Shadowboxing

(This post was written on Monday, Feb. 2, just not finished until today.)

 

On my way into the subway on my way home from work today, I overheard the following conversation:

Girl: So, wait...what do you think about Jesus?

Boy: I believe he was a prophet.

Girl: Yeah, so that's where you and I differ.  I don't believe in aliens, and I don't believe in Jesus.  I mean, I believe he existed, but I don't believe...like...he walked on water.  Because if he walked on water, why aren't WE walking on water?

Boy: Um...because we're not Jesus.

 

Me (interior dialogue): What kind of circular logic is that?  "I don't believe that this guy could do something ordinary humans can't, because ordinary humans can't do what this guy did."  I mean, do you know the sound of millions of militant atheists' hands slapping their foreheads at the same time?  I have heard it, my friends, and it involved a LOT of "like, okay"s.

 

Then Girl went back to the topic of aliens, and how incredulous she was at the idea that anyone could Want to Believe...

Boy: Are you well-informed on the topic?

 

Shorly thereafter, Girl got stuck in the turnstile.

 

QED and shit.

 

So this is my way of saying that today has just been one big existential/philosophical crisis here at The Alchemist.  Yesterday, I went about my normal Sunday chores.  This week, they involved stripping my bed in order to wash my sheets (Sunday morning is my allotted laundry time at Chez Wahooty) and making various accoutrements pour le Boule du Super.  (And no, I don't parlez le francais, but I DO know that "boule" means bread, not bowl.  But I will have you know that I was making some super beer bread, among other things, so SUCK ON IT, you hosers.  See what I did there? I am a cheeky bilingual monkey.)  But since nothing ever seems to go as planned in le Monde du Wahooty, the washer and dryer were otherwise occupied/disabled.  And, while I have no problem sleeping on dirty sheets, there is just something so fundamentally WRONG about stripping the bed...and PUTTING THE DIRTY SHEETS BACK ON.  I think there's a very profound metaphor for my life somewhere in there, but it hasn't poked its little nose out to see its shadow yet (see what I did there?).  At any rate, I didn't have to deal with it immediately, as my plans for the rest of the day were comprised of heading over to The Boy's friend's house to watch the Super Bowl with The Only Canadian I Know Who Likes Football (tm).  And The Boy, but he was coming back from playing Army all weekend, so he just snored on the couch the whole time.  And TOCIKWLF(tm) just happens to have clean sheets.  And lots and lots of loaded questions about The Boy and our Future together.  This is one of my fundamental problems with dating The Boy.  He is, for the most part, great, and wonderful, and treating me like, okay, the queen and shit.  But, in his words, "I think my friends like [okay] you more than they like [okay] me."  Which means his friends are quite possibly more invested in our future together than either him or I are.  We are taking things slowly and sensibly like grownups, while they have us playground married already.  "Playground married" is a term that I made up while talking to MadMup tonight to describe that state where everyone keeps telling you that you're in love and going to get married and have babies while you sit there blinking and wondering what the hell is going on.  So I get to work today, having started my day with a screaming tension headache (instead of a good, honest screaming hangover like most sensible football fans), and take a moment to look at job listings again.  And every time I click on a listing, my thought process isn't just, "would I want to move there?  Do I want to do that job?" but rather, "would I want to move there?  Do I want to do that job?  Would he want to move there?  Would he find a job that he wants to do there?  What if he proposes before I move?  What if I take him with me and then he proposes and I end up saying no?"

 

And this is approximately the point where I start breathing heavily into a paper bag.

 

I am having a hard enough time making a major life decision for myself, without it being weighed down with the added dimension of "Do I want to take Him with me?"

I am being literal here.  I can feel the pressure on my chest when the question drifts into my mind.  And no, that's not just The Boy feeling me up.  This walking on water shit is hard enough without someone else riding piggyback.

That's two, TWO! major life decisions for the price of one!  How much would YOU pay for this potentially marital dilemma???

 

Far too steep for a Monday morning, my friend.  So I sign up to interview at a conference I'm going to in March (pro-active, yet not committing to applying to any one particular job, so it's safe) and, just for shits and giggles, peruse the US government job listings.  And realize that the one thing that all of the jobs I am not over-qualified to do have in common is... I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO DO THEM.  So I post a panicky (yet humorous) Facebook status and try to redirect my focus to my current job. 

 

 

Which worked pretty well for the rest of the day.

 

But have you ever had one of those days where all kinds of emotions just seem determined to hurtle at you from every direction, your mood swings so quick that you can't even identify them before they've swung in another direction? 

When I had lunch at 3, I ate leftover chili and browsed the paper. 

My horoscope made me cry.

"A complicated and tortuous ordeal has caused you to dwell on your shortcomings.  Even when you think you're at your worst, you are truly exceptional."

Thanks, Cosmos.  I needed that.

For some reason, the Cosmos seems to know when you're having one of these days, and all sorts of random people that you haven't talked to in ages come out of the woodwork...wanting to chat...further muddying your thought processes with long-forgotten memories and relationships.

 

I get through the afternoon, and a ride home with TOCIKWILF(tm) that only confirms that my concerns/reservations regarding The Boy are not, in fact, all in my head, or even unique to me.  I settle in for a quiet evening at home.  But while I'm fixing my dinner, an old friend from high school IMs me, asking about my blog and bringing up old memories of favorite teachers and gets me thinking about exactly how much I've changed over the last 15 years. 

He summed it up quite succinctly: "I know how you're different from high school. You're fun now."

My words exactly.

Then Em IMs me about Heroes. [Like] Okay, VERY welcome inane conversation.

Then I fiddle with my Facebook status again, and give myself a severe case of the giggles:

 

Then, MadMup IMs me for the first time in, like [okay] a year or so.  And we talk about all kinds of things pertaining to friendship, and relationships, and pretty much rehash everything that has been going through my mind for the last 24 hours in about 15 minutes.  Another conversational equivalent of a kitten batting around a milk ring - no big life issues are resolved (or are likely ever going to be), but at least I'm feeling actively engaged by the process.

 

And then I watched The City.

(And The Aftershow.)

Shut up.

 

And now I'm sitting here, trying to process everything, positive AND negative, that has so unexpectedly bubbled up to the surface over the last few hours.

 

And my dirty sheets are still in a heap with my naked pillows. 

Time to make my filthy bed... and lie in it.