Wednesday, August 18, 2004
sugar-free.
yesterday was my birthday. it went about as well as a birthday goes when you're relatively new in town and by yourself. there was a giftie from my mother in the morning--which, while it isn't something i needed or would have thought to want, betrays a heart-warming amount of forethought and doting. the monkey called pretty early on. i had to spend the day at the gift show, but made up for it by buying myself a tutu from one of the exhibitors, who makes princess outfits for grown up big girls. if you're wondering, it's black net and has a large red flower on it. i'd stopped for non-convention center food before coming in, including cupcakes. the best one regaled me after work with martinis and appetizers, and a sweet gift so kind and so unspeakably perfect that i cried a little on the subway home. that part was pretty great. i've missed her, and we have a good time together. i forget that i'm hungry for it.
i called the monkey from the train. perhaps i should have waited.
we got into it. i guess, to be fair, i got us into it. i asked about his first day of rehearsal out in the far midwest--and i swear to dog, i really wanted to hear it. and actually, i liked hearing. it's just that i'd been feeling so alone, and so unsuccessful, and i know, cry me a hudson river, but . . .
he said this thing about his costume fitting, and about how his costumes were beautiful and fit so well, and i wondered how it was that they fit. did he send his measurements in ahead of time? no, he said. they called the costume shops at the last two big professional theatres he worked in and got the info. after all, he noted, it had only been a year or two and he was still roughly the same size.
without mucking about in all the self-pity that i was unable to control at the time: something rubbed me funny about it only taking a year or so for the dynamic of our respective careers, if i can use that word without upchucking, to return exactly to where they lay in seattle. same shit, different coast. i'm home eating lentil soup and answering phones; he's getting paid six hundred dollars a week to try on a fur cape.
so, yeah, i'm exactly that shallow. if i were less sick of thinking about the fight we had last night, i'd write something about how i'm not envious of him per se, just sad about being reminded of my lack of satisfying work. it all came out last night, though. and the worst part of it was that when i got over my selfishness and told the monkey that it was okay, i was sorry i said something resentful, but i was feeling really lonely and could he please just say a paragraph or two about how he loved me?
no paragraph, not even after a few requests. spose it serves selfish, envious girls right, in a sense, but i was deep blue disappointed. it's not jake to hear what someone needs and leave them hanging, even if you're hurting for adjectives, or shy, or tired. not if the person is me, and you're you.
it's weird to be suffering the after-anti-glow of a big blowup, or a serious disappointment, and realize that you feel both justified and responsible. i probably shouldn't have poked the badness with a stick for so long if i didn't want it to bite me. but i don't think what i asked for was unreasonable, and it bugs me way deep down that the monkey gives up in the face of frustration when his best girl is still in need.
anyway. i still really like the tutu, but it looks less good when you feel like crapola.
i called the monkey from the train. perhaps i should have waited.
we got into it. i guess, to be fair, i got us into it. i asked about his first day of rehearsal out in the far midwest--and i swear to dog, i really wanted to hear it. and actually, i liked hearing. it's just that i'd been feeling so alone, and so unsuccessful, and i know, cry me a hudson river, but . . .
he said this thing about his costume fitting, and about how his costumes were beautiful and fit so well, and i wondered how it was that they fit. did he send his measurements in ahead of time? no, he said. they called the costume shops at the last two big professional theatres he worked in and got the info. after all, he noted, it had only been a year or two and he was still roughly the same size.
without mucking about in all the self-pity that i was unable to control at the time: something rubbed me funny about it only taking a year or so for the dynamic of our respective careers, if i can use that word without upchucking, to return exactly to where they lay in seattle. same shit, different coast. i'm home eating lentil soup and answering phones; he's getting paid six hundred dollars a week to try on a fur cape.
so, yeah, i'm exactly that shallow. if i were less sick of thinking about the fight we had last night, i'd write something about how i'm not envious of him per se, just sad about being reminded of my lack of satisfying work. it all came out last night, though. and the worst part of it was that when i got over my selfishness and told the monkey that it was okay, i was sorry i said something resentful, but i was feeling really lonely and could he please just say a paragraph or two about how he loved me?
no paragraph, not even after a few requests. spose it serves selfish, envious girls right, in a sense, but i was deep blue disappointed. it's not jake to hear what someone needs and leave them hanging, even if you're hurting for adjectives, or shy, or tired. not if the person is me, and you're you.
it's weird to be suffering the after-anti-glow of a big blowup, or a serious disappointment, and realize that you feel both justified and responsible. i probably shouldn't have poked the badness with a stick for so long if i didn't want it to bite me. but i don't think what i asked for was unreasonable, and it bugs me way deep down that the monkey gives up in the face of frustration when his best girl is still in need.
anyway. i still really like the tutu, but it looks less good when you feel like crapola.
