I know – how Gen X of me. I’m verging on emo here.
I’m not talking physical aches, though being sick ensures that I have my share of those.
My heart and my soul ache and I’m not sure why.
It’s not depression, I’m pretty sure of that. I’ve been there before and I know what the symptoms are. At least, I think that I do.
Part of it may be due to being sick. I’ll allow that. I’m not at my best right now, my energy is crap and, though I sleep well, I feel as if I don’t get enough sleep. Once upon a time six hours a night was plenty for me. I never jumped out of bed, but I was able to get through the day okay. Now? Six hours are far too little.
But I don’t think that’s everything. I think there’s something else happening here. It confuses me, because there are definite positive things in my life.
I’m very happy with HSTeacher. He’s an incredible man. I’ve quickly grown to adore him and I might just be falling for him.
I’m working full time for decent money at an organization that I highly respect, one that happily trips all of my science groupie switches.
I have a roommate whom I genuinely like, even if we do sometimes butt heads because we’re both so stubborn.
I’ve still been feeling down.
I can only see HSTeacher on the weekends, so I miss him terribly during the week. And for some obscene reason, if there’s an odd day where I don’t communicate with him, either via phone or email, some of my insecurites – which are based on my dating experience over the last nine years – haunt me, making me wonder if he’s decided I’m too high maintenance, so he just doesn’t want to talk to me. Mind you, there’s been nothing he’s said or done to logically implant such ideas in my head. And if he did decide something like that, I’m pretty sure he’d tell me, as he places a high premium on communication. Sure, I could call him or initiate emails, and I do, but I actually don’t do so as often as I want to because those same insecurities are afraid I’ll end up smothering him. Freaking insecurities.
On top of that, a few weeks ago I ran into CuteNerdBoy at Pamie’s book signing. He and I have exchanged a couple of emails and blog comments recently, but neither of us told the other we were going to be there. Funny thing is, I suspected he would show up and that he would bring his girlfriend – the one he’s been seeing since a month or two after I told him I needed space. I was right on both counts. It was wonderful seeing him again, as I hadn’t seen him in over a year, and yes, his girlfriend seems like a good person and once I start acting like an adult, I’ll probably like her just fine. But there was still that damned petty voice in my head that groused at her presence. I’ll admit, it didn’t help that she’s more petite than I am. Poor HSTeacher was in the restroom when I ran into them and I ended up calling him on his cell to come join me so I could introduce him. It seemed unbelievably important, nay, imperative, that I introduce HSTeacher to CuteNerdBoy.
I’m glad I ran into CuteNerdBoy, but my slow to heal heart is still betraying me a bit more than I like. Evidence of that can be found in the most recent hit: recently I was following a series of interesting links, just randomly traveling through the web. I landed on a personal travel page – dated December 2005 – whereupon I read that the webmaster and his wife were planning to visit a friend of his. That friend? The Ex. Not only that, but The Ex and his wife had a baby girl at some point.
Stabby stabby in the left ventricle.
Though I’m no longer in love with the man, there is that little part of me that likes to undermine me, saying, “Hey, that was supposed to be my life.”
And yet, if that were my life, I’d be shackled to a cowardly milquetoast. An intelligent, funny, talented, good guy for the most part, yes, but still, not the type of man I’ve since developed a taste for: hyper-smart nerd with definite opinions on politics and spirituality and a bit of an edge. (Even CuteNerdBoy has more edge than The Ex – maybe it’s his high snark factor.)
HSTeacher fits that description quite well. I know I wouldn’t trade him for anyone. I just wish the overly-tender bits of my heart – the bits that have been a bit pulverized in the past – would stop taking so long to heal already. It’s very annoying.
And as for the job, well, I love working at JPL, but I’m a secretary. It’s not my pentultimate dream job. I’m not exercising my creative muscles at all, unlike when I was working at the Irish newspaper and for the congressional candidate. I need to remember that I have to stoke my creativity outside of my job again. And perhaps find a way to marry elements of my various passions together.
I still miss Noel. I’m not bursting into tears any longer, but every day I’m reminded that he’s not around. That the other cats cannot be him. It still hurts and I don’t know when it’s going to stop hurting. Since Noel’s death, four people who are close to me have lost beloved cats – all but one of whom had been with their owners for a very long time. This was not a trend I wanted to have started.
And my roommate? When we do butt heads, we butt heads hard and it always causes me to wonder if living with him was a good idea after all. Whether it’s because I was so used to being completely autonomous for so long or because he genuinely is more stubborn than I am, I’m not sure. It’s probably a combination of those two.
On top of that, I think I’m experiencing a minor political burnout, which is why I haven’t commented here or on the SoCal Grassroots blog about the most recent scandals. I’m not in the mood to do any more in the political arena than I absolutely have to. I am looking forward to November 8th for many reasons.
Maybe I am skating on the edge of depression. Maybe I’m just physically worn out with illness and tiredness. Maybe PMS is making an early appearance – as it did last month – and wrekcing havoc with my mind and heart and soul. Maybe in a week or two or five I’ll be right as rain again, back to my peppy self.