And so...

I haven't been heard from in a while in the forum. The reasons are various -- the holidays, laziness, the inability to access the blog at work etc. -- but mostly because I have been wearing my cranky pants for the better part of two months now. They are binding. They chafe. Not to mention the fact that they are extremely unflattering (though they do coordinate nicely with the hair shirt I insist on wearing). Yet, somehow, I have be unable -- or perhaps unwilling -- to take them off.

It hasn't made me a hell of a lot of fun to be around. That is for sure. I have some moments of buoyancy, but then I retreat into my disgruntled, agitated ways feeling sorry for myself amidst an embarrassment of riches.

With 2008 having arrived just in the nick of time, I am grateful for having occasion to turn the page and attempt to dispassionately sort out the wheat from the chaff when it comes to all of the matters swimming around in my head, and to get myself back in a better mindset.

A few things I have figured out (listed in bullet point format due to the author's laziness and the fact that writing anything lately has become akin to squeezing blood from a stone, so she will take what she can get):

- In equal measure, both processed sugar and prolonged stress exacerbate my moodiness. It is not coincidental that my slipping back into the cranky pants coincided with my slipping back into my former ways of comforting myself with sugar -- the highs and lows of which are jarring -- and the high stress of the holiday season. 5 days after being freed from obligatory cheer and detoxing from processed sugar, I feel much more grounded.

- In a topic which I want to address in greater detail soon, I did realize over the holidays that it is not lack of affection in my formative years that has left me emotionally stunted and unable to effectively communicate when it comes to my feelings. Rather, it is the fact that my entire family suffers from an inability to communicate, feelings and otherwise. Whereas, once upon a time I believed the title of "drama queen" to be mine and mine alone within my family hierarchy, it is now clear that everyone in my 7 person clan shares this trait in equal measure. Makes family get-togethers very colorful, and very unpredictable.

- I have long been told that my standards are too high, that I am going to have to compromise if I want to avoid being alone. As of late, for the first time, I have started to believe that maybe people who offer forth such advice are right, and I wonder why I am the way I am, and exactly which of the 4,072 romantic comedies/soapy TV dramas I have watched in my life pushed me over the edge into believing that this bizarro world where there is "the one" actually exists. I has narrowed it down to a toss up between Say Anything with its urban legend that is Lloyd Dobbler (Damn you Cusack!) and The Matrix with its talk of there being no spoon, prophecies, oracles, and of course, Neo. But I take all of those heretical thoughts back. The gospel according to CLC is not derived from sudsy screenwriting, rather, it is derived from the well edited "reality" show I have been living for the last 30 years. My life, for as much as I complain about it, has been a charmed one to this point. I have long lived in a beautiful bubble, with its fair share of inclement weather, but where the terrain was populated by truly amazing people. Perhaps, more than the fair share of emotionally damaged people, but amazing nonetheless. People who were star athletes, honors students, ambitious and successful peers, and dead ringers for Abercrombie & Fitch models to boot. This has been true for me since I was in high school. Having it "all" doesn't seem so impossible, because I have known people like that forever. Of course, none of them have ever had any interest in me... but that brings me to my next point.

- My profound love of anyone emotionally damaged. If a man has significant emotional issues, like a dog drawn to a silent whistle, I cannot help but seek him out and offer forth my immediate and undying devotion, whether he wants it (ha!) or not. I apparently fancy myself the lady liberty of such men: Give me your closeted, conflicted, closed off, insecure, narcissistic, body dysmorphic, ultra-macho, testosterone -driven etc. Of course, my affections does not provide them liberty, nor comfort, nor anything other than annoyance. I, however, am unable to take a hint, and simply continue to pine away from afar, for years (and years and years) till something catastrophic finally happens that forces me to accept the reality of the situation. The reality that, but for my apparently rich fantasy life that creates these faux-relationships for me, I am alone, and that, in the company of these spectral men, that is unlikely to change.

- I think I may want to be alone. Being with someone else is frightening and I have never been in a romantic relationship where I have been myself. I am not sure if it is possible for someone to love me if I were "being myself" and I think I may be afraid that if someone were to love me when I were "myself" that the power of my feelings towards them would be so overwhelming that I am not sure I could take it. I would be so grateful, so relieved, so happy, and yet, so terrified. Terrified to lose it. Loving the emotionally unavailable shields me from that.

- I don't trust my own judgment. At least not with matters of the heart. After all, look at the colossal mistakes I have made over the years. The infinitely bad choices. Though what can one expect from the woman who is still struggling to accurately see herself in the mirror. The eyes deceive, so does the heart necessarily follow? JT Leroy would says so, but he is a figment of someone's imagination too. There have been folks whom I thought I could love if I just spent enough time convincing myself that I did (or those I thought I should love, if I could spend enough time forgetting that I did not), but I always worry, if I throw my efforts into convincing or forgetting, will I miss out on the one that won't require the invocation of such onerous and antithetical verbs. Of course, I suppose my own sadness could do the very same thing.

- I really want a partner in this life, but I am scared of getting close. Most of my intimate moments in this life have involved consumption of a fair amount of alcohol prior to the fact. I dare say nearly all of them. I have never really enjoyed most of them. I dare say nearly all of them. I feel so far removed from them. They feel more clinical than anything else. An odd thing to say when both parties aren't wearing any clothes, and yet it is true. There are only two times that I can think of where this was not true -- and serve now only to make it all the more difficult to sever myself from one of my spectral relationships. (Wow, how does one break up with oneself? Do I let myself down easy? Do I take myself to a restaurant so that I do not have a scene? Hope is a batshit crazy mistress. Leaving her is hard and one does so at one's own peril.)

- So here I am in 2008 left with far less hope than ever before. In many ways this is good. I am trying very hard to work on focusing on creating clean lines that are the boundaries of my life. Simplifying my personal calculus a bit -- what do I need, avoid what I do not, treat my body as a temple, give my mind the permission to be at ease -- to worry less, to dream more. I can focus on this because so much of my hope was torn away last year. I carry less cobwebs of my own delusion with me. And that is good. But there is a little sadness because I haven't quite figured out how to make myself stop wanting (and therefore to make it stop hurting) quite yet. Then again, the year is still young. There are 11 more months to figure it out.