Meesh of All Trades

I found the file where I kept my old Tumblr posts from my now non-existent dating blog. This was one of my favorite posts…

I’ve come to quite like the weight of you.

I’ve never been good at dealing with both the physical and emotional weight of someone. Take, for example, my complete inability to sleep in the same bed with my boyfriend du jour. Time after time, I have found myself waking in the night, desperate to get away from said person’s touch. Time after time, I have wandered idly in the dark, unable to physically sleep by said person any longer. Every time I am expected to stay at a boyfriend’s house, I have consistently felt a restless dread creep up from within, accompanied by a slight, panic-y nausea and the urge to run out the door. It’s become rather problematic in my relationships. I have even begun wondering - if/when I get married - will I ever sleep again?

This new problem - which, I must admit, is both alarming but not entirely unsatisfying - has definitely taken me by surprise. Instead of feeling utterly, crushingly suffocated while sleeping with you, I have begun to feel a desperate craving to feel your physical closeness through the night. The feeling of your extra-long bones and flesh and hair have thoroughly lulled me to sleep in these recent months. I find myself waking in the night, seeing that you have rolled over, and move to cling to you, eager to feel these physical parts of you yet again…and then silently scold myself for doing so. This isn’t me. I don’t do this. This is…disturbing, Meesh. 

I have never been good at communicating my feelings aptly. (When I try to communicate them with you, they usually come out sounding like threats or just generally awkward-sounding statements.) I have been accused of being “a serial dater,” as having “no staying power.” I am like the entire cast of Seinfeld…I find inconsequential, ridiculous reasons to end a relationship with an individual, or purposely inject unnecessary drama into a relationship for my pure, unadulterated amusement. (Fourteen sessions after my initial therapy session, I finally had this breakthrough.) It’s cruel. It’s my way of just staying out of reach, so that I will never feel that inevitable, always-aching, never-ending pain which accompanies the death of a serious relationship, and the birth of a broken heart. After all, love is a fleeting motherfucker of a thing - a burden, and a privilege.

Lately, though, I’ve been okay with the potential to feel this pain (I would conclude this sentence with the word ‘“again,” though I’m pretty positive I’ve never felt said pain before.) I’ve been okay with the prospect of letting go and falling into the abyss of, well, nothing. Of not knowing. This is a big step for me. I feel as though I’m growing as a person. I never believed what it all came down to is the issues I have with control. As laid-back of a person I am in other aspects of my life, I have always wanted, needed to be in control of my relationships. Not having control has left me feeling unsettled and undone – like an itch you can’t scratch, or not being able to read the ending of a book.

But I’m okay with it.

I’ve come to quite like the weight of you.

So I finally sucked it up and went for a run…my first since I was in North Carolina. I put some fancy schmancy Dr. Scholl’s orthotics inserts into my brand new Brooks and off I went.

The good news: The shin splints have vastly improved. Plus, because of all the cycling/weight training/intensity intervals/etc. I’ve been doing, my endurance is rockin’!

The bad news: They’re still there. A little. Only my left chin still gets mild to moderate shin splints, which is a vast improvement.

Guess I’m gonna have to listen to the guy at the running store and get some ankle weights and do those shin-strengthening exercises. Grr. I hate putting in all this extra effort when I was running splint-free two months ago.

I got my brother’s shower gift today: the “tear perfect” napkin holder. The card reads: May all your napkins from here on out be perfectly perforated.

I feel like I’m gonna get some guff for my sarcasm. Whatever, this whole thing is a joke because of - how to put this nicely - unpleasant the bride is being.

We all really like her.

I thought I would write an entry that chronicles exactly what I do in a typical day these days. I have a pretty lax lifestyle right now, and some of what you’ll read is just downright humorous. So here goes…

7:30 a.m. I wake up at my boyfriend’s house. I’m only awake this early because he’s a corporate fat cat and has to be at work at the usual white collar hour. Because he has a lovely habit of turning on his computer, all the lights, and music and usually does some kind of early-morning comedy/song-and-dance routine, I have no choice but to be awake.

8:00 a.m. Instead of going back to sleep as I usually would, I turn on some weird AMC movie and study. I’m involved in a research project where we’re studying the difference in hiring practices between whites and minorities in a certain industry. I had to study my character’s profile and bio, and memorize it. (I’m acting in this study, and not using my real identity.)

9:30 a.m. I attempt to start getting ready for the day - showering, eating, the like - but am totally engrossed in Alton Brown’s “Good Eats” on the Food Network. He is doing an episode about parsnips. Word.

11:30 a.m. Finally prepared for the day, I bike to Walgreens where I purchase a mini-deodorant, thank-you cards (I’m all grown up ‘n’ shit), and where I randomly decide to test my step-pattern on that Dr. Scholl’s doohicky. Turns out, I need orthodics. But I knew that already. After a stop at the bank, I’m headed to the Loop.

12:30 p.m. This being my first time biking in the Loop, I’m relieved when I arrive at my destination not only alive, but retaining all my limbs. (I also manned-up and stuck to the roads versus the lakefront path.) I grab some Roti and head up to my research project.

1:00 p.m. Since the NATO Summit has already begun to ruin my life, I’m not surprised when I walk into the building where I usually don’t have to check in and find that I do, indeed, have to check in. I wait patiently while the project coordinator comes to get me…patiently is an understatement. She took forever. Hey, everything moves slow in non-profit.

1:30 p.m. I meet my “minority match” - the girl who is applying to the same places and I am, who is like me in every way except for her race. She’s a darling little actress and for everything she doesn’t know about the industry, she’s able to make up in bullshit. Thumbs-up.

2:30 p.m. I’m done with research and ready to head back to Le Casa. Hold up, though. I get lost somewhere by the river trying to get to the lakefront path because, to be honest, I’m not ready for another wave of panic attacks trying to take the same way back. I eventually find my way and enjoy the ride home, stopping only to take a cliched picture of my shoes with the lake in the background.

3:30 p.m. Realizing I’ve done a crap ton of cardio this week, I set out to do some strength exercises, a.k.a. Shit I Can’t Stand But Still Need to Do. I do some burpees and dick around with my medicine ball and call it a day. Dad would be proud.

4:30 p.m. I attempt to start working on the logo I’m doing, for free, for my former internship site. The development guy tried to do a mock-up, but wound up hating it. I’m not gonna lie, it looked like straight-up poo. ‘Twas definitely a noble effort for a beginner, though.

4:35 p.m. I get distracted by the Internetz. I [obsessively, and for the 115th time] check out Pirate Bay to see if it’s back online yet and start downloading the 5th episode of Girls. Success!

5:20 p.m. I laugh about how pointless my day seems and start writing this entry.

I realized something in the past 24 hours: I am absolutely enamored with my life right now. I’m doing everything I want to do and am scratching items off my bucket list by the boat load. Could I be working at a L.A. Tan or Tilted Kilt or some other bullshit job just to have some cash? Yeah. But I vowed a long time ago that I didn’t want to do anything that didn’t let me either a) use my creative skills or b) do something that means something, that’s creating change. So I’m holding out for those jobs that fit into these categories. I’m hoping to God that my good fortune will continue and that something will [again] fall into my lap, but until then, I just want some goddamn substance in my life.

That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it…well, at least until I’m eating tuna out of the can and selling my shit on eBay just to make ends meet.

Disclaimer: I am actually a very motivated individual who is, indeed, in graduate school (year round, I might add.) I don’t just sit on my couch all day smokin’ the reef, playing fetch with my cat, and eating Cheetos.