Sunday, June 26, 2011

Bad mogambo...

I felt really weird yesterday.

Lately I've been doing better, feeling calmer and a little more sorted out. Things are looking up once more and while I have several things I would like to be different in my life, overall I really don't have a lot to complain about.

But I've had varying degrees of a strange, clenched, choked feeling. Like all the bullshit I've waded through over the last two years is simmering just below the surface in my subconscious. Like I'm too tightly wound, and for no good reason.

I'm not an angry person. I don't blow off steam by screaming loud enough to shatter crystal. When I drink a bottle of wine, I don't become a blithering, melancholy mess. So why do I get the sensation that I've got some crap bottled up inside that's keeping me from climbing out of a funk?

Yesterday was particularly bad, and for no reason that I could specifically name. By mid-day I was wracked with vague, mild grief. I soldiered through the rest of the day and finally felt more normal when I was cocooned in bed, watching crappy TV while skimming an equally crappy book. It felt like for the better part of the afternoon I had some bizarre voodoo dragging me down; I had no real reason to feel anything but content, yet I couldn't shake the feeling there was some bad energy/karma/whatever floating around me.

I don't really know if I believe the whole karma thing. I've always put good out into the world, never really doing wrong by anyone. But for all my good deeds I can't say that I've reaped what I've sown. If "Violence does indeed recoil up the violent," then the reverse should be true; my noble actions should come back to me in noble ways.

From my observation, the saying, "Nice guys finish last," seems a touch more accurate. But hey, that's not me complaining! If for nothing else than to prevent that negativity from whiplashing back to me...

This morning I did my usual coffee-newspaper-pajamas Sunday morning routine, and I feel quite content. Maybe I just had some bad vibes screwing my day up yesterday. If such things even exist.

I'll just steer clear of black cats, ladders, 13, and any other ridiculous superstitious mumbo-jumbo in an attempt to avoid any bad mogambo that might happen to float my way.

Friday, June 24, 2011

These four walls...

Why is everybody I know buying houses?

Seriously, more and more of my close friends are suddenly purchasing their first real estate. Granted, some of them are a touch older and wiser, and have a little more in the bank than others. But my best friend, who is all of 24, just purchased her very own place alone, without a boyfriend or roommate.

I guess we all have different priorities. I've been part-home owner my whole life, dealing with the million and one things that come with being responsible for your property, and I'm sick of it! My aim is set on a nice, cozy one-bedroom apartment somewhere downtown, not on a semi-detached dilapidated wreck of a house, complete with knob-and-tube wiring and an ancient furnace.

Of course, when they tell you about it, it all sounds peachy. "My very own house!" is the typical ecstatic line. It's an incredibly exciting and nerve wracking prospect, but more of my friends are taking the plunge and planting their own white picket fence.

Not that I'm afraid of commitment, but owning a house is so... permanent. Unlike an apartment that you can leave at practically any time, trying to sell your house is not exactly the most painless process. That coupled with the insane 30-year mortgages people are signing is enough to keep me a renter for the foreseeable future. (Well, that is to say, I'll be a renter when I finally move back downtown.)

Like many milestones, these first homes are lampposts on the path of life. I guess it's just hard for me to reconcile the fact that we're growing up and settling down. I've been mature practically my whole life, but I haven't reached the life-stage of home ownership just quite yet.

So for all you new home owners, congratulations on your success. I'll gladly come to the housewarming, but please don't bitch to me when your toilet is stopped up, your water heater breaks, your windows need replacing and the driveway need re-surfacing.

Ok, we all know I'll grudgingly be there to help when I can, pulling the best Mr.Fix-It I can.

But it's not my fault you had no idea what you were getting into.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Have I got a guy for you...

...was the first thing out of her mouth.

I've become friendly with that local guy I seem to be continually talking about, and by extension I'm acquainted with his coworkers and boss. On one of my routine visits, Julie, his boss, grabbed me the moment I walked through the door.

"Seriously!" she said as I tried not to scowl too much. "He'd be perfect for you, I've got a feeling. He's mature and actually a really great guy."

Of course, you could describe me that way as well, but I've been overly-cynical lately and immediately gaffawed at the idea of being introduced to a sane, normal guy. "Oh come on, if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is," I half-joked.

Julie's reaction was, uh, typical of her. "What, you think I'm going to set you up with a douchebag?"

"OK, fair enough," I said. "But seriously, I just have really bad luck." Bad luck and a still very much broken heart.

Her phone rang, so I was spared any further matchmaking.

Maybe this guy is genuinely nice, and maybe he would be interested. And I do want to meet some people the 'traditional' way through friends. But I just can't muster the energy. I've lost my mojo/groove/whatever.

Some say that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone, but even the prospect of hooking up holds relatively little appeal to me. I haven't 'been' with anyone since the ex, and that part of my brain, that drive to get out there and meet people and, yes, have sex, has seemingly gone into remission.

Of course, I know why, to a degree. I'm still reeling, dealing with my feelings, trying to reclaim the normalcy that was once my life. The thought of boys exhausts me (which sounds totally frightening, as if I'm an 80-year-old).

And to make this post even more cliched, it really isn't 'you', it's me.

What happened to good old, horny me? Have I put up so many emotional walls that I've boxed myself in, effectively freezing my underwear to my body?

An old friend of mine who now lives out of town was back for a visit and thinks I've 'grown up' from the person I was. "Before, you were on a mission to find a boyfriend," she said. Honestly, I don't really like the way that sounds, and I immediately challenged her.

"Was I 'looking' for a boyfriend? Yes, absolutely. But it's not like my whole life was devoted to finding a man." We agreed that at that point, I had my bases pretty much covered, minus a relationship: a good academic career, good family life, good friends, good health, etc, etc...

Of course, that can't be said for the present. No career, a group of friends I barely ever see, living in the fucking country with my parents. Granted, things could be much, much worse, but I've got a shitload of life stuff to get sorted out before I even think about men.

Actually, yeah, that's probably what's cut off my zest for guys. With the rest of my life in disarray, what energy do I have to put towards the next campaign to meet men. So for now, the 'perfect' guy that Julie sees me with will have to wait to be graced with my presence.

At least having frozen underwear should help keep me cool this summer.