domestification of a rabbid squirrel

i have a date tonight.

well, maybe anyway. we already rearranged tuesday to wednesday, then had to rearrange wednesday to thursday.

par for the course.

BUT. any time i have a date, there's this stubborn, resilient, inextinguishable stupid little flame of hope that resides somewhere among the cobwebs in the "relationship" part of my brain that says "...but what if this one works out?"

then the rest of my brain laughs and laughs and makes a few snide comments, replays some of the more spectacular blooper reels from the various train-wrecks over the years and we go back to being our normal, bitter, hopeless, non-romantic self.

but.

that stupid fucking little flame is fucking stubborn and stay around, no matter what.

and once in a while when i'm bored, the oxygen whistling through my ears fans the flame and it gets a little bigger and starts to do shadow puppet shows.

but it doesn't know how the story goes.

so the puppet shows are confusing at best.

i'm holding out for a call from tarantino for the option on some of them...

but in those sad little puppet shows, there's a struggle to figure out what the fuck domestification would really look like.

it starts out really basic: where the fuck would a significant other keep their clothes? my drawers and closet are full.

would they want to bring their own furniture into my house? FUCK NO. i like all my shit. there's no room for a barcalounger here chandler.

how would getting ready for work in the mornings go? i have a very dialed in routine. DON'T MESS WITH MY ROUTINE.

and what about getting ready for bed at night? do i have to actually let them see me without make up?

what about the nights when i have insomnia and binge watch netflix in bed? will i have to do that on the couch? will they sleep on the couch?

who get the last glass of milk? who has to run to the store on a saturday morning when you realize you're out of coffee?

i almost talk myself out of even going on a date because if one ever does go well, THEN WHAT? ugh. would i have to wash boy underwear in the laundry? the kid does his own now. boy laundry is gross.

THESE ARE IMPORTANT ISSUES.

i'm used to my space being my space. i tolerate the kid mess because i'm genetically responsible for it. it still annoys me though. HOW HARD IS IT TO NOT STICK YOUR SOCKS IN THE COUCH CUSHIONS?

what if i want to read a book and they want to do something? what if i want to do something and they think it's lame. WHAT IF THEY PUT KETCHUP ON THEIR EGGS??

ugh.

is it too late to cancel? again?

should i stay or should i go

i used to have a gypsy soul.

i used to not necessarily look forward to moving, but i did enjoy the process of settling into a new place; decorating, making it mine, making all my odd bits and pieces fit into as many different configurations as possible. like a never ending tetris of furniture and stuff: level up: two bedroom apartment: complete. next challenge: three bedroom house. three bedroom house: complete: back to a two bedroom apartment with no dining room: GO!

on and on it went. 13 moves in 13 years. i had boxes labeled in storage that listed exactly what went in each one. at one point i packed and moved a 2 bedroom townhouse while 3 months pregnant in less than 8 hours. BAM. bonus points (well, with help, so maybe not ALL the bonus points.)

i've lost my gypsy soul. i've become lazy or scared or both.

considering different prospects right now is terrifying and exhausting instead of challenging and energizing. as much as i hate/love my house, the thought of leaving it makes my gut twist more than i would expect. i sat in my kitchen the other night contemplating what moving would mean and with a clear view of floors that need repair, walls that are crooked, mouse traps set because 115 year old rock foundations are a neon invitation to the dirty bastards, knowing the carpet upstairs needs replaced because dog, thinking that eventually the roof will need redone, how much work the yard needs, how badly the whole garage needs to burn to the ground and start over...even with the never ending home owners list running through my head, IT'S MINE. warts and all, i can do whatever i want and answer to only me.

aside from the physical logistics of more crap than any two people need, there's STUFF. there's kid sports and friends. there's favorite bars and music venues. i don't go out much, but when i do i know my safe places. I DON'T WANT TO HAVE TO FIND NEW ONES. there's familiar restaurants, stores that i know exactly how to find what i need. i don't have a close circle of people, but i do have fringe people that let me hover. i don't want to have to find new hovering people.

and i KNOW. a new city, a new place would be new people, new sports, new school for the kid, away from these assholes i have to fight with constantly. different city would have different music. different beer. i would get to know the stores, i would get to know the restaurants.there would be new and different opportunities. new things to explore and see.

BUT I'M COMFORTABLE HERE.

and i'm really, REALLY fighting with the core issue: am i going to let a few assholes chase me away? i feel like it would be giving up. it's not terrible ALL THE TIME. it's just particularly terrible when it is. but do i just let them win? do i just let them keep being assholes and not stand up for myself and defend all the shit they rail against?

i'm only bi. i'm passable. i have kids. i can blend. obviously. since they run their mouths. it's not like i'm trapped in a closet completely denying who i am or having to hide everything about my life away from this desk. so, SO many people have had to endure much worse. how many people in the military had to live their whole career in fear of being found out? how many people in every day jobs had to go along with jokes and rants because no one could find out. i'm not in danger. they wouldn't hurt me if i flat out said I'M BI AND WHEN YOU SAY YOU WOULD NEVER LET A GAY PERSON AROUND YOUR FAMILY, YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME ASSHOLE. AND GUESS WHO TALKED TO YOUR WIFE AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY ALREADY? I ALREADY GOT BY BI COOTIES ON HER. HA HA HA. JUST A MATTER OF TIME NOW. i'm not a professional athlete that would lose millions in contracts or promotions. i'm not a public figure that could lose an acting career or appearances. i'm just a secretary, sitting at a desk, with a few assholes that like to rant every now and again. am i really going to let that disrupt my whole life?

am i so scared of change that i'm making excuses and convincing myself i can stick it out? i mean- I LIKE MY JOB. i'm good at it. i have my routine down. i'm comfortable. i have my groove. i have my schedule set, i can take time off when i need for kid appointments. i have retirement, insurance. my tattoos are ok here. i can change my hair and no one even notices. i KNOW the stupidity i'm surrounded by. another place could have a whole new unknown, worse breed of stupidity.

bucket kicking is happening. i just don't know what i'd do if i actually found a bucket with something in it.

basic theory of invisibility

i'm invisible. or rather i have the power of invisibility- the power to make people completely forget i exist in general, or at least forget that i can hear, have needs, or possess basic human feelings.  

one or two things can be overlooked. after the evidence starts to pile up it becomes harder to ignore. when people insult you RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU, but not directly at you, you can no longer pretend it's not an issue.

a mother not noticing that you need glasses until a teacher intervenes.
not being taught to shave your legs until your brother is so embarrassed he begs for someone to teach you.
not getting your first bra until (again) a teacher brings it to parental attention. (keeping in mind that 3rd-6th grade were all male teacher. bless them for the awkward they had to endure).

those things can be dismissed as markers of a crappy childhood. 

being intentionally passed over for promotions.
batting 0.000 on ALL dating sites.
not having plans for the 152nd friday in a row.

you start to wonder but chalk it up to lack of a social network or not marketing yourself in the "right" way.

a co-worker sitting in your office, less than 2 feet away complaining about "...single moms with two kids that file their taxes and get more money back than they ever put in and are working the system and ruining it for everyone else."

or

"...i would never let someone that was gay into my house. can you imagine having them around my kids or my wife? not even the cable guy. i would just say i changed my mind and don't want the service any more."

those are a little harder to ignore. those are fucking impossible to ignore. those are directly indirect shots. either they're that wrapped up in their own hate and prejudices that they honestly have NO CLUE what they're saying applies to someone RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, or they don't care, and i am invisible to them in that moment.


so. how should i use my powers of invisibility??

because of, or hand in hand with invisibility comes, for me at least, the painful lack of social skills. what's the point of going out when you're invisible? when the only person in the bar that talks to you is the bartender, isn't it better to save money and drink a beer at home on your own couch? when you go to a packed concert hall and don't talk to a single person...when you have people lean over your or push you out of the way to talk to the person right next to you...when you sit alone in a restaurant and the waiter keeps passing by your table...when you run all your weekend errands and don't see one person you know.

being invisible is lonely. you crave social interaction. conversations that require words more than one syllable. topics that make you think and challenge and debate. you want more than the 2 minutes of coffee shop drive through fluff. you need more than the latest update on what new fad is happening in jr. high. you NEED to be seen and heard and to exist for a small space.

therein lies the theory of the comfort of strangers- you're more open to talking about ANYTHING with a complete stranger because IF you ever see them again, it will be so far removed they (probably) won't remember anything. also, it's your ONE chance to connect, so you want to fucking JAM PACK that small window with as much of locked up stuff that once the flood gates are open there's no going back. so you over share. all the things that socially normal people know not to let out. all the awkward and inappropriate topics, stories, happening. you become THAT person. the one people tolerate because maybe there's a good story in it. you become the weird person which, well, true, but just a small part of the tip of the iceberg. but you almost don't care, because at least for a moment, someone saw and heard you (but you do care, because no one WANTS to be the weird person).

there's also the awkward problem of never knowing when to make an exit. if you're smart enough you set a timer for a parking meter and actually care about not getting a ticket. some of us aren't that smart. or don't care. or are willing to take the ticket for just a few more minutes of being out of the house and around people. you get so excited for the rare outing, the glimmer of humanity that you become the last man standing. you stay until the bitter end. it's never great. it's always a giant bucket of awkward. but it's your small portal. your moment of non-invisibility. your blink of existence. and you desperately don't want it to end. so you're stuck in the worst catch 22- extend the awkward or extend the invisible?

there are perks to invisibility. every super power has to have the good with it somewhere. when you're invisible you get to see the real side of people much faster. they let their guard down because they forget you're there or don't care. you hear their real thoughts and opinions. you hear their real words, not the gloss they usually spin. when you do have a conversation- a REAL one, not an awkward overshare moment, it's much deeper and more real than most conversations. you broach topics that normally wouldn't come up. the comfort of strangers works both ways.

but you go through life as a shadow of existence. you're a passing flash of an image, easily forgotten and frequently overlooked. you want to be in the light, but it seems to be either a blinding spotlight or a half burnt out night light. neither is optimal. there must be a balance somewhere in between, but i'll be damned if i've found it in my 35 years.

the bonus to being mostly invisible is the ability to develop a harder shell. not impenetrable, but much stronger, much more efficient for letting things roll off of. i know comments aren't directly about me, because they don't see me. i know they're not purposefully leaving me out, they just forgot i was there. the number of fucks given about any particular thing drops well below the national average because what does it matter anyway? but as all swords do, this has a second edge. i've developed a much stronger sense of bitch. i've learned to push people away and reject them before they reject me. you can't fire me, i quit logic. i'd rather be the heartless bitch than the weird weakling. i know i can't ever ask for help because that proves that single mothers are failures. we are a drain on the system. we are screwing it up for everyone else. i'll do what i can myself and leave the rest before i dare ask for help.

i'll stay alone in the darkest corner before i reach out and burden others. no one wants that. no one deserves that. you didn't see anyone else willingly jumping into the swamp of sadness for a fucking spa day. no one wants the depressing, pessimistic crap. fuck. i don't even want it. so i'm sure as fuck not going to spread the anti-joy. debbie downer parties alone because not every party needs a pooper.

so i stay home. alone. depressed, defeated, invisible. its so fucking exhausting working up the effort to go out when you know it will be a bucket full of awkward. but i try. there's inappropriate conversations and awkward attempts at humanity. there's a few fun-house horror show interactions. vague attempts to step out. but mostly there's invisibility.

have you ever tried to find an invisible person in the dark?