dramatically disingenuous.

i came home after work this evening, anxious as i had been before i left. i pride myself in very few things, but one of those things is my ability to seem relatively normal (normal relative to myself, which is abnormal, but not too abnormal). today i had been cleaning my room vigorously, after showering and scrubbing myself vigorously, dancing vigorously around and generally trying to force myself into a better mood. 

feeling anxious, are we? my brain had asked me, as i sat on the edge of my bed, chain smoking cigarettes and rereading my many journals. cleaning usually helps, let's try that.

it didn't work. time came to head to work, i chugged 20 oz. of red bull and charged in, wired to the gills and seeming my usual self. giggling, bubbly, full of energy and positive vibes. that's the version of me people know and love. matched a coworker, wit for wit, thrusting and parrying with words like swords. made her laugh. even made some of our patrons smile as i joked with them. left with a grin and a wave, double thumbs up, telling one of my coworkers, see you 'round! then slipping out the door. two jobs, well done, if i do say so myself.

smoked another two cigarettes. got on the train and came home. sang morning theft by jeff buckley as i walked home. showered. which is to say, i stood under the water in a dark bathroom, listening to music play on my cellphone and trying to warm myself up from the outside in. came back to my room where i asked my teddy bears, mice, room in entirety, what the hell is wrong with me? what am i feeling? my eyes partially misty, choking back their own tears, swallowing the frozen lump of sadness congealing in my throat.

the question was rhetorical; the answer was immediate. dramatically disingenuous.

can't be, i thought. does that mean what i think it does? or is my mind just fucking with me some more?

googled the definition of disingenuous. (i already know dramatic. re: the scenes of my life, a well scripted live divine comedy.) i saw the following.

dis·in·gen·u·ous

adjective

not candid or sincere, typically by pretending that one knows less about something than one really does.

synonyms:

insincere, dishonest, untruthful, false, deceitful, duplicitous, lying,  mendacious; hypocritical (then this, the word used in a sentence written almost directly to me) "that innocent, teary-eyed look is just part of a disingenuous act"

sarcastically, it was very funny.

sadly, it was painfully accurate.

i know what's bothering me, deep down. i know why i've felt uncomfortable in my skin all day. i know what caused the anxiety, the pacing, the chain smoking and agitated finger tapping. i didn't want to admit it. i don't want to admit it. i don't want to face this problem. i want it to take care of itself. it won't and i have to. i know that and i hate it. so i'm pretending i don't know what's going on, which only serves to make me more irritable and anxious because, well, why not just deal with the damn problem? because i am a coward when it comes to my own emotions. and because i won't face them today, tomorrow, or even sunday at this rate. i'm making myself almost quite literally sick. i ask people vaguely what would make me feel better, as if i didn't know myself. i frown and sigh, head tossed back, exhaling warm, gray clouds into the cold, black air.

the not knowing why i'm upset part? that's false. forget being economical with the truth; this is plain old lying.

i'm just being dramatically disingenuous.

honestly.

he who hesitates is lost. (or, she who hesitates, masturbates.)

crush # 4.

also known as lurch. he's awesome. (i figured it out; he's 26~27.) i don't want to repeat the entirety of this story, as i've told a bunch of strangers and a few of my friends about it already, but basically my friend asked him for his number (for me, because in true missinsanity fashion, i ran away from him), and he did this. in her words.

he looked really bummed and then he was like, what really? ugh this sucks, because if she had told me a year ago, i would've been all over her, but i have a girlfriend now. so yeah.

my instant reaction was yelling "SON OF A BITCH" at the top of my lungs. i'm sure he heard it, as he headed home on the highway. and i'm sure he knew it was me. (maybe not, actually.) and i hid under a table because that's just what i do when i don't want people to see my face. but yeah. i wish he had just said no and not added the whole, i would if not for my girlfriend line. because now i'll be torn between wishing she was dead and feeling bad about wishing she was dead. (interestingly enough, i'm not torn at all about liking him. he's deliciously lickable likable.) i used the word plethora before that had happened and his eyes lit up. he understood my bad jokes about chemistry and the brain. we both wear glasses. (this is starting to feel like that episode of how i met your mother with the matchmaking service. but it won't end like that. he's not marrying this ho. no offense to her.)

whatever.

whoever this bitch is, she'd better be fucking awesome because, to quote the great watts  from some kind of wonderful, if she breaks his heart, i'll break her face. seriously. i've got 20 ounces of pure caffeine running through my veins, not to mention my brain is on the upswing. so my self-esteem is through the roof and i'm not accepting anything less than perfection for this guy. (which, you know, i'm not. but hell, i'm probably miles closer than her.) comparing myself to a possibly non-existent version of a girl i don't know and have only heard about. way to go, kid.

anyway, i don't have his number, because like i said, he said no because he has a girlfriend. which i respect. what i don't respect is that i have to sit here thinking about this while i try to write a literature review. thanks for fucking my head up.

if i see him today, i swear, i will...

not do anything.

duh. let's be real. it's me we're talking about.

but i do hope i see him again, so i can say goodbye in a better way than i did yesterday.

honestly.

i've been a bad, bad girl.

i've been careless with a delicate man.

our voice studio had a masterclass this wednesday. i wasn't prepared, i had performance anxiety, i have perfectionist issues-- there were so many factors. but i messed up. gloriously, perhaps. definitely an unforgettable performance. i had tried to relieve my anxiety beforehand by joking with three of the boys in my studio. we made lewd noises whenever someone sang something beautiful. we rubbed each other's backs and made shady side comments. i had to pee about seven times. i thought it would work. but still i messed up so badly that my teacher, sensing my discomfort and perhaps even my self-hatred, came onto the stage and said, don't worry. nobody's perfect. this was just a fluke. i wrinkled my nose, sighed deeply, went to get my things and leave. my masterclass-mates swarmed around me. only the three boys, since the other girls left. they chorused, you did great, it wasn't bad, at least you kept going, don't be so hard on yourself. i rolled my eyes. as i began to walk away, two of them called after me, telling me to feel better! and assuring me that it was still amazing!

the quiet one, the tallest one, the youngest one. he was headed for the dorms, which were in the direction i was headed, so he came with me. nobody did it perfectly, he said. and most of us didn't know the words either. i grunted. i don't want to see our voice teacher on the way home, i began to mumble, realizing that we went the same way. wanna come to my dorm? i agreed. i had been there before. i met his roommate. and besides, we're buddies, and we had already had one heart to heart conversation about how fucked up our families are and whatnot. so i went.

i put my head on the desk in his room and tried to explain why i was so upset with myself, as he changed out of his clothes behind me. i think the reason i had a hard time getting the words out is because i was trying to not turn around and watch him in various states of undress. which, of course, i wanted to. luckily for me, he stopped in the middle of changing his clothes (the stage after taking off the first outfit and right before putting on the second) and sat down nearby.

i don't know what i'm trying to say. i think you do; take your time. um, it's just like there's two versions of myself. there's the perfect version and then there's me. and every once in a while, when i'm not blocking her from getting out, she comes out and it's fucking amazing and everyone's like holy shit. and then the rest of the time, it's me. and everyone is kind of like, oh. you're fucking insane, basically. so yeah. 

most people hear this and they give me some spiel about self-esteem. (see: former supervisor, friends, etc.etc.) he actually understood what i was saying. not just sympathizing, but actually empathizing. he told me about hypnotherapy and how he had tried it, and it worked for him. he said he could  get a free session for me. i'll think about it. or, to be honest, i'll think about thinking about it. he shrugged, resumed changing his clothes. which apparently, simply entailed putting a pair of pants on. then climbed into his bed. when i say climbed, i mean it. he's like a giant and his bed is like, three and a half feet off the floor.

i knew he was tired and was only really just trying to make sure i didn't hate myself as much as i had been after the performance, so i told him he didn't have to babysit me and he could take a nap if he wanted to. i didn't need him to leave the dorm, just to get into it. i don't want to sleep, i want to cuddle. oh. hmm. i rolled the chair to the side of his bed and tentatively offered him my right hand to hold. how's that? close, but not quite, he said as he held it. inside, i'm telling myself, you don't want to lose more guy friends to the awkward middle space. or worse, to have another friend that you have this weird sexual undercurrent with. (i have this bad habit of collecting guys that i'm more than friends with but less than relationship quality, and most of my guy friends end up turning into this eventually. it's really bad.) so i think it over and finally i'm like, okay, i want to but i won't let anything happen.

so i end up cuddling with this kid, who we'll call arizona, due to the fact that he's hot and dry, humor-wise. the whole time, i'm really trying to keep myself in control and not do anything misleading. (that is, more misleading than climbing into his bed and getting under a blanket with him.) it got really hot, really fast. temperature wise. and also, because the longer i stayed there, the closer we got. right when that last mental barrier was about to collapse, in walked the roommate. it was perfect. mostly because i was still fully dressed. that's a first for me. and also because i hadn't made out with him, like i wanted to. which is also a first for me, i usually just let my body go where it wants to.

anyway, i left not long after that. i saw him yesterday. it was even weirder than the whole cuddling situation because-- remember that weird sexual undercurrent i was trying to avoid? it's totally there now. there's all this wicked sexual tension between the two of us. (similar to the tension between puck and i, but different. with that one, the intensity is from the unspoken agreement to not do anything. with this one, there is no such agreement.) it's funny because my friend had asked me before spring break if the two of us were going out because she was getting some cute love vibes. she wasn't in yesterday. but if she had been, she would have noticed all the side-glancing and avoiding physical contact that was going on.

i feel bad because i know i don't understand emotions and even though he probably understands that, it's like, really likely that anything emotional wouldn't end well. at the same time, i feel weird because it's not like normally, where i'm the one reeling in a potential catch. he's the one who started it. i've been haunted by his perfectly timed forehead kiss. the gentle rise and fall of his chest. the lazy way his fingers ran up and down my sides. his heady scent. the rhythm of his heartbeat. everything, i guess. really fucking sucks. i keep asking myself, what am i doing? what's wrong with me? i can tell from the hyper-awareness of each other that he's probably thinking about it as much as i am. (or am i projecting? holy shit, i'm overthinking this.)

i'm pretty sure, from past experiences with my brain, that i'll like him now and then after i've successfully gotten him to like me too, i'll stop liking him because he likes me. or i'll like him as long as he doesn't like me and because of this, allow myself to get close to him physically, while still maintaining a safe emotional distance. does any of this make sense? i really can't even fucking tell. my brain isn't the right state for this.

honestly.

this is what you'd hear if i could speak my mind.

i am a neuron

shocking and small

wrapped in layers

and layers

of fat.

.....................................

my mind

the Pyrex cup that holds 

my sanity, fluid

half empty, half full

hot to the touch

impossible to hold

the cold stream of reality flows

it cracks. 

.................................

don't fight mania, don't fight depression

glide, slide, slip, trip 

upwards into the clear canvas of elevation

sink, fall, descend, recline 

backwards, down into the seat of madness. 

........

i'm all kinetic and no potential. 

honestly.