Freaked out. Insecure. Neurotic. Emotional.

Let's find out what's on my mind, na?

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I'm like Gollum. I both hate and love the ring, just as I hate and love myself. What is my ring? Men who dance. Not just dance. Men who dance divinely.
I love dancing with a man who can make me feel like I can waltz - even though I know I can't. I love men who not only spin their partners - but who know how to do it with so much flair and finesse that the entire song becomes a pattern of complex twists and dips. This is a great thing for me because I know how to spin - and as long as I keep spinning I don't have to worry about my lacking footwork and the basic steps I don't know. I just really love dancing with a man who's good enough at what he does to make me feel like I can dance too.
So why do I hate it? Because nothing makes you feel quite so clumsy and pathetic as being unable to even follow a basic step when you're paired with someone so much more skilled than yourself. After stepping on a few guys' toes and sitting out for a few minutes to watch the people who obviously know exactly what they're doing and look good doing it, it's so easy to become self-conscious. And once that one blow to the esteem lands on a weak spot, all the others just start pummeling you from all sorts of sides. Funny how something like dancing well (or poorly) can change your perception of yourself as attractive (or not) in a matter of minutes. Go figure.

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I got to see my second family today! I've liked to think of my friend Calli's family as my own surrogate haven through my growing years. They've provided a wonderful example in a lot of ways for the kind of family I hope to have someday.
With four children ranging from the mid-twenties to late teens in age (plus a father whose work periodically takes him overseas), it's been a few years since I've seen all of this family together at once. Today when I popped by Calli's place, I discovered that the parents and youngest daughter had come to visit with the other children (who all happen to be here at the Y - for the time being). It was such a strange, happy sight for me - seeing them all together under one roof again. It makes me hopeful for similar reunions that could be in my future - half a lifetime down the road from now.

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I need a babysitter. I swear I'm too scatterbrained to keep myself alive most days. What was my mother thinking letting me out of the house (let alone the state) without an escort?
I consider any day in which I remember that I need food before 2 or 3 in the afternoon a pretty dang excellent day. It's not like I'm worried about my weight and try to eat less or anything ridiculous like that. I love food way too much to ever even consider it. I just... forget that I don't really benefit from food until I take time to... yanno... eat it.
I spent 2 1/2 days combing my apartment for my wallet this week. As all the girls have been packing and scrubbing all week, I figured it would turn up eventually and didn't get too worried. After all, there were a lot of messes it could've been hiding in. But by Thursday night, I'd realized I was in trouble because everything had been packed and cleaned. My wallet was -still- missing. I started trying to retrace my steps of the past week - and it's dreadful scary how little of the week I've been living in I can actually remember. o.O Made some phone calls, did some stressing... No wallet. This morning I got a call from Calli, informing me that I'd left my wallet at her place Monday night. ...Oh, yeah. I'd kinda forgotten I'd even been there (for 6 hours) until she mentioned it. So around mid-day I took a break from the final cleaning that was going on and went to retrieve the wayward wallet. Mission accomplished. Yaaaaay!
So... a few short hours later, I'd managed to finally eviscerate the final dregs of evidence to suggest that any human being had ever lived in our apartment, gave myself a satisfied pat on the back, and closed the door... And then started wondering what I'd done with my keys. >.< In case you're wondering, the keys were also, eventually, found. (Hours and hours later, after a bit more stressing.)
I wonder if my constant state of oblivion is more stressful for me because of the trouble it gets me into or my mother because of the worrying she knows she has every right to do? Hmm...

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My mother did not raise me to be a mooch. Whilst the wallet was missing, I had offers from friends to help me pay for things I needed. My roommates took their kitchen supplies (including the microwave) and left me without the means to cook anything but cold cereal for myself, and I had friends offer me warm food as a result. They were so anxious to be helpful - and persistent. I'm glad they were because it enabled me to get my work done and gave me a warm meal when I needed it. But I still felt bad about it. Guilty for being needy, I guess. I feel like I have to return the favor, and I don't like being in debt. Heck - I won't even ask for rides to the grocery store from my friends or roommates. If I need something, I'll walk the half hour it takes to get there just so I can do it myself. I hate being a burden to other people.
This mooching also applies to simple things like company. I don't care how many times a friend says 'You're always welcome to visit/tag along/eat/whatever,' or 'Consider yourself invited to anything you'd like to go to.' I refuse to take up that open-ended offer. I used to have a very bad habit of forcing my company on people who didn't really want it, and I didn't realize it. I try so hard not to do that anymore, and I won't invite myself back into that situation. So thanks, but if you really want me to participate, I'm going to need a more specific invitation. Them's the brakes.


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I am so bleeding tired. That's all, folks.


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Quote - "Your mom." Thanks, Manly Man ^.~
Music - "The Rose," Bette Midler
Mood - F.I.N.E.