5/30/00 (cont'd)

I would be working but the a/c in this building is apparently fucked up.  It's 98 degrees (the sweltering, oppressive temperature, not the shitty boy band) outside and probably pretty fucking close to that in here.  I'm wearing one of those stupid fucking Old Navy button-ups that look real cute on their anorexic models but aren't designed to really fit anyone with ARM FAT.  I'm also wearing khakis that are 2 years old and about 2 sizes too small but the only clean ones I could find this morning.  So my clothes are way too tight all around and I'm hot, so the outcome is gross discomfort.  To make matters even more disgusting, the poison ivy is getting the better of me...I have removed both shoes and socks in a futile attempt to alleviate the itching and rolled up my pants to keep them from grazing my affected ankles (both now).  I look like June Cleaver about to go on a clam bake.

I've been thinking about my life today.  Several years ago, I had just left the tyranny of straight marriage and my straight husband behind me, and the world was my little oyster.  My dream was to move to New York and pursue my theatre career (along with every other waiter/waitress in the state) and pretty much live the life that was stolen from my head to create that sucky Jen Love Hewitt show "Time of Your Life."  They stole my vision, the sons of bitches, except I wouldn't have gone to NYC for some cheesy fucking reason like finding my long-lost birth mommy (although I keep telling my mom that I'm going to search for my real mom if she's not nice to me).  I was going to go to NYC to find my long-lost self.  And this was a serious plan.  I had a friend in NY and a friend from NY and they both gave me tidbits of info about where to live, whether or not to keep a car, where to work, etc.  I had a subscription to Brooklyn Bridge and when the cash was in my pocket, I was on my way.

Then I met this girl.  And she was special.  And she was a coke addict with a self-esteem problem, but I was determined to get around that.  I would help her.  I would take care of her.  I would make her happy.

She didn't think much about New York, rather, she had a thing for islands and tropical environments.  So I re-set my sights on a warmer locale...Arizona...Louisiana...Florida.  She didn't care much about the people I was friends with, and she needed me a lot, so I broke off contact with a lot of people.  She was in school for a social work degree and her goal was working with lesbian and gay teens and their families, meaning she wasn't going to have a hell of a lot of money, so I decided maybe I would go to law school.  That way I could make more than enough to support us both and she could do whatever she wanted.  In the meantime, I would work my way up the "staff" corporate ladder and here I've been for two years, a legal secretary in a big fucking white collar monstrosity, taking more shit than I can feasibly swallow in a day's time.

In short, I gave up my life for someone else.

Before I start to sound like I'm on some kind of pity-party martyr trip, let me make it perfectly clear that that's not what this is about.  It's more like an accusation of sorts...directed at myself.  As in, DUH, were you STUPID?  Did you really think that would be the good thing for either one of you?  Now she's grown bored of this life and you don't even remember who you used to be.

Was I even anybody?  I've always defined myself by other people because being alone has always been so horribly, well, LONELY.  I forged relationships (romantic and friendly) where nothing existed (and sometimes I got lucky) because I couldn't stand the idea of sitting in my apartment another night, all night, alone.  Especially since I didn't have cable then and after the local networks shut down, I was really fucked.  I remember when I met my friend Susan in Omaha--she worked at the gas station across the street from my apartment.  I used to walk over there and buy smokes all the time.  She looked pretty cool, and we eventually would talk when the gas station was slow, so one night I invited her for a cup of coffee.  I wasn't hitting on her, I was just desperate for company.  It turned out she was just as big a loser as I was and we became good friends.  Of course, I lost track of her after I left Omaha, but MY POINT IS it's traditionally been very difficult for me to meet people, because there aren't a lot of people out there with much in common with me.  And I don't know myself well enough to spend time with just me.

Egads, I have created quite a pickle for myself here.  Megan now insists she wants to work things out--if such can be accomplished, I have my doubts--but she's making no real move in that direction.  She seems to think that the perfect relationship is one in which you never fight, you never say anything rude to the other person, everything is very Cleaver-like and no one ever gets upset.  Jesus, that's not a relationship, that's a working relationship.  That's how you treat your co-workers and your boss, for fucking out loud!  Maybe it's just that she's not capable of anything beyond that?  Who knows.

But how am I supposed to become comfortable with myself when I'm so NOT?  I can't stand being alone.  It's boring as hell.  And it's dismal.  As hokey as it is, the show "Friends" has always been my ideal--a group of people with similar but varied interests, who live in close enough proximity and are relationally close enough that they just "drop in" randomly.  The whole dorm-room quality of that life really strikes a warm fuzzy chord in my soul.

Does that make me a freak?

I have never had that with anyone.  Even when I did belong to a group or groups of friends, no one ever hung out at my place--mostly because my place usually smelled like cat or was out of the way or you couldn't break shit or whatever.  But I never got to play "hostess" and no one ever stopped by, not when I was feeling chatty, or witty, or suicidal.

And whenever I do meet people who "stop by," they seem to do so either every day for no good reason, or when I'm about to get in the shower, or when I'm about to have an intimate encounter with my vibrator...

I am desperate for suggestions, here.  For the first time in my life, I am completely without a clue.