So, I am having a good laugh about my Losers' Club day. One must realize, at this point, that I kind of revel in Losers' Club stories. They're Seinfeld-esque, they're David Sedaris-esque, they give me fodder for which I can utter the words (in true sincerity) "...mynovel's gonna be great!"
So, I relate the story to BFF, she loves it. I relate it to ChirpBoy, he loves it. We laugh, we share. Alls good. I get home, I get settled, I'm about to go to sleep and realize my brain is racing. No biggie - I just so happen to be in the middle of a trashy, vampire smut novel. (I alternate, thought-provoking book/junkfood book/thought-provoking book/junkfood book. Keeps me balanced.)
I'm in bed, quietly reading, when my roomie decides to start having sex with his "not girlfriend." I kid you not. Ever seen Secret of My Success?
Amidst all of this, GoodBuddy texts me. He's in "a mood." There's been a lot of this lately. I know he reads my blog and he's sure to argue, but it's true. Whereas he used to be mostly carefree and happy-go, now he's mostly serious, pensive and, above all, domineering. No more the silly laughter, now it's all "this is how it is and this is what I'm planning and you need to do this and you should feel this and this or that needs to happen." It really does make me sad sometimes.
So, yes, I was tired and cranky and probably a little ticked that my roommate was having sex and the last time I'd had sex was a long time ago (sorry, TMI but still). In the interest of full disclosure, I was also a bit ... tipsy. During the conversatin, I began to relate my Losers' Club story. I'll admit I could have been sounding bitchy to the outside ear - but boy oh boy did GB get all up in my grill.
In short: I'm better than that. I still have a job. I'm not stuck in Haiti. I'm above this bitching and whining. I need to get over myself.You don't get to feel sorry for yourself. Fucking man up.
Basically telling me the exact same message that I've been dealing with my whole life: my feelings aren't valid, they're "too much", my experience of the world isn't legit and I should feel shame for that.
(Thank you, yes, I did have therapy today. I heart it.)
So, I got upset. No. Strike that. I got fucking pissed off as shit. I wanted a friend. Someone to commiserate with, to laugh with. To understand that, yes, I'd had a shitty day. No, it wasn't the worst day in the world and I realized I wasn't dying of cancer or getting fired or living through devastation or elsewise having a life-shattering event. But, it had in fact been garden variety shitty day. And, geez, only me...
The net/net is that I'm still thinking he and I are not on the same page about this, or to be honest, much, these days. And as much as he wants to protest, I think a large part of it is the place he's in and not the place I'm in. Although, yes, of course, everything is in mutuality and relation. But I think that the path I'm on - and have been working towards - is telling me that voice inside my head that says, "fuck you, my feelings count" is the right voice to listen to. Because I am NOT striving to be some superhuman-Buddha-Guru-Englightened-Omniscient Being. I just want to BE. Utterly and essentially, be a human being. A me-flavored human popsicle. I'd be perfectly and amazingly content with that.