In the wee small hours

Sabre wrote something a long time ago, when she was scaling her mountain of shit, that when all the drama and hassle was over, she wanted someone to explain to her in very small words why everything had to happen the way it did.

I find myself posing the same request to the universe.

But to look at her today, you’d never know that life put her through the wringer. She’s happy, she’s confident, she’s got her shit together. And if she can do it, why the hell can’t I? 😉

I didn’t sleep much — I never really do — and I dreamed of an apartment building whose management never called me back. The place was on the upper end of my budget, very small, completely nondescript from the outside. But it’s newly remodeled and located in the heart of everything that matters to me.

I’m going to drop by today. I’m sure they don’t have a unit available for, oh, NEXT WEEK, but on the off-chance that this is the one stone left unturned, I’m going to take a look. And if not, I proceed with the place that’s waiting for me.

I’m usually so impulsive, and lately I’ve been very cautious. I think I have one of those addictive personality disorders — it’s all-or-nothing with me. I can stop smoking for two years or I can blow through a pack in two days. I don’t touch a drink for months and then I get stumbling drunk seven nights in a row. I throw myself headfirst into relationships and then go months without thinking about having a social life. So when it came to this moving bullshit, I decided to explore all (50 of) my options. And you know what? Having more choices just makes this even harder to deal with!

I’m used to making decisions on my own. Not a one of them did I wait for someone else’s input. So now that I’m starting to make decisions for someone other than myself (i.e., Mom), I sort of don’t know what to do with myself, at times. I have no problem living with my choices for me. I want experiences and, damn it, I make them. But I’m the only one who suffers when they blow up in my face.

I was thinking about the major life decisions we face, and how life in the Big City sort of precludes getting input from others. Like when you’re a teenager and you have to bring home your dates so your family can determine that the boy isn’t going to be a serial killer or — worse! — a horny lad who feels you up at the end of the night. 😉

I feel like that familial aspect is missing from not just my life, but this area. No one sees your apartment before you rent it. I don’t think anyone I know has met the last few people I’ve dated. Hell, my mom hates it that she can’t even put a face on most of the friends and colleagues about whom I tell stories. So when it comes to the things that matter most to me, well, I’m on my own.

It’s not that I want anyone to make my decisions for me. I guess I just am always looking for, if not a nod of approval, an acknowlegement that I’m smart and strong and that anything I do will turn out fine. And everyone does say that to me … over the phone. But you really miss the physical cues.

For instance, Mom used to tell me how I lit up around certain people. How she knew there was magic when she saw me with someone because my behavior changed — subtly, of course — but because she knew me so well, she knew I was happy. I don’t get that feedback anymore. How do I know I’m happy when I can’t see that for myself? Do you know how many people have tried to thwart any level of peace I’ve achieved — do you think they’d just see the happy and let me have it already?

Snarling Marmot, a lovely gal who I miss terribly since she’s left for the Wild Wild (Mid)West, was the one who even got me thinking about that. As she wrote recently, “I have a much wider circle of friends in this ‘burg than I did in the vast expanse of Northern Virginia. And I find that somehow sad. In the giant metropolis, we were programmed not to get close, to keep our distance, keep our anonymity. It was some sort of weird preservation mode. Only your tight circle of friends was okay, no strangers allowed.”

I think I have good friends. Not an abudance, but I don’t really need that many. I’d rather have quality over quantity any day, and that has made a lot of people from my past think I was asocial, iconoclastic and just plain weird. But life ain’t a popularity contest, kids. I’d rather have a handful of people who know me well, than 100 who wouldn’t pick up the phone in the middle of the night if I needed them.

Then again, when have I ever called anyone when I needed something? Point taken. 🙂 But then again, when I do ask, nobody says no because hey, I’m low maintenance!

God, I ramble at 6 a.m. on a Saturday, don’t I?

At moments like this (and at hours like this) I really do wish I could just pick up the phone and rant. But that’s why God invented the blogiverse, eh? And it’s probably good that no one can see me right now, in last night’s makeup and having ice cream and coffee for breakfast, so maybe I should just be careful what I wish for, after all. … 😉

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