I had set out to write three letters and a blog post about Mexicans and refugees tonight. Didn’t quite get there. I’m sitting at Eddy V’s with some jazz friends. I have the beginnings of a migraine and I feel very sad. Almost crying sad. But I can’t cry cuz I’m sitting in a loud bar.
I like M- and I’d like to ask him out. I was looking for some reassurance and I asked a friend if she thought it was a crazy idea. She said yes it is crazy and that she doesn’t think he’d go for that. Cuz I’m crazy. I’m going to cry. Why can’t I be happy? Why do I have to be crazy?
I am flawed, unwanted, unlovable.
I’d like to tell M- I like him anyway, even if it’s just a pipe dream.
Even if it’s just a pipe dream.
I really shouldn’t dream.—
It is so loud in here. SO loud. And alternating hot and cold. I can feel the vibrations of the talking and the music in my head – literally. I smell seafood and soy sauce and my face is tingling. I just want to leave.
It’s not that I don’t know I’m 3 classes down on the pecking order. Can you just pretend for a moment I’m not? Just for a moment that I belong here? Just for a moment.
When class-jumping it hurts to be put in your place, especially when you don’t have a place.
I feel so sad.
My left hand gave up a good hour ago.
I’m not one of them.
I’m just one.
I don’t belong anywhere. —
I felt like I belonged yesterday.
Today I am groundless.
I hear “Accustomed to Her Face.”
My left hand fingers are swollen. I am cold.
Zoe just slept on me & purred for awhile. It was nice.
Loving me is like adopting a cat. I offer awesome conditional love in return for food, shelter, attention, maintenance and love. —
Someone said in the group on Monday that not telling someone you like them is being rejected. But the worst that can happen if you tell them is the same rejection. It seemed smart at the time, but I don’t really agree. If I don’t tell him, it’s torture but I can continue to dream and scheme. But if I tell him and he rejects me, I just want to die and there are no more dreams. I need dreams.
I like to dream that someone like M- could love me. That I could have a good life and be safe and taken care of. That I would have someone to hold me instead of holding a teddy bear. I’m not 3. I just live with my mommy. And I dream that someday someone who can take care of me decides I’m worth loving and sets me free. I am high maintenance. I’m difficult and I’m sick. But I still love me. Why can’t he?
© Michelle Routhieaux 2011