How Delightfully Stupid

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I know, fyi, that yesterday’s image on the did not come out properly, but as it was half-loading, it ended on that creepy eye and I thought a creepy eye was appropriate enough so I left it.  Just thought I’d give that brief glimpse behind the curtain there.

Feelings.

I started writing during my six-hour stint at the event, but it was terse and my hand was cramping up because the drafts get in that place like nothing else.  4 people came in in four hours.  I have no idea what to do about any of this, but come when I’m asked and leave when I must.  Such as today when leaving meant getting a ride as my car was used…listen, it doesn’t matter.

Riding home, the sister’s boyfriend suggested that I should try online dating as my resolution.   In his mathematical mind, I should go on an average of one a month, he feels.

It doesn’t irk me that they’ve obviously talked about it.  Or me, or my spinsterish situation.   I have thought to myself countless times that I would prefer that people talk about it and work on it and there’s real energy around it because then maybe something would happen.  It would become bigger than my grip, it would burst the dam, and damn, we’d have something.  But people don’t talk about it, 99 times out of 100, when I think they might so

I secretly think that is great about her boyfriend, because none of us have that gene, that impetus go turn and go “Hey, so, what’s up with that?”  Because sometimes you just burn with the invisibility.  Everyone asks for that superpower, but no one tells you that you can have it, but it makes your burn like your skin scream as if you were soaked in kerosene.

I said that, with the epitome of non-committal agreement, it was a good idea.

It isn’t, though.  It’s unpossible.  I’ve told my therapist so.  Even if I still look, lately, and wonder and think.

And I guess the reason that is so unpossible is because I don’t want to start something and go through this nonsense again.  I also don’t want to start something and end up some place I don’t want to go.  They say you have control, but you don’t really, and you can’t because the whole reason…the whole ethos of this thing you’re doing is about losing control because you’re following this shared current that exists because of how you both are, what you both believe, how your day goes intersecting with how my day goes.  You can’t promise any of it.

And then, you click maybe, just for a bit more of that seeing and a whole pile of gross dudes being gross flop out at you like a sea captain dumping the day’s catch on deck.  All leaping and gasping with blank, desperate expressions, all repeating their come-on lines before they asphyxiate: “The dirty things I’d do to you.”  “Wanna have a little fun ;)”

It is not everyone.  But it is enough that you feel gross and bad for them and gross and bad that you wouldn’t dare put yourself out there on offer, to flop mindlessly on someone’s kitchen floor, to mewl for a place as catch of the day even if everyone else has grown up and become chowder.

I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I was seen and heard and I still don’t know!

Then we spoke about other randomness and the doubtful value of resolutions to begin with.

Life! Go figure!

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