Monday, July 26, 2010
People, I have hit new lows of give-a-damn lately, which is why I haven't posted worth shit. I've been hitting new nadirs of "meh" and fighting waves of irrepressible anger with a side order of cranktastic despondency, and I have super-sized this Unhappy Meal with a 32 oz cup of GTFO and [facepalm]. Needless to say, I don't think anyone out there in the blogosphere particularly wants to hear anything I have to say right now. I don't even want to hear what I have to say right now.
A couple of weeks ago, I was going to get a haircut and then meet a friend for a late lunch afterwards. I had been feeling rather drained lately--I was just barely posting on WAD, I wasn't sleeping well for some reason, and I was actually getting annoyed at having to work 40 hours a week again (I know, I'm being ungrateful). So my friend is all amped up and going on about this and that, and she just gushes, "Oh, I can't wait to see you! I need my Pixie Time!" That one sentence--I need my Pixie Time--absolutely sent me over the edge. While I didn't retaliate in the moment, I was furious. Why does everyone need their goddamn Pixie Time? I thought. Hell, I even I haven't had Pixie Time for the past six-plus months and now everyone else seems to think they can have me?
I commented on this recently on Rev. Kit's blog on this post, and I've been thinking about it some more since I commented there. I realized that, while I do have fun with that particular friend, much of our interactions is me bolstering, supporting, defending, rationalizing, cheering up, and generally giving to this friend...and I'm fucking exhausted. Not exhausted--fucking exhausted. And I'm finding that a lot of people lately want something me--look at my website and give me suggestions, help me get a job at Guy's firm, give me some advice in my time of need, run this or that extra project at work, blah blah blah. And while all of these are important and valid requests that we all make of each other, I'm just...done.
I realize that we allow ourselves to play roles in each others' lives. For some we are the lean-er, and for some we are the lean-ee. Some of our friends are only good-time friends, and some are the friends you call when you feel like complaining and gossiping. (And some are the friends we call for bail money--they are in a class all their own and God bless 'em.) We all tell people how we want to be treated, but what happens when no one is listening? Case in point: At lunch the next day with my I-need-my-Pixie-Time friend, I told her how wrung out I was and that I would be scaling back my obligations and activities for a few months. She reacted like it was a good idea. Later during lunch, we realized that she and I had a friend in common that I saw sometimes on my morning runs. The following Monday, I met this mutual friend on a run and we chatted briefly about how we knew my lunch friend. The next day, my lunch friend emailed me and said that it would be great for us three--the running acquaintance, the lunch friend, and me--to get together for dinner and drinks. I said, sure, that'd be nice sometime. She emailed back that she knew I was trying to cut back, so it was up to me when and how...and then not even half an hour later, she emails the running acquaintance and me, "Hey! We ladies need to get together soon for drinks!!!"
Jesus. God. in heaven. Go read what you just wrote me in that email and then punch yourself, please. Hard. In the face.
I didn't even respond. I deleted both emails and just focused on work. And in the ensuing several days, I've become reflexively annoyed at everything. When the ATM spits my card out and the screen says, "Please take card" I shout back at it "Jesus, do I have to do everything around here?!" Meanwhile, Gracie has given Hazel her cat shelter cold/sneeze, and Hazel won't eat. I mean, I haven't seen her eat anything since Friday afternoon when she had a couple of bites of warmed-up tuna and a few crunchies. The vet said that the cold is making her not be able to smell food, so she's not eating it (cats rely that much on their sense of smell). If she's not eating by Tuesday, then we have to give her appetite-stimulating medicine, and I'm here to tell y'all that I'm fucking sick of medicating cats. I spent 18 months doing that with Maddy, and while I loved and still love my tortie girl, I'm sick of sickness and I'm sick of tending yet one more thing that isn't working or doing quite right.
I'm sure I'll be fine, but I'm just tired momentarily of being really positive and excellent and awesome and on top of everything for a long time. I just want to drink iced lattes and get massages every day for a week. I'm not so much physically tired as psychically tired. And cranky. And then there's the inevitable person who is afraid of a negative mood and wants to tell me to cheer up. Listen--I've been as cheery as I can be for having watched the economy tank for the past year and a half and working as hard as I have just not to get laid off. I think I've earned my cranky mood, so just let me wallow in it for a few days and I'll be fine.
If anyone needs me, I'll be on the balcony, drinking an iced chai and flipping through a Crate & Barrel catalog, which is about all my brain can handle right now.