Remember when I was funny? Remember when I posted with dependable regularity? Want to know what happened? I moved.
I swear, I got away from Charlie the Miracle dog and his douche-bag of a mom, M, and I am literally incapable of producing a blog that doesn’t blow ever since. I blame geography.
…Only that’s not the whole story, I’m afraid. My blogging skills/schedule was largely dependent on the general mood I was in. I’m good when I’m miserable. In fact, my humor reaches impressive levels the less happy I am internally.
So in yet another way the-universe-is-fucked-up, the defenese mechanism I have exploited for years is kind of useless when there’s nothing to defend myself from. When I am unhappy, I deflect the probing questions and sympathetic looks by throwing open the doors to my self-deprecating humor. I suppose I must be thinking, “well, I might be black and rotten on the inside, but at least I can still make people laugh.” Or something like that.
Imagine my surprise then, when I found myself comfortable for the first time in a very long while. And with this comfort came a mental break that took me off guard-duty for myself. I can communicate with people without the need to interject jokes to control the situation. I employ my sarcasm less often now since I don’t need it to distract whoever is unfortunate enough to be near me. I am, I cannot believe I am writing this, not angry.
That’s a lie. I’m less angry. I’m still frustrated with Democrats and my boss and the weather’s bipolar tendencies of late. I’m still disappointed with certain folks and myself for my various shortcomings. But I’m not (at the moment— knock on wood) pissed off at the air for being there. I don’t want to yell at trees and the sky and God. I’m just kind of… going.
Ironically, as I became less awful a person, my blog plummeted. I think it’s more because I’m not passionate about things now… That’s not right either… I’m not passionately aggressive. I’m still in love with politics and my family and my friends and good music and literature. But I’m not forcing myself and my thoughts on the world, and I’m not (currently— knock on wood again!) trying to prove a point that I was never able to articulate well, anyway.
And conssequently, I’ll be taking a break from blogging. I neglected myself lately, and I was miserable… I cried myself to sleep for a long time, and I never looked in the mirror and asked why. Choosing to wallow was sooo much easier and blog-worthy. The need to grieve a number of things took priority over my own emotional well-being and to be frank, I got lazy and in the laziness, incredibly selfish. Lately, I feel like I see a different girl in the mirror, and I kind of like her more than that teenage-esque bitchy-for-no-reason person I always thought I was.
Sooner or later, I’ll return to the world of blogging with what I’m sure will be a wave of observations, but for now, I’ll keep if off the blogosphere. I’m just done trying to be funny.
Everything works out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out yet, then it’s not the end.
Mr. GOP came to visit me…. well, came to do a variety of campaign things in Orange County and consequently got to visit me. A few months back, GOP said he loved me. Well, I’m unsure still if he genuinely does love me, but he most definitely does not love the dog that I live with.
Charlie the Puggle is by all definitions a very odd dog. He’s fat and snores and barks at people, but generally means well and is loved by all visitors to our apartment. (PS- I moved.)
So when GOP showed up at my door and Charlie was clearly not digging him, I was alarmed. Never has a guy been here without Charlie loving up all over them… until he met GOP. And GOP’s response was fairly ridiculous. The dog is fucking 25 pounds, and GOP acted like it was a grimey, dirty stray animal. He shoved the dog off of him a few times and with a disgusted face just said “Ugh, Charlie!”
And then I knew- time to send GOP on his way.
The relationship I have with Charlie is strained. He eats my stuff, pees everywhere and barks. Because of him, my neighbors think myself and my 2 roommates are worthless. But he has very sweet moments and he does mean well, so I forgive him and just tell him how much he sucks. He gets me, and I walk him and feed him. So I get that not everyone will love my four-legged roomie, and I forgive them that. Most of the time, I don’t like him.
Never did I think that Charlie would weasel his way into my love life criteria…. But it’s a list of criteria that admittedly could use some additions, so I’ll take it. And it’s not that they have to immediately bond with him, but for God’s sake, don’t be put off by something that takes up two-square feet of room and just wants to love you. Plus, aren’t all guys dog people? Don’t they inherently dig all dogs except for lame ones that double as accessories for spoiled rich slut bags? Maybe GOP became less of a man in my eyes. Regardless, his stay with me was cut short. I feel fine with this.
But the criteria thing is an interesting idea. It goes hand in hand with all these talks of ‘types’ and what we’re attracted to. I’m attracted to people with issues, and people who like crazies are attracted to me. Why my relationships all end poorly is explained well by that equation, I guess. Unfortunately, it’s been recently revealed to me that my “type” is not quite as specific as I would like it to be. I’ve been surprised numerous times by the men I find myself drawn to. Well, I surprise myself and give my friends plenty of ammo to make fun of me.
And ultimately, none of this matters. I am dating quite a bit, some more worthy than others. But I don’t want a relationship. I’m too tired, too frustrated, too unsure of everything to begin some search for ‘permanent.’ This will fade I’m sure, just like my other phases, but for now… I think I just want to be left alone. Well, except for dumb-ass Charlie.