It's impossible to learn how kookoo one is without being really really close to one other.
It went like this.
Me: What are you doing today?
Him: Going to Long Island to pick up my computer, meeting Rachel to pick up wood, meeting with my roommates at 7, and having game night at 8.
Him: Wanna come to game night?
Me: Maybe. I may be sick still.
(I was sick. I had diarhea all night.)
Him: So what do you think is better sweet potato fries or tofu?
Me: Sweet potato tofu!
Him: That's not an answer.
Me: But that's a dumb question. They are different.
Him: Nope this is the question.
Me: I like sweet potatoes better than potatoes. And I like tofu.
Him: That's not the question! Just answer.
Me: No, this game is dumb. I quit.
Silence. Elbow squeezing.
Me: I feel kinda left out.
Me: Well, I mean it's really irrational but I feel it anyway so I don't need to talk about it.
Me: Oh nothing.
Me: I mean it's just that if I was in your situation, I would skip game night and hang out with you if you were sick. It's like you don't even think of that as an option.
Him: But you said you might feel better later.
Me: Yea, but I might not be.
Me: It's just that if you are having fun at a party with all of our friends and I am home alone sick, I am going to feel really jealous.
Him: I really don't get that. I feel like if I was sick, I would feel guilty if you were lying around with me. I don't want to be around people when I am sick.
Me: Well, I just feel left out.
Him: Well you're not left out because game night didn't even happen yet. Maybe I won't even go.
Me: But you said you were. Like when I asked you what your days events were.
Him: Well, Kyle invited me to game night last night and so I said I would go. You can come.
Me: But I may be sick still. I'm really feeling sick.
Me: It just doesn't seem like you care.
Him: What? I'm here right now!
Me: Yea, but later. I may be sick still and I will be all alone. And maybe I just want someone to take care of me now.
Him: Well, I can now. I'll go buy you food. What do you want?
Me: Nothing. I'm not hungry. It all sounds barfy.
Him: I need to eat something. I'm going to Pine Tree. Sure you don't want anything?
Me: No. I'll just eat oatmeal.
He gets up to put on his shoes. I get up to put on mine.
Him: I thought you weren't coming?
Me: Well, maybe I am.
We walk down the stairs to leave my apartment building.
Me: I guess I pick sweet potato.
As we walked to Pine Tree in the sad fall air, my thoughts began to wander/race/reflect/think/analyze/criticize/punch/hate/steep...
Oh my God, Meredith, what the hell is wrong with you, you neurotic piece of bologna? He wasn't even AT a party yet without you and you had already predicted your sad lonely self laying at home in your sad lonely small dark bedroom. You don't even know if you are going to be sick. In all honesty, you feel quite well right now. But you can't tell him. You can't? Why can't you? Oh yea, because you already decided so stubbornly that you were going to remain sick all day so that later you could be sad and sick all alone. Like a selfish shit, making him feel guilty. What is wrong with you, you slab of salami? Why must you always demand to obsess about how horrible the future may be? Why can't you just live in the frickin flippin moment, you slice of slimy turkey breast?
I think he was talking about something as we walked. It's all a blur. He was probably talking about numbers.
Oh bloody dirtbag! My thoughts continue... I've been like this my whole life! Holy shit! At 5, 7, 10, and 15 years old I was like this. I have constantly been setting myself up for a sad and lonely future that has NOTHING to do with the present moment. Jesus, you psycho meat dog!
Let's see...There was the time, or I guess it went on for months, that I prepared for grandma margie's death before she was even close to dying. I cried in bed thinking of my life without her. Then I would sit up and look in that mirror. That one hanging over my bed shaped like a flower. And I would watch myself cry. My face would get red, and my cheeks would get way chubbier than they were even in real life. And I would cry in front of it like that, thinking of grandma being dead. I just cried until my head hurt so bad that I fell asleep.
And then there was that really somber empty feeling. I still re-feel that one sometimes. It first happened when I went to HILLS with mom to buy cheap Christmas decorations. It felt so empty in those aisles. And everything felt so cheap in there. And the floors were dirty and the workers were depressed. That woman with those big gnarly glasses, fat rolls everywhere. That moment really took my heart out of my chest and made me wanna get pushed off into the forest in a shopping cart. And even when we left that place, the parking lot was so desolate. Sometimes I still feel the HILLS feel. Oh thats one of the spookier ones. Gives me the heebies just thinking of it.
Oh jesus and then there is that whole thing I did at night from ages 5-9. The whole 30 bajillion questions thing. When Mom put me to sleep I would ask her all of those kookie things about death! Am I going to swallow my tongue? Am I going to die in a fire? Is there going to be a tornado? Is someone going to kidnap me while I'm sleeping? Will I suffocate myself? Will that dead boy in the closet come out? Are you gonna die? Ok good. I love you more than all the tea in China and all of the stars in the sky.
God these thoughts are scary. I hate learning truths about myself. Stop thinking, ratface! Can I tell him all of these truths about me? Maybe he will dump me for fear that I am truly suicidal.
I looked over at him. He was talking. Something about basisomething statistics versus somethingblumpthing statistics.
Oh bless it! Then there was that rainy day walking to Whitney's in 5th grade. Oh the drudgery of poor weather and knowing that you are about to sit in a classroom all day! Ugh, I never wanna feel that one again! The dew from the grass seeping through my canvas boe-boes getting my toes all wet. Yuck!
And then when I drafted Dad's eulogy. I mean, I still think it's really good and I am going to fight for the right to be the speaker at his funeral. But what the fuck, who writes their dad's eulogy when he is 49?
No, no...I can't tell him. He'll dump me for sure. The eulogy thing was only 5 years ago. He will still think I am freshly psychotic and he will want out immediately...I'm too scared.
Later that day, I wasn't sick. So I went to game night.