I was going to write about what a delightful weekend I had, but apparently I must be wrong about it.
That's not fair. I'm just irritated that I'm so preoccupied with things that I had thought I'd put out of my mind for the day. THere's so much to get done here that it's starting to weigh very heavily on me.
This weekend was a delight, from charm-mom time to cuddles with Alex, dragging her to the rave and actually having someone I enjoy spending time with there, rather than flitting back and forth between hugs with people I'm mostly touching because there isn't much else to do. (certain Morgue-crawlers and psychopathic killers excluded)
It isn't that I dislike raves so much, at all. At all at all. I just don't like them that much either, and after three in the morning or so they get desperately boring, with or without additional substances. Having a friend there rather than just a party-acquaintance makes a huge difference. So did the body paint and gimp and other toys that someone had brought in to let everyone play with.
Sunday, we were so lazy, oh so lazy, and some of it was so nice and I only felt slightly guilty, because again there was that excuse of having someone extra around who needed the down-time too.
Then when her little redhead showed up with grandma and giggled her way into our hearts... Well...
G'bye cuddles making me late for work both yesterday and today were well worth it.
But I'm working so hard here, so full of so little time. I tried a new tactic with my heart today, tried telling Mr. Pyke about how irrational I was feeling (before it went far enough for it to hurt), and how aware I was of that irrationality, and it backfired. Instead of getting hurt I hurt him instead. A little. Suddenly a few tiny issues with the difference between our energy levels, and the fact that my method of communication is TELL EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME and Mr. Pyke's works partially on assumptions (which despite his immense knowledge in how people work are almost always wrong about me)...
Which doesn't mean I'll stop trying, ever, just that I have a hell of a lot more work to do in that vein.
I never get upset about the usual things. I resent the assumption that I'm prey to such petty things, when I've worked so fucking hard to be greater than that, greather than petty societal-suffocation human failings.
And I could go on, but that isn't fair. A one-sided discussion only digs me deeper, I wrote out everything I could and so much of it is little stuff, just like I said this morning, so much of it is offering to make lunch for me once in a while and never doing it, so much of it is reminiscent of offers made while I was still in Paris, that seem (and I do mean seem) to have turned out to have been made sheerly for the sake of offering.
And that's unfair too, and I know. And I know how much of it is things that I never asked for, but that have been handed to mean on heaping silver platters.
I'm just learning to adjust my expectations. But nowhere nearly as much as I would have to if I were dating anyone human, anyone less than a fish. I've never had half these expectations before, and part of me wonders if it's me being greedy, or if it's me... never having had the option before.
Like I said, unfair. Irrational.
Argh.
My only problem right now is that I don't have time for this. The contractors are waiting quietly by my door while I type this, my boss is clamouring for an official memo for something else, I have four documents to read and make "official decisions" about before noon or various pinstripes will have aneurisms, and two more of my own to write, RIGHT NOW.
And the list goes on and instead, I'm nodding soberly to the contractors in my doorway, while I write in my diary because I need to get this out of my head. Need to get how blown up it got out of my head. Need to stop worrying about Dave worrying, when I'm really quite grateful that I'm dating someone who takes my feelings seriously. Need to stop worrying that it's all wrong, all wrong, need to get T.S. Elliot lines out of my head "and if she were to say, that is not it at all, that isn't what I meant at all" so that I can get on with my living.
ANd tonight I guess I'll be missing both rock-climbing with Keith and Julie and maybe even Allie and Josh, and I'll also be missing dinner and a movie with people from work who've never invited me out before
but we'll talk tonight. With quiet words full of affection and fear of losing this love that I've never really experienced before.
We'll talk tonight, but until then I'm going to have a fucking difficult time concentrating and keeping the tears back.
Tears that I said the wrong word, that it turned into an assumption, guilt that my own inability to turn my feelings off when they are irrational and inconvenient -- hurt someone, and suddenly turned into this big time-suck.
I've gone from emotionless to over-emotional and some days I wonder if that wasn't a poor choice on my part.
Back when I couldn't cry, I never hurt anyone with my sensitivity either.