Saturday, May 21, 2011

Untiltled

I know I’m not your type.
I know you are going to reel me in, because you are perfect on paper.
I know I’m going to fall for you and skin both my knees. Probably my elbows too, because I'm clumsy like that.
I know you will convince me to open up to you like I never have with anyone else, and I know you’re going to shut me down.
I know you are going to tell me that it isn’t that I’m not good enough; it’s that we have “irreconcilable differences.”
I know you are going to disappoint me in the worst way possible.
But fuck all that. Here, take my heart.

On Being Alone


Ever since I can remember, my relationships have been, for lack of a better term, collectively dysfunctional. My parents are divorced and while I don’t particularly blame them, I feel like this fact is partially responsible for my descent into… into god knows what this is. This refusal to be by myself.
It’s ridiculous, really. My childhood was brimming with people and love. I was surrounded by light and happiness for the most part, and while the occasional incongruous memory surfaces, time is the distance that helped me control them – with every passing year, although they remained just as potent, I learned to lock those painful remembrances down. I tell myself that this ability to control myself (or my inability to deal, whichever you want) is a talent I must hone.
I’m not a particularly daughterly daughter to my father. A few years ago there existed someone I might’ve been a better daughter to – but for reasons I don’t feel like going into now, that didn’t work out. Another relationship axed. Over the years my mother has become my clichéd “pillar of strength,” but I don’t like leaning on people (or I do, but I don’t trust myself not to lose them, so I don’t let myself lean). I cannot really distance myself from her, but I have moved away for college. With every visit, I feel like we have less in common, less that we agree on.
On the whole I prefer male company. Girls are unintelligible, because we are so varied – unless I can find some part of myself in a girl, I can’t bring myself to spend time with her. And it is rare that this happens. Boys, on the other hand, are more or less cut from the same cloth and stitched with the same color thread. If you can make a man laugh, are willing to show a little skin, and make him feel more capable than you are, you can bend almost any to your will. I know this from experience. This is why men are so easy to be with. They are easy to understand.
I like having a love interest. One you have found one, given my understanding of boys, it is not hard to be his love interest – it is finding one suitable for the position of yours that is the trouble. My love interests are the most stable men in my life – which is simultaneously why I always need one, and why losing them tends to be detrimental if I can’t find a replacement asap. In general, I can tell when it is over. Most of the time I will make the break myself. This allows me to be in control. This is also why it sucks that I was not the one to do it this time.
With no preparation to be alone, being alone is sucking more epicly then I have ever imagined being dumped would suck. Obviously my ex is an unsuitable love interest, and living with my mother the whole summer isn’t going to give me much opportunity to find another. Dilemma? I think yes.
The answer is simple, in theory. I need to learn to be alone. It should be easy. I can do alone everything I’ve done with someone else. Going to movies, or grabbing a coffee – these things don’t require a man. Pshaw. My problem is being alone when I’m alone – in my dorm room when my roommate is in class, or at night, in bed, knowing there is no one wanting to hold me. Knowing there is no one I want to be with who wants to be with me. This is what I need to learn to be okay with.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Marilyn Monroe


I steal things. Not in the shoplifting or criminal way, but little things, like the round blue magnet on your fridge or the handpainted chopsticks at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I especially like your grey sweatshirt, unless you didn’t know I have that. But I will always tell you what I’ve taken, even if I don’t give it back.
I know what I want. I don’t mean that I’m goal oriented or ambitious or even selfish, because I’m not. I mean that if I want to watch Hercules instead of Fight Club, or go to Taco Bell and not Jimmy John’s, I will tell you so, even if I want something kind of weird, like to draw on your knee with highlighters.
I don’t care what people think of me. I don’t believe in social standards. I won’t fashion my behavior to simulate some invisible social model you believe in. So don’t ask me to.
I won’t behave well, and I will embarrass you in public, especially if you are easily embarrassed. I will reach across the table to play with your hair at classy restaurants, and stop to kiss you in the middle of the street, even if people are watching.
I like it when people are watching me. I will be loud and inappropriate and I will enjoy every minute of it. I don’t intend to make you uncomfortable, but don’t expect me to stop what I’m doing if you are.
I expect a reply to every message I send you, and I will text you when you’re asleep. And I will get upset if I don’t get a text back, even if there isn’t anything reasonable to say in reply.
My greatest insecurity is that you won’t accept me this way. I know that I’m crazy and a lot to take in, and I’m very, very afraid that one day it will become too much for you to handle. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to change. Hell no. Because if you can’t deal with me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.