Echo

I never did get a ring. And I don’t even know if that merry-go-round is there anymore.

Now, years later, supposedly wiser and worldlier, I still believe that I often tragically fool myself. There are things that I want in life, but am so afraid of not getting, that I tell myself, tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll try for it. Tomorrow I’ll write that script. Tomorrow I’ll ask that guy out. Tomorrow I’ll tell the man who has unraveled my soul that I forgive him. And when tomorrow turns into today, I call upon a thousand more tomorrows to erase the hope, to put off the risk, until my life has passed me by and all I have left to show for it is a collection of safe, uneventful yesterdays, dull around the edges from the near-encounters with sheer magic.

You don’t know me. You do not bleed. You have a heart that I would like to taste.

Today’s mood: mellowly disturbed

Here’s mine:

Dear World:

You have given me 25 years of shit. You stingy asshole. Couldn’t even give me a lifetime’s worth so I’ll MAKE it a lifetimes worth.

First off, I just wanted to say thanks for nothing regarding my irregularly-shaped bottomless pit of a belly button. I think there are 12 miners down there who died of starvation back in the late 70s. It was fun to yell down there, “It puts the lotion back in the basket, or it gets the hose again” and listen to the subsequent resonating echo for all of five minutes, but now all I can do is look in the mirror and watch that ugly gaping hole stare back at me. No, not that one. No, not THAT one either. Still talking about the belly button.

Furthermore, thanks for not giving me enough ego stroking during my adolescence. Not only did I have to be fat, did you really have to give me a moustache, too? What am I, Mexican? Fuck you.

Now for personalized curses:

Mom: thanks for not telling me that the back of my skirt was tucked into my underwear that first day of 5th grade when you dropped me off. And thanks for picking out the tightie whities with the little green apples for that day’s outfit. The ensuing teasing did wonders for my self-esteem.

Dad: Thanks for not loving me enough. I have managed to find asshole boyfriend after asshole boyfriend and tried to psychologically/emotionally heal them in a misguided effort to connect with you.

9th Grade Spanish Teacher: You suck. You asked me if I was chewing gum in class and when I said no, you asked if I was chewing crud. Well, yes. But that’s none of your business.

Vijay: Yeah, you’re a boy and I beat you up in the 8th grade. In public. Sorry. I guess I had a crush on you and it was somewhat inappropriately expressed.

Anna: My downstairs neighbor. You got liposuction then went on a cruise and got fat again. That’s awesome.

Dr. Miller: You’re a fucking psychiatrist. And you made me feel bad about myself. Isn’t that ironic? Don’t you think?

Boy George: Fuck you for sharing my birthday.

To all the people I like, who have supported me through all these years, just wanted to let you know that I appreciate all you’ve ever done for me. Rie, we made a pact years ago that if anything ever happened to me, that you would get to my place first and hide my porn. So bring a big box. And you can keep whatever you want. I know you said that you want the boy-on-boy action videos.

Goodbye cruel world, and if I can manage it, I will be sure to come back and haunt those of you who were total dicks.

Alright, so I’ve been depressed over my not-so-recent anymore break-up with a not-to-be-mentioned porn-aficionado. So in an effort to understand why I am not in his life but his porn still is, I downloaded the best that the internet has to offer in terms of coming to a better understanding of why porn is more engaging than I am.

Now, for the record, I have a reputation as being one highly sexed gal. But goddam, that shit was BORING! It was the same shit over and over, with these really slutty looking chicks and these really dumb looking guys. About 5 minutes in, I found myself continually checking email and being drawn to a riveting game of minesweeper. Trying to further concentrate on the task at hand (no pun intended), I watched several clips to “completion,” and my most prevalent (as well as anxiety-riddled) thought was, for the love of God, don’t get that stuff in your eye! That’s how you get AIDS!

Needless to say, I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking get why guys would rather watch porn than be with a girl with whom he can make a porn.

A little poem by my mentor, m loncar to leave you with:

writing a poem about the girl should never be better
than the girl than being with the girl

don’t write the poem about the girl
unless you’d rather be with the girl

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So later tonight, I was on the phone setting up an appointment with a student. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my brother come into my office, write something on a Post It and leave. A few minutes later, Brian comes in and says, “Look what your brother put up on the fridge.” Apparently, he had replaced a Post-It I had written that said, “For July-No more bullshit” with “For August – No More Sex Life.”

I think I’m developing Tourette’s. I almost blurted out, “MOTHAFUCKER!” while in a meeting with my boss (the girl with the supposed hairy ass) while she briefed me on a procedure. That would have been a very embarrassing situation. I don’t think a cover of, “I’m sorry. I SWORE I saw a typo on page 5 but I was wrong” would have prevented my prompt firing.

Now doesn’t that sound a lot like the way we deal with dating? We chase because we want we want WE WANT, and then when we almost have it, we’re like RUN AWAY!! It’ll never work! I TOLD YOU THAT BITCH WAS CRAZY!

Maybe I oughtta mention
Was never my intention
To harm you or your kin
Are you so scared to look within
The ghosts are crawling on our skin
We may race and we may run
We’ll not undo what has been done
Or change the moment when it’s gone

Meet me on the other side…

(David Gray)

I went to the chiropractor once and he explained to me the phenomenon of tickling. Being tickled is actually an extremely uncomfortable experience that raises anxiety in a human being, but the brain doesn’t quite know how to classify the signals it creates. It recognizes that the signals it receives don’t exactly fit into the “pain,” category so it assigns a very ambivalent “pleasure” even though instinctually, when a person is tickled, her instinctual body responses are to get away from the stimuli.

I wonder if being in love is a similar phenomenon. Because, as I’ve realized, to truly love is to be selfless. You have no control when you’re in love. You’re just completely open and you’ll give the other person anything. But is anyone really happy that way? Because that’s what love is, and if you truly know what it means to love, then you will know what it means to give without necessarily receiving back. I think the people who are actually happy are those who love half-assed. They think they love, but really, they maintain some control and are monitoring what they receive back. They don’t completely give of themselves, and therefore, they have everything to gain and not much to lose. I think we’ve all been led to believe that love is bliss, but love is actually somewhat uncomfortable. But we strive for it, and want it so badly when in truth, I don’t think anyone who gives 100% is truly happy. They’re just saints.

Dating a narcissist is the most unfulfilling experience you can have. Because they don’t have room in their hearts for anyone but themselves. And what they give you, is actually more about the fact that THEY are giving it to you, than an actual act of kindness, giving and selflessness (sacrifice). Someone once described the Narcissist’s Dance to me. First they put you on a pedestal and worship you. And then when they find out that you don’t fit their EXACT idea of PERFECTION, they knock you down, shatter you, and do an angry tantrum dance as they smash all your broken pieces. This describes what a narcissist once did to me. And I will hate him forever.

My advice for anyone I love would be: never be with someone who gives less than what you give. Because I will guarantee that you will never be happy.