I'm not crazy

The title of my blog should alert you to the fact that what I really am is a 15 year old kid trapped in the sub-par body of a 36 year old woman. And if you've been around here for awhile, you will see that I just might think that I'm wittier or more interesting than I actually am, which is yet another clue. Delusional? Yes, that's me. The kid making snarky comments under her breath at band rehearsals: that was me, too. Does a mature person think that other people are interested in her iTunes purchases? Or worse, does a mature person not care if people are interested and posts it anyway?

I mean, the truth is, try as I might (and maybe I just don't try), for the most part and with few exceptions (repeating it like that makes it seem more real, doesn't it), I act and react to life in much the same way as I did in 1988. Ah, a grand year, 1988. Not too many firsts and precious few lasts, but some things that occurred during that year really made an impression on me. And some things that didn't happen that year, too.

It's not something to be proud of, this feeling. I mean, I don't know, maybe it is. Or maybe I should say, I'm proud of it, but I know that by being proud of my immaturity, it's just one more example of said immaturity and another reason to look elsewhere when you need, oh, say, advice about your relationship or the tax code or something. I will listen, I will care, but I am a prime example of "do as I say and not as I do [did]." My friends and co-workers, if they knew my secret thoughts and desires, would probably be shocked and/or disgusted. I CAN conduct myself with some professionalism, it's true: I've just recently told some people in my office (and everyone else heard it through the office grapevine) that I shall soon be leaving them to go work... in another office, and everyone (with the exception of my boss) has expressed (to my delight) dismay, so it's nice to finally be appreciated (and these people seem sincere, which is... awesome); but is it mature to be thinking, at those times, "yep, you're going to have to do ____ [insert task that I do for people that they should be able to do themselves, considering their salary and tenure, here] yourself, you fucking nitwit"? I think not. Is it mature to leave a job after 18 months? Is it mature to long for the days of working at the bookstore where the best part of my job was the daily trip to Rite-Aid for ice cream with Bo?

See, the thing is, aside from work, my thoughts haven't evolved that much beyond "does he know I exist" and "when's lunch." Sure, the "he" is now Stewart Copeland, and sure, lunch is now a big salad*, which I didn't have to scrounge for coins under the car seat to pay for. Sure, I listen to NPR. Sure, I read the New York Times, the Atlantic Monthly, the New Yorker. I don't drink coffee, I don't smoke (anymore), I don't drink to excess (much), and I don't listen to Amy Winehouse or know who Katy Perry is or what the Jonas Brothers sound like. But I also just downloaded "Since U Been Gone" and multiple covers of Pink Floyd songs: 15 year old me would've never admitted to the Kelly Clarkson, but would've been way down with the Pink Floyd.

I think what got me to thinking about all this is that I noticed I've been hanging on to one relationship... and I need to let go of it, I guess. See, even the "I guess" demonstrates a refusal to face facts. That relationship blossomed and tanked when I was 15. I know I think that this relationship is was something special because I had those special feelings, and because of them (or I should say, in spite of them), somehow I wasn't afraid (and: I was always afraid) to tell the person the way I felt. Yes, I did it in this stupid, convoluted way (that maybe I'm still a little in awe of. I did what? I can't even believe I had the guts to do it at all!), but even that makes it special. Is that mature? Would keeping my mouth shut and waiting and seeing what fate brought me have been more mature? Or going for it? I don't know. Bringing someone else on board my crazy train seems a little immature, to me. And then: I went for it, but then I gave up. I gave up too soon. So without really knowing if the person was worth all the build up and those crazy feelings - I did it anyway, but I let it slip away. And there's no fixing that.

Maybe it wasn't about them, anyway, but more about what I was capable of. What I was feeling. Ah. And is that mature?

No, it didn't work out. But it happened, and I got to see the results, and that was kind of cool. Sure: embarrassing. Sure: in the end, which took decades to come, actually, disappointing. And I get all that, that it's over and there will be no friendship to rise up out of the ashes this time. I get it but I've kind of been acting like I don't. Like a child. Like the next action I might take will involve "I Can't Stand Losing You" and a phone. No, I'm not going to do that - but 15 year old me, did. And thought it was a reasonable reaction.

Today I wrote this person a short, happy email and I signed off this way:

I'm (still) not crazy,
Irene

Just in case this person was worried. It's as if I'm thinking, writing got me into this mess, and maybe writing will get me out. I should remember the disappointment, up there, and that nothing really happened (nothing!), back in 1988, because that was the reality, and it's never going to be any different. And that's okay, I guess. I can let that be okay, if I try a little harder.

Maybe I have been a little crazy, and for that, I apologize. I can't say I won't do it again: maybe my brain will catch up with my physical state and I'll start acting like someone who could be the parent of a 15 year old rather than an actual 15 year old. I'll lay off the email, I promise. We've all done stupid things; I just seem to be carrying on a bit too much about it now. Let it go, Irene. Letting things go is a decidedly mature outlook on life, and I could stand to try it. I need to sit down and think about my actions, see if I can't grow up a little, and change.

No, wait, that's what a mature person would do. Instead, I'm going to go to the movies with Patrick, and maybe get some ice cream. Happy Friday, everybody.

*"Now" being defined as, since I rejoined Weight Watchers (yesterday), after discovering that I have gained 7 pounds. I have also decided that having the thought "goddamn I look tubby" every time I look in the mirror is a bad thing.