All The Time


I think I am feeling a lot lately.  Is this news?  Could this possibly be anything different than business as usual? It is, as so far as yet, impossible for me to tell.  I just keep wrestling with the question.

And in the interim, we eat.  As part of a fundraising dinner night thing at a local-ish restaurant that I set-up for work, we ate Italian tonight.  It was deliciozo.  I am probably spelling that wrong.  I hope that Jupiter will forgive me.  It was lovely – beef carpaccio, spaghetti arrabbiata, tiramisu.  All in good, proper Italian style, in this cute little restaurant.  I don’t know if the fundraising part will come to much, but I felt it was worth it not only because of the food, but because our waiter did look like a tiny bit more conservative version of my favorite Mumford and yours.   He was rather quiet, but pretty, and youngish and I thought this is the kind of waiter that girls would flirt with.  Why can I…not…why am I not allowed….why is it clear in my mind that I should hardly look at him, though I can be extraordinarily gracious and thankful about the fact that he is doing his job and refilling our drinks?

I did ask myself this, firmly, sincerely and the answer immediately rose up, well, you wouldn’t want to embarrass him.  You wouldn’t want to be embarrassed by trying this now.  He wouldn’t go for you,  so it would just embarass everyone.  You wouldn’t even know what to do with him if you had him.  So sit down and eat your tiramisu.

That’s the answer I get every time I pop into into the mental calculator.  It seems so logical.

It adds to the questions of the month.   This is a thing that makes me angry.

It also gave me a caffeine sugar rush which instigated (in part, in part I am sure it began because I was battening the hatches for it to happen) a little panic flutter.  I have to celebrate the fact that I didn’t let it get out of control.  That even though my muscles felt tight and nervous and every time I moved them and they weren’t 100% relaxed, that added another block on the flip-out scales and even though closing my eyes made it worse because it cedes the limited sense of control I have to absorb everything visually that the panic suggests I need to absorb to survive, I didn’t actually tip over into panic.  I didn’t actually hyperventilate, I didn’t actually lose control of my bowels.  I didn’t actually die.  And yes, this is what I think about when I am in the car on the highway nowadays.

That, too, is a thing that makes me angry.  Because I don’t know what caused all this, I don’t know what brought it on more than ten years ago or why it lies dormant until life or caffeine or some combination of sky and light and hormones and bullshit reactivates it and I feel like my heart is going to explode.

I want the life everyone else gets.  Why do I get this shit put on me?  Why do I get the crazy?

Okay.  Good night.

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