I have hit such an emotional shock bottom ground that I can’t find a good metaphor: “You’ve found all your property stock is in Sodom and Gomorrah Development.”; "Maybe giving Nero that violin wasn't the best gift...."
I’ll blog about IT (this emotional THING) tomorrow when enough time has passed that I can make rational sense of things. My OTHER highlights for the day were a) A women who grew up in the Soviet occupied East telling me that she could never have handled the level of constant watching, punishment and fear that was standard in my pre-adult life. And b) returning home to find an email (in my junkmail) from the gay TV company Here! communications director saying they wanted to talk about my blog on an upcoming podcast and need my permission. I got so excited that by going to get the email out of the junk folder to put it in my inbox, somehow the junk folder deleted the entire contents instead. Chance to reply: gone!
Okay, those were the good things that happened to me today. So like that old saying, “as you getting closer to the smell of leaking gas, just keep lighting matches” things often seem darkest before the gigantic explosion and smell of burning hair.
I thought it would amuse in a light "ha ha" way to lay the sins of heterosexuals at the doorstep of my overnight care-worker as this is a common joke thing between us (I think she would be happier as a lesbian since she thinks a lot of men are idiots and she thinks that....a lot of men do idiotic things). She seems to have lesbian friends and like talking the lesbian talk but then when it gets to a certain point in the discussion (like buying strap-ons) she puts her fingers in her ears and goes “lalalalalalalala.” Also from her comments on male anatomy (she doesn’t find the penis odd looking or humorous), she seems definitely hetero. So I told her about the “ah ah ah!” and the wall banging at 2:38 a.m. in Seattle. A little joke about how my sleep and life was made poor by the rampant spread of hetero sex (it happens all the time....even in YOUR neighborhood!).
Bad move. She didn’t sleep but a few hours the night before because at 3:00 a.m. her lesbian neighbor woke her up with the sounds of sex with the girlfriend she had brought home. “Ah……!” I said knowing where this was going. I would have edged away if possible (knowing the average time of lesbian sex I already knew where this story was going).
“At 6:00 a.m.!” my care worker continued, voice raised and rather animated, “I was banging on the wall begging them to keep it down.” She glared at me (no, wasn’t me, honest!), “And the guy on the other side of them was banging the wall to make them shut up so loud even I could hear it!” She glared at me again.
Just thinking the physcial dynamics involved I asked, “Didn’t she start getting hoarse….I mean, if she was screaming for three hours?”
My home worker gave the high voltage 1,000 yard stare of someone who has been up all night listening to the neighbors having sex and grated out, “They kept changing off.”
I was thinking, “So not a ‘butch in the sheets’ then?” but decided to let that whole subject drop as I wasn’t about to get any sympathy from her regarding the loud sex of heterosexuals any time soon. Still kept thinking, “Three hours of screaming?” I mean an hour of low moaning and “oh yeah!” with two hours of alternating crescendos I understand but three full hours of screaming? What am I doing wrong?
And that is about it, unless you have a story about a friend with webbed feet. I have several friends with webbed feet and third nipples but they are all in the UK. Here in North America either a) people don’t get webbed feet or b) they don’t like to talk about them. Even though I actually ask: “Hey, know anyone with webbed feet.” I asked on Tuesday when this girl down at the video store has the most amazing kinked black hair she would have looked great in front of one of those big microphones and so I asked her, “Do you sing Jazz?” and she thought I asked if she had ‘ringback’ like for a phone. So it was no, then I explained how amazing her 1930’s hair was and she said that was actually the look she was going for and mentally put me in a lower class of weirdo who asks random questions (instead of the stalkerish kind who is asking for her phone number). So now that I was only a 'sub-stalker' it seemed a good time to do the, "Know anyone with webbed feet?" question. Did I mention I am housebound and don't GET OUT a lot (I might be losing social skills).
And that is it, except for this one guy who traded stories about European Travel with me. Only every story I told was interrupted with “So that’s when…(sad look at wheelchair)….this happened to you?” And I’m like, “No, that was when I was squatting in an abandoned youth hostel in Athens and the woman I shared the room with left that morning and never returned, all of her luggage just left behind. While the five of us remaining were living off a case of Uzo found in the basement and trying to figure out what club to go to by which one had the least amount of deaths during the previous week.”
Tomorrow the day worker I like comes back. I think I freaked her on Tuesday because I had to take (a lot of) pain pills while she was there. She wanted to know why and I told her I thought the pain was affecting my thinking. She asked why I would think that and I told her someone had asked me 15 minutes earlier what I wanted for the New Year and my first mental thought was, “I want to die, right now!” Which I told her seemed evidence of biased thinking. She used a lot of different words and phrases but I think the basic summary was: “I agree and maybe you should take your pills before you go around thinking ‘I want to die, right now!’”
Final random note of oddness: after having this huge emotional skyscraper fall on me last night, I told Linda in this very monotone voice that I thought she should hide the knives for the next day or two (so no slicing and dicing to Beth’s skin). I wake up this morning, I finally get out of bed and there is an email from Linda saying. “I just remembered that you asked me to hide the knives. Sorry, I totally forgot about doing that.” And I’m just sitting, in front of the computer, staring at the screen, trying to understand why she would email me to let me know that sorry, all the knives are JUST WHERE YOU SHARPENED AND LEFT THEM.
I guess that shows you where I am mentally if that seemed pretty funny.
6 hours ago