Wise and Unwise Why's

PostSecrets fascinate me. I read them every chance I get. They are addicting! No, I haven't done one myself...mostly because I am not nearly as creative as those tormented (or delighted!)souls.

I found my own PostSecret at Target. I was in one of my hibernation spells - you know, where I don't answer the phone or the door or my email - but I needed to get some inserts for my little planner, so venture out I did.

As I looked for just the right paper product for my life changing (HA!) organizer, I came across the most extraordinary thing smack dab in the middle of a notepad on the shelf. I don't even know what made me flip through it!:


I do know this, though - it changed my whole night. It still affects me when I look at it now! Who wrote this? Was she (I am assuming the gender of the author and I know that is wrong. Sorry.) cheated on? Did her man (or woman - not assuming here) leave her for someone they knew? Or someone she trusted? Or someone the cheatee considered "less than"?

Perhaps the "her" in question got the job (or just the recognition) that the writer coveted. Or perhaps something unfathomable happened to the "her" and the question is aimed at God.

I am stunned by all of the perhaps's that these two words create.

And I am stunned by the answer that keeps sing-songing in my brain: Why NOT her?

Story Telling 101

Oh, yes. This is a topic that I am qualified to teach on.

Story Telling.

Not the kind that you enjoy, mind you. Not the kind of story with a moral, or the kind that actually has a beginning, middle or end, and not the kind that is passed down through the generations or gets told around the dinner table. No - I make a mess out of those kind of stories. Hell, I can't even tell a story about a happening in my day without getting completely off topic and most of the time forgetting what happening I was storying about!

The kind of Story Telling I am good at?

The kind that happens when the gray matter between my ears gets all whacked out on insecurity or injustice or some imaginary slight.

For instance: Running into a coworker in the hall - she is brief - I am surprised - I write a story. She is probably very upset that I did not listen closely to a presentation that she gave last week, and now she thinks that I am neglectful of our department issues. And this probably was discussed amongst others, including my supervisor, who coincidentally is giving me my yearly review next week, and now it will probably go badly for me...oh WHY can't I just pay attention during meetings??! Nice story, huh? (What REALLY happened: a vital employee gave his two weeks, throwing our holiday schedule into disarray, and stressing my coworker out to the point of distraction. Had nothing to do with me.)


Another example: Netflix has a special where I can update my Twoatatime package to Threeatatime for $.60. Just press HERE--->(button). I pressed. My credit card failed to authorize. For sixty cents. Oh my gawd...I write a story. I have somehow messed up my bank balance to the point where I am now so far in the hole that even my credit card is cut off! And now I bet that I will be on the streets by January at least - or even the end of December at this rate. And obviously they will come to take my car at some point, and I will have to concede to my ex that I just can't make it on my own and throw myself on his neverexisting mercy. The shame and horror was all consuming - and very destructive. Medal winning story. (What really happened? I moved. And the address on my NetFlix and card did not match - a quick update did the trick. Did I upgrade my package? No. Still too engrossed in my story.)

I have spent the last four days being cognizant of my Story Telling - and it has worked wonders on my state of confusion and agony. Every time my brain starts whirring and concocting and fabricating, I simply tell myself: You are writing a story. Stop it. Now.

My friends, boyfriend and family are all very grateful because it is very nice to not have to answer for things that haven't really happened anywhere but in my fancy little head.

No telling what kind of creativity I will come up with next...but let's hope that I use my powers for good and not evil. ;)

Highway Grand Opening

Part of my misery is my own damn fault. Funny how that works, and even funnier how hard it is to admit it, ah? Anyway!

Bah.

Three or four years ago when things in my mind were starting to muck up, and things in my household were becoming crystal clear for the dysfunction they were, I filled my life up with people that I only communicated with electronically. At first it was people from my Quit.net, and then it started to include people I met blogging, and then after my divorce it became people I met on dating sites who although I didn't get to date them (D asked for exclusivity immediately -flattering, but detrimental to the cause of seeing what all is out there...), I still had much communication through email and/or texting.

That all came to a grinding halt in the early fall when D expressed his displeasure with all of my random iPeople. So I cut off communication with them all. All of my flirty friends that made me laugh and giggle and blush, all of my intuitive friends that gave me great advice and stayed ever available for my sporadic need for repartee, even my concert buddy who still to this day does not know why he went to so many concerts by himself this year - I stopped "talking" to them all. And focused all of my attention on my relationship with D.

And there is where at least two of my four wheels start to come off the track. It seems that I am a high contact person who has an incredible need for near-constant socialization. Can one man - one amazing man, albeit - carry that humongous burden? Could he ever hope to get lucky at the art of keeping me even-keeled? No. No. He hasn't a snowball's chance in hell of meeting those particular needs of mine.

And so. Is it really fair? Is it fair that I put so much pressure on him to do the impossible? Would it be a blessing of immeasurable value and an enormous relief to have that responsibility and source of brain damage, that everpresent millstone around his neck removed?

Why, yes. I do believe I agree with you. I think I am reopening the terriberrisuperinformationhighway. I need those connections. They are a lifeline of sorts. And I miss them terribly.

There. You had no idea I was such an excellent giver and problem solver, did you? :)

Next Floor Level, Please

Is it the alignment of (or my misalignment with) the stars? Is it my emotional immaturity and baggage that I am left to reconcile in the aftermath of divorce? Is it insecurity about my future?

Criminy. I don't know.

There is something wrong with me. And I don't like it.

I used to be afraid that D would read my blog and find some reason to be upset with me. I used to be very careful to not put into words anything I couldn't back up in real life. I would refrain from sharing any difficult emotions or situation that hadn't already been resolved.

But now I know that I don't need to worry about D reading my blog. Or reading my emails. (Even the ones sent to him from me! HA!) Or listening to my voice messages - or even CD's. (Even SPECIAL CD's like the one I put together like some stupid teenager on our year anniversary!) Nope. Nada. Just won't do it. Wouldn't be prudent. And RETURN an email? Or a text? Whatever. I can go a whole day, sometimes two, without hearing from him. Take right now for instance: the last meaningful conversation we had was last week..before he left for Kansas.

Sometimes I am okay with this uncommunicative state, especially if I have just been in his arms for a weekend or so. I mean, who cares about stupid txt messages and phone calls and emails and cd's and blogs when you are in your man's arms? When I am okay with his radio silence I feel mature and whole and balanced.

But then other times - like right now - when I am floating out and around in this universe, completely by myself, scared and riddled with anxiety, it makes me feel so insignificant. It makes me feel like I have attached myself to someone (again) that does not feel the same way about me. And we all know how I feel about giving out more than I am getting back!

...it makes me feel invisible and lost and very, very alone.

I am literally holding myself down to keep from throwing it all away because I want to have a healthy relationship. And because I am not sure these minor transgressions are a true deal breaker. What if I am just being immature again? Or letting my imagined princess status become a demand? What if I am being a whiney, stereotypical girl? I mean, can I not hold myself together with my own strength? Can I not be by myself for a little while without coming unhinged?

I just don't know.

Right now I need strong arms around me, I need to feel safe and loved and cared for.

I need to matter.

And it is starting to feel dangerous.