Circa 2013 AD @Heartchasms

Metal bits from the cap
of a Jones Soda bottle,
Circa 2013 AD.

I’m not sure why I tend to try to rectify things, and end up making them worse for myself. Before I had re-upped this blog, I realized that I was allowing a long-standing attraction to boil over into weirdness. I knew that I should not push things. I considered deleting Facebook, removing the person in question from my account, asking to be relocated to a closet in the attic at work…I actually discussed things with a counselor at one point. I was given simple advice, not only for this “crush” but for other future potential encounters as well. I was told to look for examples of turning towards, turning away, and turning against. It seemed so simple…

Here’s my problem: I’m not used to altruistic actions. I’m not accustomed to people who do things without ulterior motives. Men in particular. Men in my life have, historically and statistically, only been nice to me when they thought they could get laid. Women in my life have only been nice to me when they thought I could give them some tangible material possession or boost their ratings with the in-crowd, “Aw, look, she’s being nice to that obese, androgynous, stinky, nerd…brownie points!”
I don’t know how to just be friends. I know how to be frienemies. I know how to be Facebook friends who have no recollection of one another in public. I know how to be Sunday School friends who won’t talk or make eye-contact Monday morning. I know how to be neighborhood friends who are strangers elsewhere. I know how to have fair weather friends and backstabbing friends and manstealing friends. I know how to collect friends who want to fuck me, have fucked me, are fucking me, and fuck me over. I know how to bend over backwards for my friends in any context you choose to take that idiom.

“Why are some people so uptight
and polarized about sexuality,
like you can either be
heterosexual or homosexual
and if you’re homosexual,
you’re weird.
Eff that!
There’s at LEAST
fifty shades of gay…”

I’m also not accustomed to friendships in the workplace, especially the professional workplace. I don’t know how to act. You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailerpark out of the girl. Or in my case, I’m currently living in a trailer park lake house. In my case, I grew up in South West Texas and in East Texas, with sprinkles of the greater Houston area. In my case, I spent the last bit of my teenage years learning what not to do at a job corps civilian conservation center nestled deep in the Wichitas. In my case, my first two years of college were at a community college in West Oklahoma where I had a tendency to pine over my now estranged spouse (bet that’s a shocking and unexpected plot twist). In my case, I took a year off from college to aspire to be an overworked, underpaid hellmart associate. In my case, my return to college came on the heels of my second miscarriage and was punctuated with a missing period. In my case, a decade in a bad cohabitating situation turned bad marriage did turn me into a crazy person.

Or maybe I already was one. Anyone interested in my various psychoses and neuroses, my previous sexual encounters, and what I had for breakfast on a random Tuesday one June, can easily and conveniently browse the blog by date, key term search, or trending tag.

My point, if I ever had one, is that I know there is the very distinct possibility that any man or woman I find myself attracted to in this post-apocalyptic landscape is undoubtedly either very wrong for me, very wrong for my kids, completely disinterested in me, happily taken, only into me for the sex, using me for some other nefarious purpose, or a Pleiadean. I also know there is the very distinct possibility that I do not know what I am feeling. The problem with feelings is they are feelings. They are not rational. Logic can never be applied, beyond a cursory understanding of what the feeling is.

I said all that to tell you this:

  • Turning toward is far too easily confused with friendly gesture. It’s supposed to be when the person literally or figuratively turns toward you to acknowledge you as a person and value you in some way.
  • Turning away is supposed to be the opposite of that. The person is either uncomfortable with or indifferent to you in some way.
  • Turning against is when the person says or does something rather hateful.
This pic intentionally left blank.

I’m most used to people turning against me. I’m most used to people only turning toward me when they have those conflicting motives we mentioned. I’m most used to people turning away from me when I need them the most. I tend to push people away to spare myself the pain. I tend to hold my tongue to safe face. I tend to cling to Proverbs 17:28 and the alternative version devised by Lincoln (the president, not the car).

Once the initial feelings towards the colleague which I felt back when were just classmates with little-to-no interpersonal interaction had resurfaced, I used this “key” my counselor had given me to overanalyze every interpersonal interaction. I became discordantly disappointed when I perceived our interactions negatively and overtly overzealous when our interactions were perceived positively. I kept trying to convince myself that there was nothing there and never would be, while failing miserably at that.
When I found out he had read my blog entries about him, most specifically the ones where I was–in poetic form–almost graphically depicting adult scenarios, my alabaster cheeks went naturally crimson, delicious dimples and all. I don’t understand why I was upset. I knew there was not going to be a love connection. I knew he had his sights on someone undoubtedly more deserving. I also knew that there was very distinct possibility he would read about himself on here eventually and question my sanity.

Lastly (don’t ever use this transition academically, damnit), I knew that although he is not one of those über judgenmental individuals who climb under the Christian umbrella and cast stones with surprising accuracy considering the sizes of the planks in their eyes (I’m mixing Jesus’ parables now…). He would not and did not say things like, “Why would I ever want to be with a fat, ugly, whore?” He would not and did not summarily reject me for superficial reasons. He said (in as simple a way as his monumental intelligence would allow him) that he saw me as a friend. Just a friend. A friend should be enough. Why does a gentle let down sting me worse than previous rejections formulated by misogynist pigs?

“Sorry, ‘TARDIS’ may be
misspelled or may be a
proper noun!”

I went through a period of time today where I disabled my Facebook accounts. He and a few other friends seemed concerned that I had left. Although, his concern may have been due to my referencing a 1974 American horror novel in a private message just prior to disabling my account. When I reactivated the account later in the evening (and this mainly because another friend had noted there was a post on my author page), I sent him a message wherein I reassured him that I had not been out setting high schools on fire with my mind. I haven’t actually spoken to him since my awkward office hours today, but that’s probably a good thing. When you go all crazy woman on someone, they tend to back the fuck off even if you hadn’t wanted them to.

The semester is almost over, and I will have all summer break to revise and publish all of my in-progress novels, all summer to practice holding my head up high and being proud of who I am and can become, all summer to learn how to focus on the endgame and ignore side quests, all summer to see if it’s possible to tan my flesh or continue to burn as I enjoy lake outings with my children. I will read all of those books I’ve been meaning to read. I will study for my GRE and LSAT so I can take those in the near future. I will get my house organized. When I return to work in the fall, having kept from annoying my colleagues with my incessant irrelevant chatter, it’ll have been eight and a half months since the event, the one I cannot yet blog about. I’ll show up ready to teach a new batch of freshmen the art of writing well, and I’ll feel intelligent, confident, and beautiful. It won’t matter that there’s no one in my life who thinks I’m someone worth loving and respecting. I won’t make my poor, innocent colleague incredibly uncomfortable with my crazy unsolicited  idolatry.

I don’t have any lyrical snippets to tack onto this entry, and I’m feeling too groggy or lazy to find any. I do have random images imbedded. The one from Facebook is an example of how I will put quotes around something I wrote in order to soften the blog of it to someone who is against the topic happens to read it. I have had friends and family unfriend me for things which they found bad. I asked the colleague if he and the woman he is either dating or soon wants to date would want me to remove myself from their pages, but I suppose they could block me if they really felt the need. I am glad that I ended up reactivating the page, though. If it weren’t for social media, I’d have no social life at all, so saith a very lonely woman. #irony

There are, of course, other fish in the sea, some of which have swam dangerously close to the giant whirlpool that is my life, but I always find ways to say why this or that person is not good for me. It’s probably best for me to fawn over someone who had no chance of wanting me than to set my sights on someone completely attainable. The completely attainable men seem to be completely willing to engage in wanton behaviour at my earliest convenience, with reassurance that they’re not the type to love ’em and leave ’em, but I cannot know that for sure, and in some cases it’s more of a geography issue or a clock/calendar issue or a transportation issue or an “I’d love to stay and chat, but you’re a stupid bitch” issue.

View the full blog at heartchasms.blogspot.com and like the blog on Facebook.

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