Loose threads

(Tonight I'm listening to the Guillemots. Fantastic album. They're one of those bands I heard on the radio, really liked, and then forgot about. I'm so glad they wandered back to my ears.)

One snag can end an entire dress. A dress you love, a dress that falls on you and looks perfect. And then one day, you lean too close to a wall, and there's a nail there. An old, unassuming, just-barely-sticking-out nail that sticks it's hangnail into a tiny loop you can't even see. And then it all begins to unravel. Maybe you don't notice it the first time you wash it, but the second time you wash it, suddenly it's a hole. And your heart sinks, not really because of the garment, but because of the way it made you feel, even temporarily. You'll never have it again, at least not the same way. It's hard to replace a dress like that.

This is how my brain operates. Like everything will be lovely. I'll be productive and healthy, singing without noticing. And then the rusty nail comes out, and all it takes is one snag. One little thing that I'll do wrong, one thing that maybe I didn't even do wrong, but just think I did wrong, and it'll latch on and unravel all of my happiness. I'm actually starting to notice it more and more as it's happening, which I suppose is progress. The first thing that descends is the exhaustion. I become too tired to complete any of the tasks I assigned to myself, probably because I've spent all my emotional energy worrying about this thing. Then I resort to escapism, usually in the form of a movie or a book. Then I might eat something, not necessarily junk food, but something that makes me feel guilty about eating whatever I'm eating (tonight it was tofu, celery and a soy fudgicle). The lowest point is when I begin stressing about the fat that is clearly going to build up as a result of eating and stressing. It's a vicious cycle, and results in me feeling like a pile of tangled thread at the bottom of a junk drawer.

In addition to this, I've realized that I'll probably never be able to meet and date a man, because I have fucking issues. I hate it when guys throw their game at me. I hate it so much, I've discovered, that I end up turning away perfectly wonderful men. And yes, maybe the perfectly wonderful men were not perfectly wonderful for me, but I never find out, because I get so sick of their cheesy-ass bullshit that I don't give them a second chance. I just want them to be honest with me -- is that too much to ask? To let go of their normal come-to-the-party-in-my-pants lines and just talk to me, like a person who maybe they might like to connect with intellectually, and hey, what a nice bonus it is that we're sexually attracted to each other. Oh, but no, that's too much to ask. Guys seriously, girls know when you're coming onto them -- is subtlety out of the question? Or perhaps, could you for a minute stop undressing me with your eyes and just think about what we're talking about, or how I'm reacting to you? Amazing. I think I might just be actually, completely doomed to spend my life alone.