I Am/I Am Not

I am: in bed in front of a laptop
I am: in my head, 87% of the time
I am: in bounce mode the minute I get a shady vibe
I am: wishing for a time machine

I am not: in Texas
I am not: snuggled up to anyone significant
I am not: sleeping well
I am not: on a downward trajectory of any kind (mostly I need to remind myself of that)

That sums it up. Why I am not in Texas would require enough typing that my fingers wouldn't work anymore tomorrow but I'll just say that work fucking happens and a person has no control over that. My boss was stoked on me going so told me to just delay my trip. By Thursday at 3 or so I had to tell him that I'd go if he wanted, but he'd be flying me to Austin to work in my hotel room instead of attend any of the talks or parties he wanted me to go to. That sealed the deal.

I'll go somewhere else some time soon.

This weekend was spent on the Tangerine Dream. Me and my laptop and old school soda pop and a gang of cigarettes. I got out for lunch yesterday but aside from that I kept my head down and stayed full of grace and tips on how exactly a website gets built without anyone going broke. I made a million schedules. I wrote a million summaries that will likely go unread.

But I am Zen. I prefer being lost in things, because it means that I don't have to think about all of the spiritual shit I should be tending to.

In therapy on Wednesday I told my doctor that I didn't see how this was going anywhere. I realized that the majority of my time (meaning times I am at work or in public at all) is spent pretending that I don't want to cry or scream or punch something. That's 80 percent of my waking life, easily. But it is a habit. I suit up in full armor each morning and don't consider removing it until I have had my first shot of whiskey or glass of wine. These are just facts.

I told her that one hour isn't long enough for me to take all of my armor off. I told her that I really have no IDEA what I'm feeling at any point in time because I am very skilled at erecting that barrier. It is like my knowledge of poverty, or disaster, or injustice.

I treat my head like a radio. I keep it tuned to the Easy Listening stations to avoid any internal revolts or overthrowing of the status quo.

So for this lady to expect that for an hour a week I can just strip it all down and tune in? It's insane. I would need a full day of her time to get anywhere worthwhile.

She pushed and pushed. I ended up bawling my eyes out, and that hasn't happened for a while.

That was a good thing except that I had a client presentation 30 minutes later and it's a little hard to recover from 40 minutes of crying (she often let's me go far past the hour mark, which is one thing I adore about her) and feel safe as houses talking clients through designs that they may or may not like.

I smoked a cigarette. I smeared Egyptian Musk on my temples. I handled the thing. But of course I did, right?

Getting that wall up can be reduced down to a 5 minute activity when my Fight or Flight kicks in. Thank heavens for my sympathetic nervous system, I suppose.

And yeah. Then Friday came with this massive amount of emotional suckage and leaving me nonplussed. I just rode it out, but left early to meet this sweet chick I've known for only a little while at Murio's for cocktails. We were indeed the belles of the ball.

I spent two dollars on jukebox songs that I couldn't hear over the yelling. I met a 22 year old with the dreamiest face ever, like he could be in a boy band or something. Le swoon. I got all mama wolf on him advising him against the sleaze with which he was in close contact. He didn't seem concerned. I wished him godspeed and ignored the longing eyeball gazes he kept giving me.

Smoke break. I was having a cigarette but when my girl offered me a joint I couldn't exactly pass it up. 3 months or so, and I'm a fucking lightweight again.

We dared enter Amoeba to look for posters. It was too brightly lit and overwhelming. I put on my most affected totally not stoned saunter (no easy feat, considering the 3 inch heels I was wearing) and we strolled along sneering at the price of things. I grabbed a copy of Fight Club for six bucks and we bounced. Went our separate ways. I snuggled into Tyler Durden and his various sexy rudeboy over it all truly hip but not hipster getups and philosophies.

So now I'm left wondering:

What kind of dining set defines me as a person?

I will let you know when I find out.