(January 23, 2018 at 2:11 pm)J a c k Wrote: Joods, as I said last night, I’m proud of you for your initiative. You go, girl. We’re here for you.
CIJS
Perhaps I’m a selfish creep. Maybe I’m looking for a shelf doll. When I’m surrounded by people, I can enjoy them for a while, but then I feel like the timer’s up and I want them, need them to disappear. I get in my car and drive away feeling relieved that I no longer have to be around people. I lay in my bed and soak in the silence. I make love to it.
A few days go by. Suddenly silence feels empty of sounds that could be nice. I drink my coffee and I wish I could talk politics with another human. I go for a jog and I’m being followed. Thoughts of loneliness make drying my beer glass a struggle. They follow me. I pick up a friend and we go out for dinner. We laugh and we talk and it’s all fine. Just fine.
I picture a shelf. I put the dolls back and walk away closing the door behind me. I come back when I’m feeling lonely and walk away when I’m missing solitude.
Remember when I had feelings for her? Remember when I felt like I could do anything? She was going to see a side of me that nobody knew. Until she didn’t. I didn’t even get to try and stop her. She was gone and I couldn’t make her stay. I was so close to knowing. I felt human. Even the pain felt warm and I let it move around inside me. I still remember. Do you remember? I think it was a Wednesday? I had the kids. I couldn’t go.
Back to square one. Compartmentalizations of feelings and thoughts are like sábila. Deep connections, superficial connections, down to fuck, friendship love, mind fucks, picking brains, shelf compartments. It’s easy to have control of space and time.
Driving down a street to one of my favorite bars. I’m about to pull into the parking lot. There are no empty spaces. Nobody next to me tells me to just try and see if there are spaces. I didn’t have to argue that I can tell from here. Nobody had to insist. I just drove away to park on the back. Easy. I then walk inside. Nobody told me to get us a table. I walk straight up to the bar. After the first beer, I realize I don’t want a second. Nobody ordered a second round and I didn’t have to feel forced to drink it. I just pay my tab. Walk back to my car. I’m smiling. I’m my best date.
But then... a song comes up. I remember what it felt like to melt inside. I remember what it felt like when the compartments fell apart and I forgot where everything went. I remember crying when I read that text. I remember when it wasn’t beautiful solitude, it was unexplainable loneliness. But... I thought I’d tell you face to face what that hug did to my legs. I thought I’d have the chance. That feeling, I remember.
If you ever came to visit, you’d probably look at my new compartmentalization habits and tell me they’re in poor taste. You’d probably look at them and tell me... you need the cure.
I’m an IPA drinker, stouts close second, and cat lady brain digger with compartmentilization issues. Perhaps I’m selfish, too. Perhaps my dolls are réplicas of my brain’s compartments. Perhaps I’m a doll on somebody else’s shelf. All I know is that I’ve been driving around for hours and months and I still haven’t found what makes a song tick off a timer.
If you're lying in bed and making love to silence, it means the batteries are flat.
Dying to live, living to die.