Friday, March 12, 2010


in the midst of packing for a quick weekend jaunt to new york for fun and friendship (with faces!), i am moved suddenly to confess something(s).

figuring what dignity/mystery/facade crafted as pride and strength i may have at any point possessed surrendered now, after spending a solid 20 minutes butt naked and barfing out the contents of my stomach in my beloved's bathroom post romantic (and rich, disgustingly sickeningly buttery rich) dinner date last night, i feel oddly comfortable admitting to you, internet, that i am nervous. (not just the lingering stomach cramps talking! real live feelings! jitters!)

about many things.
it being march and a new season round the bend here,
it being march and cutting the figure it does,
it being march and the winter lifting,
i admit that i fear my inadequacy to live up to the potential and promise 2010 has thus far presented.
i fear that i am not a particularly good writer,
that i will disappoint those who have not only voiced but demonstrated their support,
that i will not lose the winter weight and that my body will never again be beach blanket bingo ready,
that i am neither sensitive nor intuitive enough to be the kind of friend my friends deserve, 
that my dog will die because my common sense gauge on relative health is epically distorted,
that i will consistently fail to tell and show those i love my gratitude for and faith in them,
that my succumbing to the whims of my feeble stomach will prove beyond any doubt to those i adore that i am disgusting, unattractive, weak of will and digestive system,
that i will never finish a sunday crossword puzzle,
that i will succinctly and resolutely fail to live up to any expectations or hopes for my character and humor possibly held by people - friends of friends - i've never met in real life but whose amity, if anecdotes and feelings shared by those mutual acquaintances are to be at all trusted and held in any of the esteems dictated by the tenets of friendship, i should hope to win this very weekend.

i admit that i long to love my own skin.
that i've much to learn about moving around inside myself.
that i can be more graceful in this body and mind, that i can use my words more eloquently.
certainly more concisely.
that i cannot change the person i am nor can i influence how others define or treat me.
that i am a very small thing with very small worries.

i admit not only these things, but also that i'd be foolish to presume there's a single interesting or original neurotic crumb in the whole silly pile.
it is beyond no one to fear failure or to crave acceptance. it may even be a healthy exercise to, on occasion, acknowledge these moments of weakness and vulnerability, to live and speak sincerely, if only for a moment, if only here alone, nursing a volatile stomach, with only my possibly dying dog and internet upon which to heap this impulse to honesty.

thank you for listening, internet. now i've a bag to finish packing and some new friends to make.


Alicia B said...

With the knowledge from where I stand that you exceed the you expected, are in fact brimming with it, threatening spillage, I'll herein plagiarize the once-words of someone still-surely-much wiser than me, "Get a hold of yourself." Which is to say, calm down, pack some pretty things and that pretty personality, and heed nature's less re: snails. That is: we ain't for eatin' young lady.

Simon Lach said...

Re: Sunday Xwords. I've got so many almost done. But who was in that opera in 1903? Alas, I may never know.

klooky said...

simon, i've got a book dedicated solely to the nyt sunday puzzles. let's summer (v. to get awesome on) 'em.