(no subject)

My hair is shorter than it's been in about 13 or 14 years. I just keep paring away at my head. Soon all I will have left are two eyeballs perched on stalks, coming out of a whittled stump that used to be a very serviceable neck.

(no subject)

It's Tuesday already.

I had a decent time this weekend, even though everything felt off from the get-go. I perhaps pushed things that were already in momentum, only because I have this distinct feeling that I don't want anyone coddling me, feeling sorry for me, or wasting any more energy than they need to worrying about my mental/emotional state than they absolutely need to. It's probably a healthy dose of self-preservation: after all, I am kicking someone out of my daily life, someone who's been there for years. He deserves my utter respect and care, and I am giving it to him the best I can, but I am deathly afraid of backsliding.

It's not that I feel like I am making a mistake, although I do worry about that generically. I just feel like, if I let slip this fragile grip I've got on what I want with my life, that I will crumple and tumble into a heap at the bottom of the hill, and he will be there to pick me up in his strong arms and mold me into Madame Apathy once more.

I don't want to be clay, I want to be forged metal that can bend, that is somewhat malleable, that can make decisions and stick to them and be dynamic.

So this weekend my (ex?) was along, and all the usual issues of the weekend came up - his natural distance from the rest of the people we were there to visit, my discomfort that I could not fix that for him, even though it wasn't a fixable thing, I still wanted to make it better, make it more fun for him. I thought he'd like it, and I think he ended up having the worst time ever. He started this incredibly annoying thing where it was "shit-talkin' weekend," which made me laugh when he first started it in Chicago, but by the time we'd spent a few days in Indy and then got back into Chicago, I was frazzled, I was sad, I was angry, and I felt judged judged judged. I was on tenterhooks, waiting for his next snarky comment, his "gentle" razzing, his bluntness, his obvious lack of interest in really relaxing and making the best of the situation.

In a lot of ways, I was a nervous wreck. I did not feel charming, I did not feel pretty, I did not feel at all like a Wellsie should. I felt like I had single-handedly wasted his weekend and mine. I felt like I barely touched the lives of the other people there, because I was just that wound up in everything.

Shame on me.

The breather was the 4-hour gabfest I had with Ozy_y2K and Wolf at La Jolla. We drank margaritas and munched on nachos and laughed over Lockjaw. Laughing about a year's hard work tempered the angst of the rest of the time.

Anyway, now I feel all grumbly. I hadn't really assessed the weekend in my head until just now, and I am a little sad that I came up with a less-than-glowing review. It was all my fault, too. Bugger.