My heart isn’t in this tonight.
Doug and I got into a pseudo-argument this afternoon, because I feel like all his energy goes into his bike: it seems like that’s all he thinks about, talks about, worries about, and wants to do. And it’s annoying – in the same way that singularly focused brides are annoying, singularly focused pregnant women are annoying, singularly focused any-type-of-people are annoying.
So we sat in the car outside of Costco, and I cried and told him that I feel like I’ve moved down a rung or two on his priority ladder, and that if I keep feeling like he’s disinterested in me/us/our future, then I will become disinterested in him/us/our future, and then where will that leave me? (Answer: the same place I was before I met him, only now four years older.)
And then he cried and told me that sometimes he feels like I am singularly focused, too.
Sometimes he feels like I am singularly focused on this blog, and the world around it – my
fake blog friends, and their lives, and their stories. I wake up in the morning, and I log in to check for comments before I’ve even put bread in the toaster. I get home at night, and I immediately sit down at the computer to read other people’s posts, and then to write my own. I often feel drained and overwhelmed by the enormity of this project, and I often say I want to take blog sabbaticals, but Doug has been telling me all along not to stop writing, because, he says, the blog is good for me.
“Yeah, and because I use it to find out what’s going on inside your head,” he told me today. “Because you’re so emotionally closed-off now; you tell that blog more about what you’re thinking than you tell me.”
The truth is, Doug and everyone else, that I’ve been miserable lately. I have lost/am losing touch with some of my closest friends, thanks, in part, to their pregnancies. A whole slew of my
fake blog friends are now pregnant as well. One of my close friends at work got transfered to another store, effective yesterday. I feel, in so many ways, like I am being left behind. My boyfriend has been distant, preoccupied with a sport that I care about approximately (and this is generous) 15% as much as I care about us getting married, starting a family, and living happily ever after. My best way out of these depressing thoughts is through distraction, and I am not being distracted while I’m sitting here writing and thinking about this stuff constantly.
(Needless to say, I’ll be taking a break from blogging after this project ends in three weeks, then coming back with something new and different and hopefully a little more real/active-life and a little less Marie’s-crazy-mental/emotional-life.)
Tonight, I’m wrapping this up, turning off the computer, taking a shower, and spending the evening engaged in reality: eating chocolate strawberries, playing games, reading, maybe just sitting and conversing – like, out loud – with this person I share a bed with, and maybe even making decent use of that bed.
Tomorrow, we’re going to the zoo in the morning, then I’m going to therapy (and thank God for that), then… who knows. More of the above. Somewhere in there, I’ll post about something other than how I don’t want to post.
One more thing: I kept telling Doug this afternoon, when he asked why I was trying to convince Bernie to drive down from LA for breakfast later this week, that “I need a friend.” I need to know that I still matter. That I am not truly being left behind while everyone else is off getting married, starting families, and living happily ever after. I know this in theory, of course – I know my time will come, so please don’t tell me that again – but I need the physical reminder. I need my friends to do whatever it is that real friends make time to do in times of need: take me out for a drink, send handwritten letters, give hugs, make coffee, offer words of advice and encouragement, (confidential to Dad) buy puppies… I need a hand in feeling less like a crazy person, less like a sob-story, less like a tag-along, and more like I matter.
I need to stop writing, right now, give myself back to the real world, and eat dinner with my boyfriend.
I crave your support,
(which I pretend to hate,
but secretly enjoy
getting burned by).
I need you
more than I ever did
when I claimed
I was in love with you.