The person that is going to see me
Is going to be me.
I made a fascinating discovery, recently. The last few days. My friend said something, she said something so amazing, so perfect, stunning in its simplicity and I was floored that it had not occurred to me before. It was good. It was, it comes later.
A while back a girl at work asked me what was with me. I said Um please specify. She said You are always happy, what is the deal? I laughed, because I thought she was joking. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know where I come from or where I go to or what waits for me or what’s simmering, clawing its way to the top. And that’s fine, because I like it that way. But I was laughing and she goes No, really, what is it because I’ve never seen anything like it. So I told her that I have a rich fantasy life. Which amused me, but did not seem to satisfy her.
So last week I was talking to my friend, my friend who I love, who I really can’t believe has not been here forever. Where did she come from, and why didn’t I miss her before we met? I don’t know. But I was having a bad day. A rough day. A hard time. And she said Do you remember when you were a kid, when things were bad or even not so bad but just were, do you remember how you would make up stories, fantasies about your life? How you were the kidnapped princess or you were locked in a tower or you were the rejected orphan scraping by using only your wits, and that seemed to make everything better, if not better then bearable? She said I think it’s important to do that as adults.
It’s important to do that as adults. Fantasize. Why the fuck not, man? Why not? I am the kidnapped princess. I am. I have been kidnapped from the life I was destined to lead, and I am forced to masquerade as someone I am not in order to save my family from ruin. And it’s true. I am kidnapped from law school by my own decisions and forced to masquerade as a poverty stricken mother of two, working at an hourly rate. I am locked in a tower, I really, really am. I am locked in a tower in Sellwood with windows that don’t open and no shower and a crazy troll not in the dungeon but right upstairs. I am the rejected orphan scraping by using only my wits, and if you don’t know why that’s true then you do not know me at all, and that’s all right too. I think that I already do it half the time. That guy I have that huge crush on? It’s not that he isn’t interested. No, no way. What it is is that he knows that if anyone ever found out how he really feels about me they would report IMMEDIATELY to the parents of the woman he is promised to marry and her father would wage war on his father and the kingdom would be torn apart but he wants me as bad as I want him, of course he does, and if I think that I’m burning up, just imagine how much more difficult it is for him. And you see? I am no longer rejected. And really, what’s wrong with that? I know perfectly well what the score is, but I don’t have to live it and breathe it and wallow in it. Or, you know, I could just accept things as they are, but where’s the fun in that? There is none, that’s where.
And it makes it easier, the life that I lead. It makes it easier to be just me, just myself, to be the hero of my own story. When Dustin comes in to my office for no reason other than to say hello and I think to myself, why can’t I have that? I can tell myself that he would, if I would let him. And that one, maybe that one’s true. I don’t know. But I go, I don’t need anyone, and that’s good. I like me, I know what’s in here, what’s underneath, and I know that I am ripping someone off in a very serious way by keeping it to myself. Sometimes, sometimes I wish things were different. There was a huge storm today. Huge, huge storm. I had taken the kids for a bike ride and the rain and the thunder came, and I said Well maybe it will be past so let’s go see a movie and check on it after. We came out, and no. Even wetter, louder, and more lightning. But it was warm out, so we took our time going home, sopping wet, stares from the people in their cars, as happy as I’ve been in a long time. And it occurred to me, then and later, how nice it would have been to have not been the only grown up there, you know? How nice it would be to have shared experiences with someone that understands why it is an experience rather than simply a situation. How nice it would be to just, you know, have that.
Something so simple, but not at all. Someone else. It seems so easy. But it really isn’t, is it. I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe I am a complete ninny who does not appreciate what she has and maybe I let things become more than they are. Or maybe I recognize that the life I have is a good one, that things are not bad and that I know this and whether I can share that with anyone else is immaterial, it is enough to just be happy. Maybe I’ll see how that goes. Maybe I see how that goes because I have no choice, but maybe I see how that goes because to do anything else would be to risk an all out war with a neighboring kingdom. Whichever.
I made a fascinating discovery, recently. The last few days. My friend said something, she said something so amazing, so perfect, stunning in its simplicity and I was floored that it had not occurred to me before. It was good. It was, it comes later.
A while back a girl at work asked me what was with me. I said Um please specify. She said You are always happy, what is the deal? I laughed, because I thought she was joking. She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know where I come from or where I go to or what waits for me or what’s simmering, clawing its way to the top. And that’s fine, because I like it that way. But I was laughing and she goes No, really, what is it because I’ve never seen anything like it. So I told her that I have a rich fantasy life. Which amused me, but did not seem to satisfy her.
So last week I was talking to my friend, my friend who I love, who I really can’t believe has not been here forever. Where did she come from, and why didn’t I miss her before we met? I don’t know. But I was having a bad day. A rough day. A hard time. And she said Do you remember when you were a kid, when things were bad or even not so bad but just were, do you remember how you would make up stories, fantasies about your life? How you were the kidnapped princess or you were locked in a tower or you were the rejected orphan scraping by using only your wits, and that seemed to make everything better, if not better then bearable? She said I think it’s important to do that as adults.
It’s important to do that as adults. Fantasize. Why the fuck not, man? Why not? I am the kidnapped princess. I am. I have been kidnapped from the life I was destined to lead, and I am forced to masquerade as someone I am not in order to save my family from ruin. And it’s true. I am kidnapped from law school by my own decisions and forced to masquerade as a poverty stricken mother of two, working at an hourly rate. I am locked in a tower, I really, really am. I am locked in a tower in Sellwood with windows that don’t open and no shower and a crazy troll not in the dungeon but right upstairs. I am the rejected orphan scraping by using only my wits, and if you don’t know why that’s true then you do not know me at all, and that’s all right too. I think that I already do it half the time. That guy I have that huge crush on? It’s not that he isn’t interested. No, no way. What it is is that he knows that if anyone ever found out how he really feels about me they would report IMMEDIATELY to the parents of the woman he is promised to marry and her father would wage war on his father and the kingdom would be torn apart but he wants me as bad as I want him, of course he does, and if I think that I’m burning up, just imagine how much more difficult it is for him. And you see? I am no longer rejected. And really, what’s wrong with that? I know perfectly well what the score is, but I don’t have to live it and breathe it and wallow in it. Or, you know, I could just accept things as they are, but where’s the fun in that? There is none, that’s where.
And it makes it easier, the life that I lead. It makes it easier to be just me, just myself, to be the hero of my own story. When Dustin comes in to my office for no reason other than to say hello and I think to myself, why can’t I have that? I can tell myself that he would, if I would let him. And that one, maybe that one’s true. I don’t know. But I go, I don’t need anyone, and that’s good. I like me, I know what’s in here, what’s underneath, and I know that I am ripping someone off in a very serious way by keeping it to myself. Sometimes, sometimes I wish things were different. There was a huge storm today. Huge, huge storm. I had taken the kids for a bike ride and the rain and the thunder came, and I said Well maybe it will be past so let’s go see a movie and check on it after. We came out, and no. Even wetter, louder, and more lightning. But it was warm out, so we took our time going home, sopping wet, stares from the people in their cars, as happy as I’ve been in a long time. And it occurred to me, then and later, how nice it would have been to have not been the only grown up there, you know? How nice it would be to have shared experiences with someone that understands why it is an experience rather than simply a situation. How nice it would be to just, you know, have that.
Something so simple, but not at all. Someone else. It seems so easy. But it really isn’t, is it. I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe I am a complete ninny who does not appreciate what she has and maybe I let things become more than they are. Or maybe I recognize that the life I have is a good one, that things are not bad and that I know this and whether I can share that with anyone else is immaterial, it is enough to just be happy. Maybe I’ll see how that goes. Maybe I see how that goes because I have no choice, but maybe I see how that goes because to do anything else would be to risk an all out war with a neighboring kingdom. Whichever.
posted by machine central at 4:09 PM
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