Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)
Been thinking about blogdom, how much I love it. The small community of pals with whom I communicate daily on this hallowed space. My intended audience, my unintended audience, my fellow bloggers. The performance ─ deciding what to put out there and what to keep for myself … for “real life,” and why? What does it all say, what does it all mean? And what doesn’t it?
The best part, for sure, is the feedback. People commenting. Or just knowing that they visit, even if they don’t say anything and I don’t know who they are. It makes me feel special that someone cares. Special. A hackneyed, cheesy ass word. But the longing is true.
The Holidays. I used to be such a festive girl. I decked the halls and then some. Way, way into it. I also used to be religious. And earnest. Now, I’m “spiritual.” I still like traditions and spending time with family (within certain parameters, of course). But I no longer experience the holidays with the same zeal. Maybe it will come back if I have kids and a home some day. Regardless, I am glad for the awareness. And for the record, I am very thankful for the sweet deal I’ve gotten in this life so far.
Which is not to say it can’t get sweeter. What is life but a quest for more sweetness? More sweetness, more cowbell. There’s never enough. My shrink asked about dating last night. I had been on such a roll. What happened to all that boyage? I knew she would ask. I asked myself that too, but I ignored myself. My shrink is the person I pay to force me to stop ignoring and deceiving myself. She earns that dough, I tell you.
It’s just so damned easy for me to be alone. Alone is my default setting. It’s completely comfortable. Being alone, no one can hurt you. No compromise, no lack of control. You don’t lose or risk any part of yourself. But you miss out on experiencing the upside of a healthy relationship: companionship, affection, support, certain kinds of fun that you can’t have solo — regular sex — but a also hell of a lot of other things.
Not to mention the pure gain of knowing another person. Jean-Paul Sartre said: “Hell is other people.” I’ve never felt that way. I’ve always wanted to hug … to be embraced by another and to return that embrace. I think that’s why I’ve worked my ass off my whole life. Work was my side of the hug, and “good job” was theirs (whoever “they” was). But now I know I can’t fulfill my emotional needs through work. It has to come through people.