My energy levels were soaring, but they plunged quicker than you could say "chronically obsessive". So the tone of this, compared to my mood should be interesting.
Although I am sure that by now, you are wondering why you should want to say, "chronically obsessive". Well perhaps its because I am. Perhaps its because I know people who are. Chronic obsession had been on my mind lately. I wish I could plunge further, but for once, my better self steps in and draws the line. There are some pages in this open book which must be unreadable.
So lets leave that behind. Forget your curiosity. Because there is plenty of material at hand.
My evening was going horribly. I was irritated. The slightest wrong look, the slightest ill spoken word, would send me over the edge of my placid alienation in the realm of worry over chronic obsession, into a fury and a rage of extremity.
And thus, my siblings picked this evening, of all evenings, to be most rude, and discourteous as they could possibly be. I stood at the counter dumping leftover spaghetti noodles into a Tupperware container, and here comes my nine year old sister. She begins demanding and whining for a bowl. She whines and cries for a bowl and chocolate ice cream. Someone get her ice cream now. She wants it Nooooooooooowwwwwwwwww. Not later. Ignore all the dishes. Ignore that the kitchen is uncleaned. Ignore that I am occupied. The world revolves around her. She wants a heaping bowl of chocolate ice cream now. I quivered inside. I could not stand this behavior. I ignored it. I stood and gestured and glared until I couldn't stand her anymore. I yelled, somewhat calmly though, that she needed to have a moments patience while we clean up the kitchen.
Well she heard, but she did not heed. She went straight for the cupboard, climbed onto the counter, and pulled out a bowl for ice cream. She then gathered a spoon and the container of ice cream and set to howling again. I ignored. With ease. No one would scoop yet. I told her again to have a moment's patience and she was quiet this time. Not too long though and she was demanding the ice cream scoop. I told her that it was in the dishwasher, I would take it out and wash it off if she would have a moment's patience. Scarcely thirty seconds later she is demanding the ice cream scoop again, and very angrily. I calmly tell her again that she must wait and my mother was there that time and heard. She concurred with me and pointed out to my sister that I had just asked her to be patient. Thank you mother. I removed the ice cream scoop from the dishwasher and hand washed it for immediate usage, then gave it to my sister.
She then whined that she needed someone to scoop her ice cream. I just scrubbed the dessert pan from two nights ago which was finally bereft of dessert. By the time I was done and wiping the counters, my sister had scooped her own ice cream. I should have thanked her for that. If she is going to be that impatient, yes, she will have to scoop her own ice cream.
That was not the only instance that night, but this is something notable to illustrate what sort of events I dealt with to build up my irritability.
Finally I had done all I had to do, and I trotted downstairs to sign onto messenger and talk with my friends.
And there is dear Jesse. He messages me and asks me how I am, but without awaiting a reply, he asks me that question which I so love to hear from him, "Wanna have some fun?" accompanied by a devilish smiley. My anger immediately began to withdraw into a tight compartment within me. A slow, malice filled smile graced my face. I knew what we would do, but I asked to be sure, "What do you have in mind?". My suspicions were confirmed.
An explanation is in order. Jesse and I have a little game we play. We play boyfriend/girlfriend. Just play. He invites me into one of his conversations, and we exchange cozy, mushy banter back and forth in front of the third party. We fling endearing epithets at each other. Expressions of undying love. Simply to completely weird out the third party. And oh how it works. It is some of the most fun I have.
And tonight, we were going to play our game. But with a twist. We are boyfriend/girlfriend fighting. Yes. We decided that the scenario would be, that he stole my favorite cd, Demonstrates Plastic and Elastic from The Violet Burning, and I was angry with him. He invited me into his conversation and told me to get angry. No holds barred. Let out all the rage I have. Everything I have built up. Let it out. No restraint.
And oh but I did.
And oh but it felt so good.
It is that which everyone in anger wishes for. A safe outlet for every single last piece of petulance. A figurative punching bag. A chance to release every vehement word and action you have, without any guilt. No fear of hurting the one on the other end. The one receiving this abuse. The onlooker doesn't have a clue who you are. You will never speak again. You can't hurt this person. This person is an innocent bystander.
And then for a girl, the dream gets better. The innocent bystander is another girl. One who is more than happy to egg you on and agree with you. A girl who feels your pain and pities you, although she doesn't know. You are a fellow female and she empathizes with you and will gladly vilify her friend. Oh maybe still on the fence between us and rather unsure, especially when things heat up, but a girl will sit by her fellow girl.
Its a dream come true.
And so I put my keyboard in caps lock and let her rip. I banged out words of wrath and anger sprinkled with profanity for emphasis. I pretended to throw stools. I even ventured to slap him. I screamed and shouted my heart out (well not really...it was, after all, just a conversation, but I "aahed" and "aieed" and the caps of course. It was the intended meaning).
It was so therapeutic. I didn't know I had all that rage built up. I didn't know I needed to vent my wrath.
Once I had vented every last bit of my pent up irascibility I left the conversation. I gave a final angry flourish pronouncing my extreme hatred for Jesse and my contempt for him being a thief in denial and I tossed one last stool.
And I felt light as a feather. All the anger gone.
Although I guess I do feel sorry for that poor girl. Cowering behind one of the stools I had thrown. Poor dear. Jesse and I were just having fun. But she had no idea. I seemed so angry...
And she thought Jesse liked me. So we both played our parts well.
Now, not to scare Jesse, but I was so thankful for what he had arranged. I was so thankful for that opportunity to beat him up for no real reason. I wanted to catch him and kiss him when I was done. But I knew he would not appreciate that. I really didn't think he would enjoy me really and honestly going mushy on him expressing my gratitude for what he had done for me. So I restrained myself.
He is so much my opposite, but he still understands so well. He knows what a person can need. And his timing can be impeccable. I love the boy to bits and pieces. I feel forever in his debt for all that he has done for me. And tonight was just more. And I am so grateful for him. For having such a good friend. And really, I could still catch him and kiss him.
I wish that everyone could have such a friend. A friend who is willing to arrange situations for you to give your anger a safe outlet when it is needed. Not everyone can though. I wish I could be so for others, but I have very few friends and could not arrange these sort of things. So I am thankful for the friend I have. More so than I could ever express in words.
If that wasn't enough, no sooner than he left but there was my Billy. And then... oh dear but my friends are too good for me I think. My heart nigh overflowed.
I feel so inadequate and undeserving. Oh that I could repay them all... I make stabs at it every now and then, but I think the efforts are weak, at best. My family are not terribly loving and nurturing people, and so I tend to be a little clumsy in my attempts to be so. I think I fear that maybe sometimes my feelings are stronger than they should be. That they are stronger than the other person's, thus I will be rejected. I don't want to be rejected and thus embarrassed. I don't want to put the other person on the spot if I have expressed more feelings than they can reciprocate.
Fear of rejection. Dangerous lust for approval. Themes. Constant themes.
But they haven't been too major lately I suppose.
Or maybe they tie into the chronic obsession.
And the entry ends the same as it started. And I still won't straight out talk about chronic obsession.
Maybe it occupies me so, because I like the sound of it.
Chronic Obsession. Its ear candy.
Note to self: "I" is being overworked. Come on now. Give it a rest.
Oh yes. I only said half of what I wanted to say, but I really don't want to overwhelm everyone. Patience...Patience...