Home > emolicious, ethereal, hope, humor, life, reflection, writing > Sometimes, you just have to laugh

Sometimes, you just have to laugh

October 28, 2009 Leave a comment Go to comments

Oh, emotional crapola abounds.

I’ve had a mood swing roller coaster the past couple of days, from ecstatic giddiness crashing into low-grade depression within hours.  The low was most noticeable after a couple deplorable and uninspiring clothes-shopping trips, in which I despaired upon ever having an inkling of fashion sense.

Similarly, I’ve ping-ponged back and forth between going into work in the morning feeling like I am a wasted piece of flesh who will never amount to anything for working in food service to never having felt happier than when I stepped foot into a place where, for once in my life, I can truly be myself.

Oh, believe me, I fully appreciate the melodramatic senselessness of it all.  As ever, I blame it on my upbringing.  Living with parents whose personalities are as contrasting as black and white was sure to screw me up somehow, right?  (I hear it’s also trendy with my generation to place all blame on our parentals for everything wrong with how we turned out.  We are the Entitled and Victimized Generation, it seems.)  When I’m not taking after my father and having all the emotional and social capabilities of a lump of coal, I wax my mother’s flavor of melodramatic and feel the world collapsing around me.

And within this big Freudian, Oedipean psychoanalytical metaphor of a life that I’ve contrived for myself, my personal sense of self gets a bit muddled and fuzzy.

And then there are nights like tonight, when I am antsy and disgruntled and want to get in an intense, emotionally riled, buzzed discussion on the state of affairs; expound upon the latest in ridiculous, head-shaking-worthy antics of some fanatical zealot group; extrapolate on ideological tangents as a mere academic curiosity and exercise with a lack of any tangible consequence.  Where can I fire off with self-righteous anger while cradling my Bailey’s on the rocks?  Where is my dimly lit, wood-paneled hole in the wall for meeting with fellow conspirators and shooting our mouths off about how much better we’d do things, given the chance?

How is it possible to feel so tiny and still so concretely present at the same time?  I am so confused, so out of place.  Once again I feel pale and passionless among so many hundreds of people who change the world with the bright flare that is their life.

Stepping back and taking it all in, there is not much else I can do except laugh at myself for these inconsequential ravings.  Pay no mind, please, I don’t even know what I’m rambling about anymore.

The other thing weighing on my mind these past few days lies in a not-so-optimistic reflection of my forays into casual play thus far.  I will not yet claim to experiencing actual polyamory, because I draw a distinct line between having a stable relationship with one or more partners and having multiple casual play or sexual partners.  Nothing wrong with either, necessarily – just distinguishing the definitions for myself.

And, in all fairness, I have had immense fun dabbling in various types and intensities of play.  I’ve had formal ritualistic roles, more playful flirting roles, and much more in the grey areas between.  And it’s been an incredible and educational series of experiences so far, to be sure.  Now, however, I have realized how little I’ve participated in my local community (besides, I suppose, working at the new epicenter for kink activity and community in SoMa).  Since I unpacked my sparse belongings into my new home on August 11th, I’ve set foot inside the Citadel three times.  In fact, I am hesitant to explore that space at all, and I think some of that reluctance can be relegated to some choice flesh-related terms: ‘meat market’ and ‘fresh meat’ being the main two.

I’d like to change that, however.  Despite my lack of social grace, I’m determined to make some headway to become more of an active participant at the Citadel.  After all, while I am having fun with the play relationships I have now, I cannot survive, emotionally, on that alone to any kind of satisfaction.  I’m looking, in short, for more regular human company (my cilantro plants don’t count, despite their enthusiastic blooming).  Not necessarily for play, just for company.  I’m reluctant even to voice this desire here, because I am afraid even a whiff of whisper of “single” and “looking” and I’ll have an influx of Fetlife messages asking for me to be someone or some couple’s slave for life.

Or, more succinctly, I’ll just get messages like I used to on Alt.com: “Kneel, bitch, and beg me for the honor to be my slave!”

So if you were to come up to me at any Citadel event, in all likelihood I will decline any and all offers to play or socialize or “meet up later” with a deer-in-headlights look on my face denoting my horror at having to interact with another human being.

Case in point?  Two days prior, I made a short trip to Trader Joe’s to pick up groceries, and lined up at the cash register of one cashier whose eyes I’d caught while scanning the aisles for the shortest wait.  He was a cute redhead with what I think is an Irish accent (I’m useless at guessing accents).  As I pulled out my wallet, we exchanged the usual cashier-customer pleasantries.  Then he looked up, made eye contact, and asked, “What brings you out here on such a fine afternoon?”

I might as well have been faced with either of the Boondock brothers.  As in, wow you’re hot, but why are you pointing a gun at me?

Except in this case it was, are you actually talking to me?  I blinked in surprise and managed to croak out a paltry, “Um, I needed food!  Ha…ha.”

I locked my lips shut after that and just concentrated on not bolting out the door.  I grabbed my change, started to power-walk away, when he calls out asking if I want my receipt.  I turned, grabbed it out of his hand and really did bolt for the door.

Yes, I am that awkward.

So, in closing: do I know how to laugh at myself?  Are you kidding?  I need no other source of entertainment.  I spent my teenage years doing what teenagers do best: taking myself way too seriously.  The only reason I’ve survived this long and retained my sanity is by learning to laugh at myself, and at life in general.

  1. Dov
    October 29, 2009 at 8:27 am


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