Things

Things I want:
-Guitar
-DSLR
-a Dog
-a Life.

Things I have:
-my own pad
-a laptop
-a Job

Things I don’t want (now):
-husband(s)
-kid(s)
-roommate(s)

Things I want to do:
-write
-drink coffee
-dance
-a boy.

He’s just not that into [me]?

I have these moments of hardcore insomnia; I claim that it has nothing to do with my nightly concoction of coffee, wine and chocolate (all of which I consume purely for their associated health benefits and not because I’m a caffeine addict, an alcoholic, and a fatty). It happened again last night- My pillow did not get head until 4AM and consequently, I missed my morning run. Gosh, I feel insanely shitty now.

During the aforementioned “moments”, I have a big[ger] tendency for insanity. I will do something so abso-fucking-lutely stupid that as soon as I wake up in the morning and recall the proceedings of last night; I want to crawl underneath my blanket for all eternity.

Of’ course, last night was no exception, but given my tendency for cliffhangers- last night’s story will have to wait till my next post. Instead, let me begin with the proceedings of last week.

Currently, I’m using my school e-mail as my only means of online communication, the storage limit of which is 100 megabytes. Every couple months, this forces me to clean out the e-mails I receive and send. And so it happened that last week I had exceeded my e-mail quota, and thus all of the ‘Prolong your shlong’ my friend’s e-mails were not making their way through to my inbox.

Thus, in order to naturally enlarge my breasts receive all of my vital e-mails, I had to delete the old ones. The starting point was September, and the first e-mail of the month was the one from this guy.

Without much thought, I pressed the reply button and wrote:

“What happened to you?”

It didn’t seem like a big deal then. Just a question. A remark, rather. Who cares? Not me. Not now. Not until dawn. And as the first ray of sunshine, illuminated my bedroom and stabbed my eyes; I began recalling last night’s proceeding. I felt silly, but I quickly dismissed it. It wasn’t a big deal. I barely knew the dude and the likelihood of seeing him again was miniscule.

Midday, he wrote back a one-liner.

“What do you mean what happened to me? Haven't been hit by a car in a while”.

I had hoped he wouldn’t write back at all. I decided to ignore it. At least while the sun was still beaming.

And then, at some point past midnight, I realized his response wasn’t good enough. I needed specifics. I wrote back:

Okay, I got a question. It's rather odd. In fact, it probably borders on being ridiculous. But, it's bugging me – a lot.

So, when I was over decades ago, and you had to babysit your nephew, or something along those lines, was that a ploy?

Ciao,
-Ida

Oi-goddamn-vay. At night, again, it didn’t feel excessive; I felt absolutely “okay”, perhaps slightly intoxicated, but defiantly in touch with the majority of my senses. It was a gutsy move- way beyond my usual self. The next morning (or that same morning, rather) I woke up to the sound of birds welcoming spring with their irritating chirping outside my windowsill; for a brief instant, the annoyingly perfect weather and the blooming oak tree intruding into my bedroom through an open window, awakened me to a “new" beginning; and just then, I realized I can never have a new beginning because I always analyze the inconsequential affairs of the past. And after that brief moment, I felt anxious. Antsy. Self-conscious.

I checked my e-mail a gazillion times that day. And by noon, he replied.

“No, that was not a ploy. My sister has a habit of putting me in situations like that. Had it been a ploy, I wouldn't have asked you to stay and watch a movie a mere 10 minutes earlier. To the contrary, I thought you were hot and I was only hoping I could keep from trying to make out with you. So there.

That is funny though how you remember that.....not weird, just funny. I'm sorry it’s taken so long to explain the situation.”

Wait. Stop. WTF?

I thought it was me. I was convinced it was me. Was there spinach in my teeth? Was it my frizzy hair? My tired, after-work, appearance?

Nope. This time, it was all him. Doofus.

Yummy yummy in my tummy.

I got a new laptop. Its very big brother-ish. I taped over the webcam.




My neighbor gave me brownies and cupcakes! It was just what my neighbor’s [the] doctor legally prescribed ordered.

I feel silly. And jump-y. And mucho excited.

I am I said

I decided to be sick today. Again.

My voice is slightly hoarse, my head feels slightly stuffy, and as my momma would say, “ti boleesh hitrost’u” (“you’re sick with coyness”)

So, I e-mailed work, and let them know I’m in a devastating condition; I can drop dead at any moment. The e-mail worked magic; I feel cured.

I’m not sure for how much longer I can tolerate the whole real-world “job” thing. I don’t want a friggin career. I don’t want to move “ahead”. I want to move backwards. Back to school, back to no responsibilities and no financial obligations (rent, bills, car insurance).

I can’t pinpoint when I lost all ambition and desire for the “top” of the bitch ladder. Did I ever really have it?

I was so miserable over the last few months. If I “dropped” my current career, would the ‘rents be disappointed? What else can I do? What about a family? Kids? A White picket fence and a two-story, three bedroom, townhouse in the San Fernando Valley?

I don’t want it. Any of it. Not now. Not yet.
Not ever?

I don’t want to live a grandiose lifestyle, filled with dinner parties, or corporate events that serve wine with cheese and crackers. I want beer and peanuts. I want travel, a dog, a guitar, music, good friends, and good times. I want to write, and take dance lessons, and compile videotapes and pictures of exotic looking places, people, situations.

I want to stay where I am now. Literally. At a local coffee shop, sipping coffee and munching on bits of dark chocolate whilst watching the LA types pass about in their flurry of piled on bright fabrics and face-blocking sunglasses.