backyard crowing
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"There's plenty of time."
I feel so desperate. I can't listen to an even slightly sad song without bursting into tears.
But tears make my eyes feel much, much better. It's like I never knew how much they needed moistening. Like maybe I've needed to cry for a long, long time. As an all or nothing person, welcome to the windfall.
In this particular batch of rough times I find myself reaching out to help a lot more. I have to consider what will help someone else, because I've got nothing. That's how it feels, anyway.
Pretty terrible when you think about it, that a person would only reach out to help when desperate.
Perhaps because I hate asking for help, if I provide it to others for no reason, I feel justified in asking for what I need.
I want my unknown roommate to show up. Not so sure my mother's right when she says it's important to have a place of your own for awhile before marriage. I'm stupid lonely. I rarely understood the phenomenon. If I wasn't in such a financial crisis, or I wasn't failing and flailing, I'd probably be pretty excited right now. I love unpacking.
But I look around at boxes and old things I never needed to begin with, and I am at a loss. The last thing I want to do is make something of this.
I need a distraction. I have half a bottle left of Andre and some grapefruit juice. It might make me feel even worse, though. DEPRESSANTS!!!
I yelled at my landlord the other day. They let me down two days in a row, by misinforming me of a deadline that, if not met, would cause me to owe them money I don't have. He threatened to have his supervisor come in, and believe you me, I'd love to have spoken to her about how idiotic he was.
And yet, I don't like yelling. I'm not into ruining someone else's day, or stressing them out. But I had to stand up for myself. I can't pay that $45 fee, and it was not my fault I was late. They need to train their people, not rely on us to read our leases word for word. The red slip hasn't shown up on my doorstep yet, and if it does, I'll have to go back and defend my honor.
I sincerely hope I don't have to do that. One dose of crazy with the apartment office is plenty enough for me. They've caused me to lose an entire night of sleep now.
I remember my freshman year of college, when my roommate Ely was having a hard time adjusting. She came to the conclusion that "maybe some people's lives are meant to be fuck ups -- like a cautionary tale. A, 'Don't do what Ely did, and you'll be fine' example." I feel like that a lot lately. Most people around me are younger. I am the wise 'kid.' They're starting to recognize I'm not their age, and I love that.
The other day I was hanging out with my improv friend Scott, and he says, "you're a secure woman." Hilariously, I wasn't feeling secure at all at the time. Glad I can put up a face, anyway.
We were talking about women, and about how he can only have either 2 or 0. Despite having a doctorate in philo, he feels such low self worth that he needs to have lots of women to make him feel good about himself. He's a complicated guy. Not a bad guy. He's the kind of guy that, if I weren't already taken, I'd sleep with a few times, provided he was interested, and get weirdly carried away. Then I'd find something that scared me and go away, or he would feel bad about dumping or cheating on me. He needs a very unique person to go with his idiosyncracies. I'm sure he'll find her.
I admire how forthright he is about serious subjects. He's open about his time "making license plates," and he's not afraid to ask questions that some people find too personal to ask. He's a scientist. He likes to experiment.
Anyway, I noticed that he was looking at every attractive girl in the room. Of course, I don't care, because I love my boyfriend, but the topic of conversation was about how he was looking for a wife, all day, every day, and he did little else. He was a man on the prowl.
So I asked him, because he has trouble with fidelity: "If you were 'taken,' would you look around the room like this?" And he says yes, that his eyes would be even MORE peeled if he had a girlfriend. That's near the juncture at which he told me I was a secure woman. It was off the cuff; obvious to him.
There's another guy in my class who I always want to call Trevor--so I'll call him Trevor here. He's adorable, the cutest little brother of a boyman. Trevor, and some of our other classmates, don't appreciate him as much. He always has the creative science-related references we attempt to understand. He's not a doctorate for nothing.
I think we get along because we are in a sense opposites on the spectrum in terms of education level. But I want to talk to him, I enjoy his company. At first, I was attracted, so I shied away, but now I just want to help him.
Me, helping a doctor? Even I think that's funny. But there may be room for both of us to grow through this friendship. It's a shame I don't have the money to enroll in the next improv class level. We might be able to continue being friends, then.
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I think my parents are probably more worried about my advancing at life at a normal pace than I am -- but then, that's a lie, too. They're not around everyday, poking me, bothering me about it. I am.
Yesterday I went to practice improv with Dave, a guy from my troupe, and four members of a very experienced troupe. I'm honored they'd take us in for a rehearsal, even one. Dave friendly nudged them to let us perform with them in one of their upcoming shows. I don't think that will actually happen, but I'd never say no to it!
Anyhow, I thought it would be great to go do some improv, that it would get me out of my head, and my own worries. Instead I think I just retreated on the stage, didn't put myself out there, and felt generally weird about being the least experienced person on stage.
But before I got on the bus to go home, I met a guy named Sebastian who works at Ken's Donuts. As the washed up has been that I feel inside, I assumed he was a young student, bound for great glory, etc, etc. He said he failed out of college at UT his freshman year, and spent some time travelling.
I could tell he was a touch younger than me, but he looked calm as a cucumber as he spoke about his years since age 18. He said, "There's plenty of time."
Sometimes complete strangers give the best advice.
That was my therapy last night, more than anything improv did, even with some of the strongest imps I know.
I'm tempted to post a missed connections on Craigslist.
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I've come to the point that I practically live off of Hannah Hart's videos. I check back and see if she's posted on such a regular basis that I see her latest video at least 6 times before the next one posts. An obsession? A problem?
No. A coping mechanism. She is my friend.
Can't wait until my three TV shows start showing up on the internet soon. I miss those "people."
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My aunt posted this to her bookface the other day, I love it:
"In any situation, the best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing." - Eleanor Roosevelt
And, fun fact: the lady was a lesbian.
7:24 pm - Tuesday, Aug. 06, 2013
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