Thursday, March 06, 2008
bad metaphor. the end.
i may have already said this, but i think the big bummer is that not only can't you make someone love you, you can't make them do anything about it.
i locked myself out of the apartment yesterday. without my phone (cunningly also left inside the apartment; i am nothing if not consistent). and because our apartment is opened with an ID card, like some weird residential motel, if i have left my cardkey inside the locked abode it also means the wallet in which i keep it is similarly unavailable. on campus at six pee em with no keys, no phone, no wallet, no dinner.
i couldn't take the bus home; i couldn't go get a coffee. i was hungry and chilly and wearing mary janes. i couldn't call anyone except the monkey, because in this age of speed-dialed cell phones, his is the only number i have memorized. and i only made that call courtesy of the credit card number i memorized during the wedding when i was buying so much shit on the internet all the time.
i walked three miles to a shopping mall, and sat in the food court with a book. once i got there, it was actually fine--i realized i even had some baby carrots to stave off starvation--but it was a long, teary tramp. not because i had no socks on and the way was blistery, but because that's one of the really alone times, when you suddenly realize there is no one local and practical to call. i do not know anyone except the monkey who will drive to the west side and buy me a slice of pizza.
and then i thought it would go away, but i woke up this morning all melodrama but partly sincere, thinking where did my life go? i think that i used to be a more magical commodity than i now feel myself to be. and it isn't just going back to school and letting down my inner artiste. i think it's more about community, and lack of it, and star trek on the couch, and sending emails to far away friends that try not to sound needy but really are and nonetheless get three sentence replies. it's about feeling like i might have gotten married in front of a bunch of strangers, or worse, acquaintences. it's proposing a visit or a joint vacation and realizing from the noncommittal replay that we are not that kind of friends.
the scary is that my life over the last five or so years has gotten much less full, even as it's become so beautifully enriched by one singular, magnificent thing. maybe whiny, but i'm trying to look at this dilemma functionally. i had this going on, this connectedness, for a while, even though i was bummed about plenty of other stuff at the time. there must be a way to encourage it again. what i miss isn't being single, it's walking into a party where everyone knows my name. actually, it's walking into a party at all. my twenty-sixth birthday party overflowed the rented room. every one since then has been a two-person affair.
there's also something in here about how i'm ready to have a baby and we can't right now, or at least shouldn't, because grad school hates babies and my advisor is Pol Pot and we are in a fair amount of debt and the wages of the people who live in my apartment are ridiculous. mine are not going to ameliorate any time soon, for obvious reasons, and the monkey cannot be made to see that things are not working. money is not working. a solution is required.
and friends are not working. if you are one, please don't think this is about you; i'm sure i love you like a brother. pay no heed to the sniveler behind the curtain. or, maybe, a very small heed. a heedlet. to be clear, thought: i realize i'm the one who drove me here. i just need to find a gas station. or . . . whatever, god. bad metaphor. the end.
i locked myself out of the apartment yesterday. without my phone (cunningly also left inside the apartment; i am nothing if not consistent). and because our apartment is opened with an ID card, like some weird residential motel, if i have left my cardkey inside the locked abode it also means the wallet in which i keep it is similarly unavailable. on campus at six pee em with no keys, no phone, no wallet, no dinner.
i couldn't take the bus home; i couldn't go get a coffee. i was hungry and chilly and wearing mary janes. i couldn't call anyone except the monkey, because in this age of speed-dialed cell phones, his is the only number i have memorized. and i only made that call courtesy of the credit card number i memorized during the wedding when i was buying so much shit on the internet all the time.
i walked three miles to a shopping mall, and sat in the food court with a book. once i got there, it was actually fine--i realized i even had some baby carrots to stave off starvation--but it was a long, teary tramp. not because i had no socks on and the way was blistery, but because that's one of the really alone times, when you suddenly realize there is no one local and practical to call. i do not know anyone except the monkey who will drive to the west side and buy me a slice of pizza.
and then i thought it would go away, but i woke up this morning all melodrama but partly sincere, thinking where did my life go? i think that i used to be a more magical commodity than i now feel myself to be. and it isn't just going back to school and letting down my inner artiste. i think it's more about community, and lack of it, and star trek on the couch, and sending emails to far away friends that try not to sound needy but really are and nonetheless get three sentence replies. it's about feeling like i might have gotten married in front of a bunch of strangers, or worse, acquaintences. it's proposing a visit or a joint vacation and realizing from the noncommittal replay that we are not that kind of friends.
the scary is that my life over the last five or so years has gotten much less full, even as it's become so beautifully enriched by one singular, magnificent thing. maybe whiny, but i'm trying to look at this dilemma functionally. i had this going on, this connectedness, for a while, even though i was bummed about plenty of other stuff at the time. there must be a way to encourage it again. what i miss isn't being single, it's walking into a party where everyone knows my name. actually, it's walking into a party at all. my twenty-sixth birthday party overflowed the rented room. every one since then has been a two-person affair.
there's also something in here about how i'm ready to have a baby and we can't right now, or at least shouldn't, because grad school hates babies and my advisor is Pol Pot and we are in a fair amount of debt and the wages of the people who live in my apartment are ridiculous. mine are not going to ameliorate any time soon, for obvious reasons, and the monkey cannot be made to see that things are not working. money is not working. a solution is required.
and friends are not working. if you are one, please don't think this is about you; i'm sure i love you like a brother. pay no heed to the sniveler behind the curtain. or, maybe, a very small heed. a heedlet. to be clear, thought: i realize i'm the one who drove me here. i just need to find a gas station. or . . . whatever, god. bad metaphor. the end.
