kind. Still, I can't help feeling--and have always felt, since I was about 21--that something is missing. Maybe it is simply innocent joy felt for its own sake. Maybe it is melancholy sadness for the year that is fading away.

So the birthday didn't help, isn't helping. But it is more than that. Yet another week from hell at work. An unbelievable meeting yesterday: 5 hours is too fucking long for a meeting anyway, but that one was just so terrible that I don't even want to start. I distracted myself reasonably well through parts of it, and avoided the urge to participate. However, eventually my voice forced itself through the mayhem; I had to be (or, attempt to be?) on the side of rationality and sanity. Did it help? Maybe. It cut shorter (I think?) the "discussion" of the meaning of the word 'thorough', for example. Blegh; there is no point in getting into it. The Cat and I drove away (I was driving) shaking and sputtering, saying "FUCK" every other word. We averaged about 80 mph on the return trip, during which I memorably called a guy a "motherfucking asshole shitface" because he failed to behave the way that I thought that he should. Unscathed, we returned.

What's left? I feel bad. Physically, one of my tonsils feels weird, I need to see my doctor for a checkup and for fine-tuning all of my prescriptions. I should also get a referral to my neurologist because I've had more, and more severe, migraines lately. I had an appointment next Thursday with a different doctor that I need to reschedule because of a work thing that came up today. (That work thing will also be From Hell.) I'm tired and run down and feel kind of blah, probably because I eat dreadfully, sometimes nothing at all and sometimes strange combinations of stuff. Decent food lately and enough milk to choke a horse (?) but it isn't making up for the bad stuff, I don't think.

It's more than that, though. My parents are coming for a visit this weekend/early next week. They are the masters of spectacularly bad timing. If I wasn't positive that they would be offended, I would ask them not to visit. I am not suitable for public viewing right now, and they wear on me more than most people.

One of my friends came over to my apartment this weekend. It was the first time she'd seen it in a while, definitely since my former couch and big blue chair went to their "country home" and were replaced by a smaller couch. I like the more spacious layout; it was very cramped in here before. Her first comment, upon seeing the new setup? "It looks like you're moving!"

The on-again/off-again relationship that I've been in for a very long time seems to be sputtering and spinning like an old-style plane. Is it over? Is it "just another cycle"? I don't fucking know, and I am so fucking sick of answering that question, as if this is all a game to me, too. I know that my friends are well-meaning in their prodding about it, but I sometimes wish that they would consider what it feels like to not only live this, but also to live with their "gentle" gibes and suggestions and insults and prognostications about it. Maybe if they can't hear me talk about it without offering critical (i.e. hurtful) commentary in return, they should simply tell me and I can leave off with talking about it with them. That will save me the trouble of opening my damned mouth, save them the trouble of sharpening their sticks, and of course save everyone hard feelings in the end. Because it isn't as if there are not others who will listen without judging.

That being said, this point in the relationship--or out of the relationship, for all the fuck that I know about it--is not a comfortable place to be. I feel pretty exposed and...pushed, I guess, to a limit that I didn't know that I had. Sad, which is no surprise, but angry, too. Helpful, healthy, blah blah blah.

And I discovered this morning that something that I'd been rather sanctimoniously looking down on other people about, I am guilty of. (Nice sentence structure. Could that be any worse?!) There was nothing to do but follow directions and cram the thing in the mail without explanation, because any reason offered would have seemed like a stupid excuse. [For what it's worth, I honestly thought that I'd already sent it. I feel like an ass and have been gulping that down all day.]

What else? Hmmm. One of my friends bailed on me a couple of weeks ago because we crossed a line and acknowledged it, and now I feel like if I try to reconnect, it will be seen as a "too little, too late" pathetic attempt to fill the time that is free thanks to the o-a/o-a situation. It's not that simple, but, wtf.

And my hair is weird and furry-looking and I hate it for the first time in a long time, and my appointment isn't until next Saturday.

And I'm seriously thinking (?) about getting a tattoo, maybe as soon as mid-September. My mother would be disgusted. George thinks it would be "fucking sexy." (His criteria are pretty sketchy.) I don't like pain, but I am intrigued.

Whoa, and now I'm tempted to write about something that I swore I wouldn't, so I guess it's time to make a quick PB&J and head back to the office. Maybe some loud music and accomplishing something will help yank me out of this...?