something's gotta give
Oh, and I will not deign to do my laundry at Joe's any longer.
First at Greg's: normal conversation over a large mug of Jim Beam.
Then at Que - my first time there - and Joe walks in pronto (with Winter and some dudes). Smiling eyes and offering his hand.
I just wanted to mock him with, "THE LESS YOU NEED ME THE BETTER FRIENDS WE CAN BE. NANANANANA BITCH-ASS WHINY SHIT!!" But I was chill. Chilly, maybe.
We took the last table, so Joe left and I got in line for a beer behind a fella who in three seconds gets me up to my ass in a conversation about what cognitive science is. He asked for my email address, and I just spoke it to him. He didn't have a pen, and didn't write it down. How harmless is that?
He was not attractive.
So then I had this anxiety. This restlessness. This inability to feel satisfied. The same feeling which had been plaguing me seriously since last Tuesday.
So I called Mike with a "here's where I am and I want you here," but I only got his voicemail.
Most of the crew left early, for some reason, but I made it known that I intended to continue drinking until I was "done" - even if that meant me belly up at the Vid talking with Jim and walking home (or finding a ride...).
Heather and Greg stayed with me, though.
At the Vid we found Joe and Winter. I just acted normal, because Joe and I had said we would. There was an extra dose of Friendly in Joe's attitude, and an extra dose of Aloofness in mine, but the drunker I became the more normal everything felt.
Winter got my seductive eyes, though, and his hug goodnight lingers in my mind because of the brush of his face against mine.
Mike never called. But I called him a couple more times.
After we left I messaged Winter, though, hoping he'd make my night.
Heather was apologizing for being my only ride home, and she asked, "what do you need?"
"ass..."
"No, I mean, what do you need?"
...good question. Something was protecting me from myself lastnight, though, because I don't know a man in this town who could have comforted me last night, and anyone I might have ended up with would have made it worse.
I was so thankful I was alone in my bed this morning. Mike wouldn't have been so bad, but Winter would have made me feel terrible. He's so strange.
This anxiousness is formidable, though.
This antsy, itchy, festering phantom of an emotion is making me feel like something beneath the surface is seeping through the fabric of my exterior, but like I have to save face, and so I can't address the problem overtly, so I have to bear the discomfort and act like nothing out of the ordinary is happening.
Well: it feels like the un-accounted-for volume of persperation I've been suffering through with increased occurences lately.
I just feel nasty and like I just want to change my shirt but instead I have to sit in class and sweat...
School is fine, though, and so is my family and friends and home and the weather.
We're going to call this "spring fever". I suffer some seasonal shit with cold and clouds, so perhaps I also suffer the pain of the transition out of cold and clouds and into spring.
Maybe this is the pins-and-needles of when a sleeping foot wakes up.
Last March was sort of shitty, too.
March ten years ago was good, though. And I know because I just read my journal from 1994.
My worries were about who was going to play left-field for the Braves because Ron Gant was released when he broke his femur in a ATV accident.
And I was trying to learn how to drive a stick.
My crush was transitioning between Michael Walters and Jeff Jackson.
Every time my sister called I got giddy.
My grandmother hadn't passed away yet, and my parents hadn't divorced for the final time, and I hadn't started working, so I suppose it takes some trauma and maturity to be able to suffer from chronic cycles of anxiety and distress.
Good. Hmphf.
So if this is a yearly trend, it was happening when I was a sophomore in highschool.
