Sunday, July 27, 2003

The Perils of Pauline.

My therapist says I'll always be melodramatic. It's been that kind of a month, I know. I could swear to you all, swear up and down, that my life isn't always like this. That there are times when my car works, my feet work, my friendships work, my apartment hot water is running, times when I'm calmed by a pleasant flow of romance through my life or a contentment that comes from knowing that everything is going to be all right.

It's late now. I'm not at my apartment, for I've called the landlord to tell him that the hot water has, after one shower and a load of laundry, died on me again. For the fifth time this month. He's gotten so frustrated that he either no longer believes me or believes that I'm doing something to cause it. I have to force myself to be polite, and he has to do the same. It's not pleasant talking three times a week to the man that I used to merely tolerate and stay out of the way of.

The hot water situation has left me unhinged, forcing me to make decisions that I wasn't prepared to make yet. I mean, I was going to move sometime this fall. I had planned for that, mostly. I don't have the right amount of money just yet to do everything that I need to do. Still, I've revved up my internal drive for apartment hunting. This situation has got to end soon.

Spoke to Snapshot today while he was on his way to play billiards, and talking to him gives me a weird vibe. But it looks like I might, with effort, be able to return to a friendship with him. This is good because it always pays to know a couple good photographers.

I also spoke with Eddie Bauer Guy, vacationing currently and visiting family, and we might, oh God, "hang out." To be frank, I miss sex. I miss affection. I miss someone touching me. It's been ages. I mean, it feels like ages. Granted, if I mess around with that one, I'll be asking for whatever trouble I get. But the jackass is the only one stopping at my well for water, and I need SOMETHING, SOME SMALL THING, to go just a little bit right this month.

Case in point, I was meeting my friend Brad today. Or I was supposed to. He was coming to my store at 4, where I'd be waiting for him after my shift ended at 3. Brad hates phones. Hates them. So I didn't bring my phone with me and just assumed that everything was going to be OK. (Granted, I should've realized that Brad is the sort of guy who, like me, makes anything far more complicated than it needs ot be.)

Brad calls the store and gets one of my co-workers before coming over. Though I'm there at the store waiting for him, they tell him I've left work. So he hears that I'm not there and doesn't come to meet me. And he doesn't leave a callback number when he tries my cell phone, which I didn't have with me because he doesn't use phones. It's not my fault. It's not his fault. It just happened.

Larry, who I'm staying with tonight because we were watching THE WOMEN together when it came on Turner Classic Movies (and because of the aforementioned hot water debacle), says listening to what has been happening to me this month is like watching THE PERILS OF PAULINE. Someone's in dire straits, then they get saved only to fall into dire straits again.

I think something good is going to come out of this month. Something good, besides what Miss Gibson is calling a "creative peak" in my insanity-laden writings, should come out of all this.

I know. What if I get an apartment that's lovely? What if the job transfer comes through so that I don't have to commute so much anymore? What if I devote time to keeping my house and car clean and maintained? What if I stopped being mean or sarcastic? What if my legs magically healed and I became a marathon runner? What if I just became an entirely different person? What if I started focusing on things outside of myself, beyond my own problems?

That last question is what I really need to do. Really. Whether I get hot water or not. (OK, so it's all right to make that water thing a bit of a priority.)

Still, though I realize my woes are small ones, I feel like I'm suffering admirably through them, moreso than I would have a couple years ago when a minor car breakdown alone would've caused me a complete hissy fit. (Think Pauline-tied-to-the-train-track level hysterics.)

I don't feel overwhelmed by problems, so much as annoyed at how I can't figure out how to quickly fix them. If I have to "suffer," so to speak, I'm glad I suffer a bit well.

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