Thursday, March 20, 2014

Are You Stupid Cupid?

My wicked nails are making me feel vicious. I want to claw and screetch like a feral cat or one of Lada Gaga’s little monsters. Color is important, color once kept me from the brink. When the worst thing that ever happened to me happened, my emotions were tangible. I had a molten, fiery, howling mass that put me closer to the chasm than I’d ever been. I was hyper, I think because if I stopped moving, a part of me knew it would take root and I’d literally die, or turn to stone or wouldn't be able to stop screaming, ever, and I'd already done my share of screaming. I do think that people can die of grief. I don’t like loss, and now I live too much in fear of it. Without knowing what I was doing, I sought color. I was up into the wee hours painting rooms bright and cheery colors, I took up quilting and was manically shopping fabric stores and flipping through quilting books and laying out patterns on the floor. Maybe when things get really bad, our subconscious takes over, or will to live kicks in, that primal will and does what it needs to do and deep down inside, what ever a soul is, my soul needs color, is affected by color. Color is something you can’t fake.

Maybe I’ve made a pessimistic choice with these new nails, these metaphorical nails, but damn, this is how I feel, any other color would feel false and I’d rip them off. Tread upon, pissed, defensive, foresaken by my adopted home, my state, who’s flag I’ve rolled up and put in a drawer. There are female politicians at the state house, fighting for paid maternity leave, which is well and good, but equals a few months pay out of one’s life, who’s fighting the real fight, that affects women’s income for the rest of their lives? Don’t even get me going on the Social Security rules.

I went for lymphedema therapy this morning and my therapist asked how I was and I hissed at her and showed her my claws and she said, “oh yeah, you’re so scary.” People who don’t know me often find me scary, something I’ve never understood, but people who know me, surely don’t. Annoying perhaps, scary, not so much.

Last night I finally did it. I filled out an okcupid profile and in under 24-hours, I’ve learned a lot. There is a species of man, I’d rather know nothing more about that will send a generic email starting with “hello angel”, or “hey gorgeous lady”. I’m all for terms of endearment, I long for terms of endearment, but I feel those need to be formed based on the individual person and relationship involved. There are profiles where men refer repeatedly to “ladies” not “women”. I too use the word lady at times, but there’s something condescending about the use here. Oh, I’m such a nitpicker.

Okcupid asks question after question, most are too black and white to answer adequately, such as are you serious or carefree, I’d say I’m a mixture of both at different times, but neither word adequately defines me, or really, anyone else. Life is complicated, we’re talking divorced dads here, you’d have to be an idiot or in denial to be solely carefree and serious, is, well, too seriousl. Some questions are relevant. Do you think evolution or creationism should be taught in school or both? Do you think abortion should be legal? Which is worse, burning the flag of your country or books? Those are just no brainers for me. I’ve never burnt a flag, but I’d say that burning a flag is a form of protest and that flags are merely symbolic, where burning a book is intolerant, ignorant and fearful. While an athiest, I’m not opposed to anyone that goes to church, that signifies to me that they may be community-oriented, or nostalgic about their upbringing, but I’m suspicious of people that define themselves as simply “christian”, and if they define themselves as “christian and it’s very important to me” well then if you’ve read my profile, you know that we are basically incompatible. I have christians in my life that I know, love and respect, but yeah, they’re the minority. Therefore, I’ve only heard from men who are christians, don’t like to talk about politics, and are looking for that “special lady”. One was a gun-toting, christian from Kentucky who does not take kindly to flag burning, and is “socially conservative”, what the fuck? I also learned that most men don't like "overly logical people", shucks, they don't bother me none.

I know, give it time, but it makes me feel so snarky, I don’t know, maybe it’s the Wicked. I sent two brief messages, one said “I really like that movie too”, it’s a movie that I love and I’ve lately discovered is most definitely not universally beloved and another said “I’m a local artisan too, and also have a gallery, albeit teeny tiny, where I sell other people’s work”. Haven’t heard from either of them. Although, deep down, I don’t really want to, I’m not over the ick factor in all of this yet.

I want someone to just walk in my door, kiss me three times on the lips, because I’m OCD about that, kisses come in threes, turn around and leave. That’s really all I want for now, to get me through the next few weeks or months. I need something unexpected, surprising, sweet. Something to make me want to wash off this wicked and go back to my blue sky days.

I got a beautiful, happy thing in the mail yesterday, something I really wanted, but it just doesn’t have me walking on air the way it should. I had the little doodling, movie maker apply for a summer arts scholarship from the Providence Performing Arts Center, our swanky downtown theater, to help pay for summer arts camp and his beloved program was on the list of acceptable possibilities. Many pages to fill out and after several tries, we successfully burned a DVD of three animations and sent it in. Yesterday he got a letter, the letter I wanted more for the confidence, self-esteem boost than the money, that he’d won a scholarship. There’s going to be presentation ceremony at the theater, I hope he’ll be excited by that. It says to invite all your friends to come watch, I’m going to, because he feels a connection to many of my friends and I think they’ll be happy to cheer my sweet thing on and I don’t ask for much. He’s so, so used to his brother winning things, it’s about time he gets a fancy certificate of his own. He doesn’t know yet because yesterday night he was at his dads, hence the wits end, ok cupid foray.

We have a nice after school afternoon planned, starting with a visit to our favorite Corgi and then an exhibit downtown of prints made by one of his fairy-art parents. I hope it’s a fine adventure, I need the black veil to lift, I need to get through a day without going back to bed.

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