Act natural

( Friday, Dec. 20, 2002 10:33 pm )

>Your attitude is welcome, welcome

I figured out my route. I'm leaving for home early tomorrow morning, taking seven different trains (if you count subways; 4 if not). I don't know. I feel tired and sad here, but I'm not especially looking forward to spending a week at home either.

I was walking home from the movies this evening, and the sun was setting and I was feeling miserable, but miserable like I was in a movie or something. I'm still not quite accustomed to seeing myself walking stoically down sidewalks on my way back to the place that is my home now for some reason or another. And I was thinking that I should reinstitute my ban on watching romantic comedies, because they turn my brain to pudding and make me prone to speaking in non sequiturs because I think I'm being cute, and they make me feel lonely. The worst thing is that in books and movies, the young, weirdo heroine (I am Jo March, I tell you) gets in a dark and hopeless mood never knowing that love and hope are just around the corner, headed her way, crinkly-eyed like Hugh Grant (I'm always watching his face get mashed around weirdly while he's kissing some American whorish girl: I watch Four Weddings obsessively around Valentine's Day). But in real life, it isn't like that. You can walk around the streets moping like Ally McBeal, but you still go to bed alone, and the just desserts that a good girl deserves never come. It isn't right or fair. Who gets to be happy anyway? And why not me?

I know it's not right or healthy of me to think that any guy who ever talks to me might possibly like me: that's such a juvenile way to behave. But. But. I admit it. I want to be in love. More so, I want somebody to love me. I used to think that I was too far gone, a hopeless case for life, but then in the last year--2002--things suddenly turned around for me for the first time ever, and maybe I started to have hope again. OK, I never doubted that I was an exceptional person, worthy, worthy, worthy, awesome as fuck, but I knew from long experience that nobody liked me that way. Or rarely. Whatever. It's just the worst thing when you start to see the possibilities of life--things that are just as good as you always suspected, or just as good as in books and movies--and then things are just the same as always. The possibilities shut down. I want to see my life as a progress, but it's either not progressing, or going so deathly slow that I can't tell. And it isn't fair that some people should have everything they want and it should be so hard for me.

Not fair, not fair. I'm tired of finding something to like in being stoical and ironic and prickly. It's not a moral high ground, it's a lack of opportunity to be anything else. So I suppose I'm very dignified, but maybe I don't think that's anything to be proud of anymore.

I'm sorry I'm not feeling very happy tonight. In the last year I've really been happier than I've ever been before, but right now I'm bogged down in loneliness instead of counting my blessings. I wish I could think of a good plan for the New Year, making my usual resolutions to be a Person Better Than I Am now, but the fact is that I already am a good girl, and in the New Year I know I'll be even more so: I'll work harder and be more detached and austere than ever: like I always think caring less and wanting less are the answer. Maybe so, maybe so. I don't know.

Sorry to angst on you. If I just had some reassurance that I'm a proper heroine with good things brewing just offstage...but that's not the way it works when you're a heroine.

Somebody kiss me please!

End of desperation entry. Please forget you read this.

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