Saturday, September 26, 2015

What's really going on?

Getting out of my own head requires practice. First, I have had to come to the realization that I will never be perfect at this. It has been 36 years and let's just say things have gotten real comfy up there. I have the overwhelming need to plan everything out in my head before it happens. God help me if the outcome isn't something I prepared for. Two words. Serotonin shitstorm.

I see this psychologist every other week. He swirls around 360 degrees in his chair and bites the tip of his pen,while intermittently adjusting his footrest on the couch with the ugly cat pillows next to me. I question sometimes if he's plotting dinner plans or formulating methods to aid me in my biweekly quandaries. I give Dr Mike updates on my socialization (we are on a semi first name basis, even though every other visit he calls me by someone else's name, who he says I look like and then laughs about it and I'm left trying to understand where the humor is in making the same mistake over and over ). Anyway, I tell him that I've become acutely aware of a particular pattern when I meet new people. Mostly this happens on an intimate level. See, I joined this dating website to meet guys because quite simply, I'm better with words on paper than in person. There's that saying “put your best foot forward”, and this seemed like a good way to do that. In theory.

This is usually how it works. I'll answer a letter from someone I'm interested in, maybe exchange numbers after I get tired of logging in with my password to check my mail, text a few days, send cute emojis, we should's, one day's, and I look forward to it's. While all this seemingly appropriate behavior is going on, I'm busy planning our first vacation, our wedding and visualizing if his genetic makeup will be good enough to produce hearty offspring, before we even meet in person. I tell Dr. Mike I'm embarrassed about this,and it happens often enough that I'm forced to solicit advice from my fourteen year old in between our visits. I have trouble taking things slow. I tell him, I want to learn to walk to conclusions instead of instinctively jumping. I want to learn how to be still, patient, and let things happen organic. After all, I'm forever a fan of unprocessed.

I pray .God please don't let me switch out my granny panties for the fancies or paint my nails the ugly color he likes too soon.

But my brain makes everything stick. There's not too much give when it comes to certain ideas I have inside my head. What if I want things to move around? Mobility equals possibility right? Dr Mike says its okay to imagine things, as long as I don't let the thoughts take over my behavior. Sometimes I think he forgets why I'm there.

I have learned which facial expressions are generally the ones I don't want to produce in back and forth conversations. Imagine a second dinner date going something like this.

“So I've researched the genetic components associated with eye color and heredity and according to my findings, there is enough scientific evidence to conclude our future children will be born with hazel eyes.”

All I see are Halloween masks.

But there's good news. There are plenty of fish in the sea, that is, if fish were men and the sea wasn't the sea at all, but a giant landmass we call a continent. (although I'd much rather decrease the general vicinity in which my mate is located to a “within 50 miles radius”) I can always try again. Maybe oversharing isn't all wrong anyway. Maybe its just making the process of finding my person, faster.

Look I get it. I'm not up on all the social cues but I know enough to understand I'm not for everyone. But that's completely fine because everyone isn't for me. In time, I'll be able to navigate conversations with a little more understanding. It's gonna take practice, a ton of really confusing facial expressions, canceled yet never really made wedding plans, an array of pigment, and the piecing of all this together on the couch with the ugly cat pillows. I'm pretty okay with that. Until next time. Stay weird.  

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