So this blog has definitely devolved into the intellectual equivalent of a booty-call. Whenever I feel like rambling on and on about things and no one has the time to sit down and listen to me try to sort through it all, I turn to you. Apologies, I guess. At least with a blog, you can just stop reading if you’re bored.
The SIP is going well, it’s nearing the home stretch. It has, indeed, taken on the problems and joys of being an embodied subject in today’s (okay, mainly my) world.
I’m mostly here to talk to you about my world as it’s been ripped open by my SIP and general happenings in my life, in a way meant to help me sort out some things. Last week my workshop group met, and Di asked me what I was looking for in a relationship, and if I was open to dating. Valid question—this Saturday marks a solid year of being single (which is a long time for someone who dated one guy for 3 years, turned around 5 months later and dated another for 4 months, and is only barely 21). I definitely hesitated a lot. I think I’m open to dating, but I’ve been so stable and successful on my own, it’s hard for me to see myself going for a relationship again unless it’s exactly what I want.
So, what do I want? That seemed to be the hardest question of all. At the time the question was asked, all I knew was what I didn’t want. I used to be all about romance and sweet gestures and a future together and blah blah blah. I somehow 180-ed from that by now. As far as the normal wooing gestures go (like sending me flowers, buying me a gift for my birthday, sending me texts that tell me I’m the most beautiful girl in the world…you know the drill), my problem with those is that they start to feel so fake. If you really, genuinely like me/ are falling in love with me, you won’t need crap like that to show me—I’ll just know from your energy. I don’t even know if I ever want to get married. Even if I did, sometimes I think it might be cool to just go to a courthouse and then spend all the money you might spend on a wedding traveling together.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I guess what I want is just someone who will be one of my best friends, will laugh with me, will be in my corner, and will unfailingly act as a soft place to rest when the world is unyielding shitty. That doesn’t seem like much to ask, but trust me, it is! There are so many people in the world who are looking for something different from that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you can’t want it differently. But I do think that it tends not to work out if you’re looking for completely different things. If you want someone sweet and demure to build you up all the time and fill your beautiful, white-picket-fence-surrounded home with babies, you had better run screaming in the opposite direction. I don’t need people opening doors for me, I don’t need flowers on my doorstep, I don’t need my own personal sonnets (please god no), and I sure as hell do not need someone calling me “baby” all the time.
I’ve been told I give a very closed-off vibe that intimidates men. My first reaction was “good.” I’m so deep inside of myself right now, that doesn’t surprise me—and I won’t apologize for it.
There is something very strange happening to me lately, and it would probably take a very long chat with Chris Latiolais to put my finger on exactly what it is. It’s like the feeling you get when you’re standing at the top of an extremely huge building and you’re looking over the edge. Sometimes I get these crazy urges to do something like get an entire sleeve of tattoos, or chop off all my hair. Sometimes it seems appealing to try to get my inner world and my outer appearance to match, but then other times, when I realize that’s impossible, I think it’s fun to fuck with people’s expectations like I do. I’m battling an extreme hatred of normalcy, to the point where it’s getting a little insensitive. I’m just on the edge of something, but I don’t know what it is. I don’t even really know if I’m handling in the way I should handle it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been pretty happy lately, and a lot more chilled out than I once was. But there’s still this monstrous thing happening.
These are the impulses that gave birth to my SIP. I have moments where I feel like I’m watching myself in a movie, and, to be honest, I’m kind of enthralled by them. Once, when I was in New York City, I saw this makeshift 9/11 memorial down in a subway station. It was all these names of people who had died, typed onto address labels and stuck onto the wall, one per brick. A street performer was down there playing this very eerie, strange music, and all the tile made it echo and reverberate right down into the middle of your chest.