Sunday, January 07, 2007

31: The rebirth of Polly Positive

This week no one talked within the walls of my therapy room. Everyone was in fact very, very quiet. This is not always good for me.
As much as I like my own peace and solitude from time to time, when I have patient after patient who is tight-lipped (and with good reason- after all it is your time) I sort of lose my mind. My paranoia kicks in and I will pick apart anything I can think of.
So this week, I mostly thought about my birthday.

Tomorrow I turn 31. It's not a big deal. At one point I wanted it to be, and then I promptly changed my mind. I usually do a big dinner, me, my significant other and my close friends. This is the first year in ten that I did not plan a dinner. Instead I am seeing everyone separately. It just worked out that way. It's fine with me. It gives me more to do. I actually like going out to dinner and having witty dinner conversation, cocktails, people watching and all that jazz, but it's very hard to do that with mixed company. I think I am better at one-on-one conversations.
I am digressing.
Anyway, because no one has been talking this past week, I have no good stories, only my own- which isn't good by far.
This may sound stupid and me talking about it makes me feel even stupider.
But,
I have no idea what I want.
Seriously.
I mean I know what I want in the grand scheme of things, a successful career, husband, child, home, a job I like, pets at my feet, a degree I can use, more time to write, more time to read, more time to learn and so forth and so forth.
OK. May be I do know what I want, in life. But ask me what I want for dinner, or for Christmas, or for my birthday and I come up empty. It's hard for me.
Maybe I am just not that materialistic and that makes me feel like less of a person because I can't think of anything I want that can be bought in a store. Is something wrong with me? Anyone else would have a list at any given time. I can walk into a shop see a sweater and buy it, though have no plans to go out and look for something specific- ever.
Why the fuck am I even complaining. I am beginning to think this post is ridiculous.

I think I am just slightly annoyed and irritated to be asked repeatedly what I want for my birthday. I know, I'm a dick. People care for me and take the time to ask me genuinely what its is that my heart desires, and I complain. Asshole.

Yesterday I had a massage at a fancy-ass spa, and when Nathan my masseur asked me what I wanted to work on today, I was nervous, not because I was about to be massaged by a young guy ( who was CLEARLY gay, so save your oohs and ahhs), but I was almost paralyzed with confusion, to have to tell some perfect stranger exactly what it is I wanted. I managed. But not after my nervous banter for the first 15 mins of the session.

sigh.

I love you, friends and family...
but,
stop asking me what I want, please.
I can't even decide what color underwear to put on in the morning.

At the risk of sounding pretentious or unrealistic or maybe optimistic, even a bit sappy this is what you can get me.

In a big box, please fill with the following:
Good conversation, an ear you will lend me in my rants and raves, your loyalty, your love, your kindness, your ability to laugh and make me laugh as well. How about french toast at 10:30pm and wine at 9:00am? I would also like some fucking optimism in times of despair. Sing out loud with me in off-key tones when I am driving way too fast.
I want what you cannot buy. I want ease. I want comfort.

But if you can find me Earth Wind and Fires greatest hits, that would be nice as well.

I'm off to bed now.
So long, 30.

Happy Birthday to me.

1 Comments:

Blogger Edward said...

Happy Birthday to you, Red.

Good post, all indications to the contrary notwithstanding.

6:21 AM  

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