Why am I like this? I know its not an unusual question to ask yourself. Its an important question. But, it’s the hardest to answer. I can examine my life in bits and pieces, in lovers, in parties, in traumas, in heartaches, in laughter, in love. I feel like I should be more self aware at this point in my life. I’m 46. Shit. No, wait, Im 47.
Or maybe I am extremely self aware. But, I don’t trust the findings. They don’t quite fit the rest of the tribe. I’m 47. I’m overweight (always, even when I wasn’t) I’m married for the second time. I’m currently unemployed. I do not have a degree, but work my way up to management level in every job I have ever had. Ugh, I am proud of that. Being underpaid and doing most of the work because I couldn’t afford to get a piece of paper. I am essentially vapor. I am so basic, I disappear.
I do have wonderful children, 25 and 22, who have appropriately left the nest and are leading exciting, happy lives. When it comes to them, I have achieved the pinnacle of success. They are my vacation home in the Bahamas, my Maserati, my impressive stock portfolio. They are the best people I know and I still get compliments from others about how amazing and impressive they are. Just last night I was made to explain “how in the hell” I ended up with those adults. I honestly don’t know. If I did, I would bottle it and sell it. We need more humans like them. Don’t get me wrong. I am hyper aware that we don’t tell our parents everything, ever. So, I’m sure they have some secrets I would be mildly surprised to discover. But, that just makes them cooler.
So, that should be enough, right? Its not. Its supposed to be, I know that. Why am I so fucking restless? Why do I need all the time? I am supposed to be content. I am supposed to be quiet and disappear until summoned. No one wants to see me. After the crazy life I have led, you would think I’d welcome the break. Just settle in and relax for the first time. But, the boring is burrowing into my nerves. I’m buzzing so hard I might just come apart.
So, I’ll try this. In the past, whenever I have felt this way I spiral into booze and sex. All the while, maintaining. Maintaining work, marriage, friends, children. The balance is delicate, exhilarating, and exhausting. Always going the extra mile at work or home to justify the late night drinks with the ‘girls’. It left little time for anything else and, of course, no one can keep it up. So, this time. The buzzing has started. I’ve crossed a line, leaped over it, skipped easily to the other side. And here I am. Writing it down to see if I can make some sense of it. To figure out why I can’t be normal. Why I can’t be content with being vapor?
I have fixated on him for so long that I don’t remember what my fantasies were before they were about him. He is my go-to vison when I close my eyes. He is there, confessing undying love and adoration. He is the touching me when I touch myself. He is who comforts me in my “husband dies tragically” fantasies. (see, told you I’m fucked up?) He is always there, he is the buzz. And right now its so fucking loud I can’t hear anything else. So, I tried to quiet it. Again. At the Holiday Inn off Interstate 55.
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