I Don’t Ever Wanna Feel Like I Did That Day

Saturday was ROUGH.

After several weekends of having to go here or there, visiting this person or that person, running errand after errand that left me exhausted, I finally had a day all to myself.  I didn’t even have an appointment with my “Life Coach (sigh)” – I could sleep in, or write, or get caught up on TV or do anything I wanted to do.

And… I was miserable.

My father once explained that my obsessive / compulsive need to be with people is something I inherited from my mother, a fact I found ironic, not only because it explained why I grew up going to dinner parties every weekend until she died, but because I hated those dinner parties, where I had to socialize every single weekend, often with people I didn’t know.  We lived in Chicago, Carbondale, IL, Carterville, IL, St. Louis, MO, and Grand Blanc, MI by the time I was twelve years old and my mother died.  And then we moved back to Chicago when I was fifteen or so, shortly after I was diagnosed with my illness.  I got my bachelor’s degree in Urbana-Champaign, IL, then my master’s in Syracuse, NY, before finally moving to California, where I’ve lived in Fountain Valley, North Hollywood, Tujunga, downtown LA, Culver City, Inglewood, Hawthorne, and now Garden Grove.  I have had to be “the new kid” more times in my life, as it turns out, than most people, according to my best friend down here in OC, who I met while doing a live-in position in Redondo Beach.  I used to joke that I was born in a moving car, or as my cousin put it while we lived in all of those places, “your dad comes to Chicago like other people go to K-Mart.”  And yet, I’ve always considered myself shy.

I’m not, of course, any more than my mother was.  As it turns out, however, I’m not much of a conversationalist, in no small part because I over-share (according to my life coach), and am an attention whore (I’ve always known that).  I like to talk because I like the sound of my own voice.  And as much as I like to learn about other people, I can’t help wanting to comment on what they tell me, hence my Twitter, and based on what I posted last time on our societal inability connect in the modern era, hence my tendency to dominate conversations.  And it has left me utterly, utterly alone.

I can’t stand it.

Saturday was a dark day.  I woke up and got my oil changed.  Then I started watching TV.  When lunch time rolled around, I walked to “Carl’s Jr” and had my favorite lunch: the “Big Hamburger Combo,” with onion rings instead of fries.  Why is it my favorite?  It’s filling and it costs less than five bucks.  People wonder how I can eat so much garbage and have a 32-inch waist.  Here’s a tip: if you restrict yourself to $5 or less per meal, you WILL control your portion size.  Americans are fat because they don’t know when to say when.  It’s not fast or processed food, a society that’s too rushed, and it damn sure ain’t marketing – these days, most people boast about how much they eat healthy.  You know, those same people whose idea of a salad is a giant bowl, bacon, croutons, and tons of fat ass dressing, rendering it meaningless that you made it yourself or what the ingredients you used. You’re going to be fat. Self-control. That’s all any human being needs, we just happen to live in a country that equates lack of restraint with freedom and says that’s part of the Constitution of our country. Again, *sigh*

But as usual, I digress (because frankly, I have nobody else to tell this to). After I got back, I tried to write but failed. Then I tried to watch more TV, and got caught up on everything. And then…?


I went online and texted the ONLY girl (a fatty) from OKCupid who was willing to give me her number, according to my life and dating coaches, because I don’t have good pictures up on my profile. Since I have no friends, nor a phone that takes pictures, it’s not like I could get any, so that’s not surprising, just annoying. She gave me the run around about getting together, so I just gave up. I texted the last girl I was interested in, but she was working. I texted a friend who I wanted to meet with to see if I could learn about his Toastmasters club, but he was in Vegas. I texted my aforementioned best friend down here, but he’s in school and asked me to wait “a couple of weeks.” I texted an old friend from grad. school, but she and her family were busy as usual, and said I should try again in what else? A few weeks. I texted a friend who is as lonely as I am, and he flat out turned me down. No reason given, just “not tonight.”

Dinner time had rolled around, and I had to go by myself. It was an awful feeling.

When my friend who was working got home she gave me a pity call so she could bitch about some dude she was into who she got into it with. As she went on and on about how hurt she was, I thought about how many times I’d wanted to get with her and how she just plain didn’t think of me that way once she got to know me, asking myself what this dude had that I don’t have (her interest, apparently). I then tried to ask my friend about herself, realizing that I’ve been knowing her for almost two years now but know almost nothing about her of substance. She was guarded. As I posted before, these days, most people are. If they weren’t, the fatty from OKCupid would have hung out with me and more importantly, I’d have a friend who actually wanted to spend time with me, not all of these acquaintances who were otherwise occupied with their own lives. Or put another way, I’d have a life too.

This is how most of my weekends are for me. I have joined a Meetup Group about film in hopes that it’d yield friends. No luck. I have invested a lot of money in improving my appearance (that’s how I spent Sunday), and now I’m thinking that maybe the next time this happens, I really should just go to a bar, except that my life coach showed me that I’m not a great conversationalist, like I said, so what would I get out of the experience? I don’t drink, so there’s really no point to going. I could go see a movie, except that nothing is playing, really. I really have nowhere to go, nothing to do, and worst of all, no one to do it with. Like I said, it’s killing me in a way my illness never could because frankly, when you’re ill and have insurance, you’re the center of attention. Your medical team busts its ass to make sure your every need is met. Your family and friends check up on you constantly, fearful that if they don’t, they may never see again. When you’re healthy you’re taken for granted. As I said, my illness couldn’t possibly kill me, because it made people care. Being my healthy self forces me to engage them as I am, with nothing to offer. Clearly, nobody wants that.

There isn’t really a point to this post, I just wanted to think about what happened (or didn’t), and try to see if by writing it out, a better solution would show itself. Obviously not. I don’t have an answer to this, so I don’t know how long it’s going to continue. And that scares me far more than I can possibly describe…

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