Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Feeling Fuzzy

Despite my best attempts,
last week's annoying sore throat
catapulted itself into a full-blown
situation this weekend.

Try as I might
I felt like total shit.

I still
(as I sit here)
feel pretty crappy.

And considering
how easily distracted and flighty I am
on any given day,
head congestion and medication
make for interesting writing conditions.

We'll be lucky if this is coherent in any way.

But here we go...

I spent Saturday night
posted up on the couch
with wonton soup and a movie.

Action shot!

I had had high hopes for it
but ended up being glad
I only paid $1.30 at Redbox.

I was also glad
I didn't drag Paul to the theater to see it
as I hate having to defend my movie choices
when they're less than stellar.

It was neither terrible nor fantastic,
and the highest accolades
belong to Charlize Theron
who does an impeccable job
of creating a main character who
lacks any sort of likeable trait.

There is not a single redeeming quality about Mavis.

Which, you know,
makes it all the more difficult for me to admit
that I related to her.

Not to a lot of her,
but to a little bit.

More specifically,

"I'm crazy and no one loves me."


"It's really, really hard for me to be happy."

Let me qualify this by saying
that save for
3 to 5 hormonally induced days a month
I hardly feel
that way anymore.

But I did feel that way,
every day,
for a very long time.

Like ages 5 - 27 (28?).

And I have the ex-boyfriends
and ex-friends to prove it.

Earlier this year
I was having a heart to heart with my Dad.

I was talking to him
about the re-emergence of an old love,
and needing some advice
about my reservations
and the other half's hesitations.

It was a good talk,
full of dad gems,
and punctuated by
his saying
with all the love in his heart,

"Christina...loving you is exhausting.
Ever since you were little."

He didn't mean it as a jab,
and I didn't take it as one.

Mostly because I've come to terms
with that truth about myself
and I've worked plenty hard to change it.

After all,
I was the girl in therapy in junior high,
and high school,
and off-and-on through
eleven years of college.

A million issues that could be whittled down
to just not feeling comfortable in my own skin.

Frustrated with my mind and heart
and their inability to just quiet for a second.

Constantly reacting to everything.

(real or imagined)
that I just had to set straight.

A bottomless pit of need
that would exhaust
the best of intentions.

Always looking toward the out
to fix the broken in.

I remember when Paul and I
were a couple a decade ago.

How we had our one year anniversary
and he filled my car
with 12 different dozens of flowers.

And I didn't like the kinds of flowers he chose.

My skin crawls at the memory.

It wasn't that I meant
to be that way.

It wasn't that I didn't want
to feel differently.

It was just really, really hard for me to be happy.

I don't know when things started to shift.

I'd like to say
it was when Lucas was born
but I'm not sure.

Changes like that are often imperceptible.

Maybe it was the trials of the last year.

Maybe it has been a do-over
for a relationship
that (for me)
had a lot of lingering regrets.

Maybe it has been the realization
that I was a shitty
and I don't want to be that way anymore.

Maybe it has been that my efforts
have not gone unnoticed
and my life is full
of family, friend, and boyfriend

I don't know when it happened
but suddenly I became able
to spend more time in the here and now
and less time wishing for more, more, MORE
of whatever I thought could make me happy.

Suddenly I became less crazy
and more easily prone to happiness.

Suddenly my terrible cold and I
are swimming with the boys
at 8pm on a Monday night
and we're laughing and splashing,
(and I'm coughing),
and I'm actually,

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