I See the Glass Half-Empty, but Not a Drought
I’m a territorial person. I like to bark at
strangers who pass by, hide in my room when guests arrive, pee on things to
mark them. You know.
Mostly, I feel most comfortable in “my” space.
I suppose one of the reasons the Jackson Hole Writers Conference was less
intimidating this year was because I knew the location, I’d attended the event
several times, and I probably knew more people than most of my fellow writers.
Today I have no space. After leaving Australia,
I camped out in my parents’ house for the summer in hopes to rebuild my savings
before moving on again. Planning to leave in a few months makes it hard to
settle, much more so when you consider the fact that I don’t actually have a
bed right now. I’ve been staying in the R.V., the couch, and sometimes my
brother’s room, depending on what was available to me at the time.
Even if I did have a place of my own where I
could stash my stuff without fear of the gremlins shifting it about, moving,
and preparation of moving, stresses me out beyond all belief.
I actually have more people to talk to this
time around—all my high school friends having run off to oblivion, yet I like
my coworkers—but I’m still holding back to attachment with anything. People,
places, things. Everything will probably go, and I’m still left with the
feeling I have nothing. I have my projects, and that’s about it.
The stress of living in a foreign country
without truly trusting what my future would hold is gone. Work is fantastic,
the nagging problems of potential mistakes have disappeared, and I feel a lot
freer than I did even four months ago.
But I don’t seem to like anything.
Supernatural
has been holding my attention decently, but not to the extent where I can pay
all of my attention to it. In fact, I remember the oddity of an episode coming
on and me thinking, “Wait, I actually want to hear what happens!” rather than
just leaving it on for background noise.
Videogames don’t excite me. Books are pains to
get through. Conversations, prospects of dating, future trips… Finishing some
sewing projects have done better for me, but if I’m not absorbing myself in
work or creativity, I struggle with caring about something. And most of my
projects—the webcomic, the quilts, the painting—allow for a lot of thought
while working, which seems to pull me back into the negative. And, unlike most
writers, when I get angry or miserable, it doesn’t inspire my creativity, just
makes it impossible to focus.
A few weeks ago I had a guy harass me in the
typical obtuse manner. He wasn’t mean, just unrelenting, putting me in the
awful position of trying to say no in a polite but clear manner. But when
someone doesn’t want to understand something, they won’t, and even after he
firmly was told I was uncomfortable, he merely apologized before continuing to
behave in the same manner. I tried ignoring him, but it only led to late-night
calls. Not even booty calls. The one time I answered, he asked to take me to
dinner later that week. You couldn’t have waited until daylight? I ended up
having to bluntly state that he had proven incapable of respecting my
boundaries, to which he told me he understood. Then he argued with me.
I ignored him after that. The point seems to
have been made, and I hope for his sake it has because I’m not sure I can play
nice the next run around.
But I’m furious. I am angry at the way he made
me feel, the constant pressure he put on me to “decide” if I liked him or not,
the overzealous interpretation of any acceptance as affection, and the refusal
to listen to anything I said. I felt helpless. I could either be an
asshole—ignore him, perhaps tell him off—or I could play nice and be forced to
be in more uncomfortable situations in which, despite his claims there were no
expectations, I knew would cross the line the longer it went on. When I tried
to tell the polite aspects of the truth—we had nothing in common—he tried to
deny my reality and make it look like I was insane for being offended when he
claimed, he “hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Like I was the nutjob for
considering our compatibility so soon.
I could tell you hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Your abundant crushes on every woman who walks the Earth is apparent to anyone
in the same room as you. This not really giving a shit about who I actually am
or your complete lack of vetting girls before choosing? Anyone who’s hot and
willing, huh? Not attractive. Way to make me feel special.
I spent all day angrily running my mind through
the things I could have said to him, how I could have responded as he acted like
we were just “speaking a different language.”
A lot of my thoughts were insults. I felt
inhibited by my need to take the higher ground and not point out that brushing
your teeth is a good way to show a stranger you care. I felt helpless knowing
he would argue with any of the obvious but unprovable speculations about his
intentions. He’d deny any interest in me the second he found I didn’t feel the
same way, and how do you turn down someone who won’t admit they’re asking you
out? And you’d think you wouldn’t have
to state his intentions, that you just say no, he’d argue it wasn’t what he’s
doing, and you say, “Oh. Okay,” then go on your way. But it’s like they think
they’ve tricked you or something, like, “She believes that I wasn’t hitting on
her. Now’s my chance!”: “So do you want to go still?”
NO.
And they will
try to kiss you if you do agree, as if your inability to tell them to fuck
themselves (because you don’t want to embarrass or hurt them) is the same thing
as changing your mind.
Even though it was over, I kept thinking about
it. I hate being angry. I hate the negativity.
I’ve realized over time that pain is important.
It’s a warning sign, it helps you predict future problems, and running over
situations in your head again and again teach you how to better react the next
time around. But sometimes you just need to let go. Live in the moment. I don’t
know how to do that.
I was trying to go with the flow when I let him
text himself from my phone. “I don’t like him, but does that really mean I need
to shut him down immediately? Nah. Just live day by day.”
Yes, Charley. There’s a reason rejecting him immediately
was your first instinct.
I consider myself a negative person, but an
optimist at the same time. I may see the glass as half-empty, but I never fear
being able to get more water. I truly believe things will end well, everything
happens for a reason (even if that reason isn’t for your benefit), and I don’t mind seeing the flaws and puzzling out
solutions.
But I’d like to let go of some of my anger. I’d
like to think about good things. I’d like to feel joy more often. I’d like to
get excited about television and books again. Mostly, I’d like to let things
stop bothering me, stop worrying about the future, and tell a jackass off once
and leave it at that. A coworker asks me often if I’m happy. I always say no.
“Why not?”
I shrug. I haven’t been happy in a long time.
But I would like to be.
From now on I am going to…
1. Name two positives for every one negative
thought I have.
2. Carry a water bottle because hydration
benefits mood.
3. Snap a rubber band on my wrist every time I
start to think of past conflicts.
4. Create a personal space in my current
residence.
5. Find positive stand-up comedians (then judge
them.)
6. Spend at least an hour out in the sunlight.
7. Do something outside my house each week.
8. Get my cat to forgive me.
I do believe that being angry is a choice, but I
think that you have to replace it with something. I strongly hope I can find
what that is.
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