I always feel like she is wrinkling her nose. There is an ongoing element that I can only describe as something that lies between vague dissapointment and frustration…a valley she resides on where let downs bloom like daisies and the air always smells of compromise and sub par performance.
Have you ever met that girl? She is often incredibly nice. Kind. Generous even. Smart. What more than one person would describe as a “good person". And as often as not this same girl thinks she is fun. She’ll think she is a laugh RIOT. She is the first up for a drink, the first with a big plan, the first to enlist you in a week long excursion to the middle of nowhere to explore the local wineries or hike the caves. But somehow it is never as fun as you expect.
No, that is unfair, sometimes is awesome.
But occasionally it is much less fun than you expect. Which is no fun at all. Sometimes you say something, or do something, somewhere, and are plagued, for most to whole of the time by a nagging sensation that you have somehow wronged her terribly, and she is now suffering silently by your unknown transgression. And this knowledge begins to sit at the back of your head like a warning bell, causing you to question every sensitivity, warning you to have fun carefully, to party with extreme caution.
The worst part about this girl is that I often suspect I am her. And I know, on some level, when my soul sister of perpetual dissapointment calls for a partner in less than tolerant socialization, that I that much more sensitive to the criticism she radiates as I recognize these same character traits in myself.
I wonder: am I the girl desperately trying to whip everyone into a frenxy of excitement over something they have slowly learned to dread? Am I the one yelling “parteee!” and then throwing a coaster under their cocktail glass and exclaiming through a strained face “no, it’s fine! I am sure soda water gets that out! I’m cool” when I am so, obviously, not cool and letting everyone in the room know I am now not free for the week while I scrub out that stain? Am I the person slowly alienating all my friends as I created narrower confines around planet fun and the commute I am willing to take to get there? Am I that lady who has such a hard time relaxing when things don’t go JUST my way that no one can relax around me?
And typing this, I know, by virtue of asking the question, the answer is very clearly yes. And I am forced to acknowledge my neurosis undeniably clashes with what others might term “the art of letting loose”.
And also, typing this, I am hoping the answer is just a bit of “no” because I can ask myself, before I make a plan, exactly how important it is that things go the way I planned, and remind myself, the answer does not have to be “very” and if it IS, I should probably cuddle up for the night with a good book and a fifth of bourbon.
And also, typing this, I have to wonder what her, I mean, MY problem is, exactly. Why are so many things bound to dissapoint? Why, as I get older, does so many behaviors fall outside the confines of fun? Why, very specifically, am I so judgemental and senstive? Why, as I yearn for others to love and enjoy my little nuances and foibles, do I find it so easy to find offense in their behavior?
I don’t know. I just know this post got a lot longer and deeper than I intended it to. And that someone is going to read this post and wrinkle their nose and not call me for a week. Even though it is not about them.
So it goes.