Wednesday, March 05, 2008

T-t-t-tuesday

What a strange unsettling day.

First I got to spend the first two hours of it watching Leaving Las Vegas in my Disabilities Studies course, which - in case you haven't seen it - is an INCREDIBLY disturbing (because its true and terrifying) glimpse into the last weeks of a violent alcoholic's life as he drinks himself to death in the company of a fragile and sensitive prostitute played heartbreakingly by Elisabeth Shoe. The only good thing about that whole part of my morning was my delicious breakfast from the cart on 9th Avenue. Mmmmm coffee with vanilla creamer and a croissant with eggs and bacon...all rendered nearly inedible by the image of man shaking violently from withdrawal as he drinks two bottles of vodka in the shower and screams at the top of his lungs, and a prostitute being gang-raped (sorry: spoiler!)

Anyway, then I came home and instead of doing any work - like for example my history thesis proposal that was due a week ago - I went back to bed. Then I woke up to man the ticket table for V-Day and I ate a giant cup of frozen yogurt, trying to make myself feel less guilty about putting off my proposal.

Then I went to class and my professor, who I admire and let's face it am half in love with, looked really disappointed when I AGAIN didn't turn anything in. Even though I dominated the conversation in class, still, I could feel him avoiding my eyes as he referred to other people's proposals. I felt so terrible I bolted out of that room as soon as he ended the lecture. He saw me in the hall later and he didn't say a word. I was afraid to look at him, I felt so guilty. This is probably all in my head, I don't even know why I'm so obsessed with pleasing him. He's just one of those teachers. And he's a man. I wish that wasn't part of it but I know it is. Why do I always have this insane approval-seeking compulsion with men! Its so Freudian it's disgusting, I don't want to be a cliche. Besides, Freud is a douchebag. Ok not a douchebag, a narcissistic patronizing misogynist. Potato potato.

Anyway I just kept telling myself for the rest of the day that you can't please everyone. Which I know is true. But still. If I can't please my British History professor, who can I please?

Then I went back to my room and attempted to actually write the damn proposal but the minute I crack any of those books open, my mind reads two sentences and says 'forget it.'

I went to the grocery store. I bought some tilapia and vegetables. I came home and cooked it. I went to the gym. I took a long shower. I tried to persuade my mother not to email people on craigslist about apartments for me.

And now I'm here. It's 2am. I don't have a proposal. I don't have an apartment. All I have is the light in this room and my clock blinking at me. I should probably just go to bed. I hardly got enough sleep last night.

I'm thinking about going to a support group tomorrow that I found on the internet. I've never been to a support group. I feel incredible anxiety about it. I feel compelled to create some new identity for the meeting, but I know that would defeat the entire purpose of going at all.
My name could be Grace, or Delilah, or Heather. I could work in publishing. Marketing. I'm a writer. I'm professionally neurotic. I don't have a problem. I can stop anytime if I wanted to.

Here's to wednesday!

1 comment:

i am madame said...

a support group saved my life back in college. it/s cheesy at first and at times you wonder why the fuck you/re there, but it really helps with perspective. having other people that you don/t have to see other places in your life other than in that room, who are sworn to keep your secrets not because they signed a form, but because they, too have secrets they want kept. other neutral normal everyday people who aren/t shrinks who can objectively look at your problem and whether or not they know it, their point of view on the matter gives you perspective you won/t get from friends who don/t want to hurt your feelings or family members who don/t know the whole truth.

it doesn/t mean you/re "fucked up", it/s not going to go on your personal record, you can remain anonymous even when telling the truth (and using your real name and occupation) and no one else has to even know about it.

i say at least give it a try.

oh, and, i love you.