Something Scary

I walked into the house with a small group of girls. One speed away from the door, package in hand, to some unknown place. Two wandered in, belatedly introduced, only to begin their conversation again ignoring all around. Standing in a walkway, currently unused, no familiar face in view, I wanted to walk back out the door and head homeward. I'd come, entered, done the scary thing for the night, day, week even! How could I wander in a home I'd never entered before? Introduce myself to complete strangers surrounded by friends. Like walking into a new ward I was a flopping fish desperate for glimpse of anything that would hold water. Stomach swashing back and forth, heartsick, I had to find the one individual I could name. Sadly, I knew this would not ease my fearful pain nor restore any confidence. It was the reason I was here, frightened by thoughts of anonymity or mere acquaintance to the host. Who am I to come here? hoping for a pause of a moments attention? Cowardice rooting out my very soul I moved slowly, following the speedy white rabbit across the cooridor and up the stairs to the dance floor, where he is sure to be.

Whilst familiar in face, I remained frozen inside while smiling what I hope is brightly and saying hello. Not enough people to disappear into the crowd after a brief welcoming, I stood fast wondering what proper Emily Post would say to do. Politely excuse ones self, then make a graceful exit to the front door. Admiring the room, I did the only thing that would make me move, in any direction, I asked him for a tour of the home. Windows opened to show off the outside; dark beyond the room's light, frigid air spun around us. Shivering I wished desperately to slide out there and wander amongst the geese to find the unseen three huddled somewhere away from party goers, safely way from putting themselves in awkward social situations of any kind. Opening windows on a Febuary friday night attracts attention. Soon the tour had a group of individuals and couples walking out the back door and hearing my feeble conversational skills. I stood shuttering in the wind, coatless, on the slab of cement called patio. Breath, deep breaths. Calming thoughts are fine until my whole body racks and jitters, desperate for the indoors. There may be people inside who have more claim upon his attention, but it's out of the wind. Besides, the night's blackness hasn't swallowed me whole, so I doubt it will be so kind tonight. Back inside my wits gather just enough to ask some questions. Smile at jokes and make appropriate noises of amazement. Truth be told, I am interested, amazed, and impressed. But how do you work in that you like the door handles? Ah, the kitchen looms just ahead, hubbub of activity and distraction.

I meet a moment when my breath returns, only to loose my claim of attention of my kind tour guide. Someone says hi to him, and I'm introduced briefly to the two chattering girls I'd trailed behind earlier. Everyone scatters different directions. Conversation's talent of not saying much, yet appearing to be engrossed, allow the slip of the one person I actually know. Remaining still means holding up the wall turns into an important duty, even if those around are discussing names they wouldn't call their children. I must admit smiling, it is an oddball topic, but not one I can really jump in much. Not in the mood to pull it down a different path, the topic it stretches beyond the engagement of anyone around. Instead I watch "mocktail" smoothies provide a delicate dance between host and another girl. Both know where each other is, the equipment needed, and how to work around the throng passing by their corner. Reminding me of moments in my kitchen safely tucked away doing dishes or last minute cookies. I smile sadly. Lost days, sights of such familiarity makes me wonder if there is a chance and if none, then ... nothing, no point in dawdling.

I should have eaten before I came. The food on the counter a step away is too far. It would look like I belonged if I ate, that I fit in this place. That is too much of a contradiction, so I meander away. I meet the birthday boy, chat a mite. Skills still on the fritz I feel I do little other than smile like a bad joke has been told. Perhaps the joke is me. Here. Now. Standing holding up the wall. Commenting on my wall supporting skills, I slip away to tour the living room on my own. I am surprised there are people there, and karaoke. Oh joy. To sing in front of family is impossible, strangers slightly less so, but still pretty close. I've done it once, admittedly, with some friends playing band hero or some such. Luckily the guitars were much better and louder than me, so no one could hear my lyrics, much less the pitch. Tucked safely on a small corner of the couch, smiles ensue when no one knows the verses to "Singing in the Rain" but all join in on the chorus.

I should try and redeem myself before vanishing. The vanishing trick may prove the better choice. There is another party I've promised to stop by before bedtime; it's creeping closer with each moment, beckoning me least the predawn light find me already too tired for expected activities that have their own set schedule. The kitchen finds the same wall being supported by the same people. Lemming-like we all trail to the dance floor. One boy and over ten girls does not a hopping dance party make. Still, he's trying, poor birthday boy. Internal laughter at the sight says I must stay to help out. to see if anything can be done. Slowly some unwind, more trickle up stairs, and then there are three boys, twenty-odd girls, and a seven year old. Nerd guns, twister, and several playlist changes, and my unconsciousness in the situation is fading. Hiding in the corner does little to easy the returning panic. Shaking may not show in my fingers, but I feel it. It eases momentarily when laughing at stiff imitations of hip hop are done by our retired tour guide/host. The life of the party he meanders confidently from space to space. I envy that, wish for the return of that assurance, hope that I will find laughter at these moments next week. Not yet there.

Tomorrow will unknowingly be filled with worry; will I make it to work, will Bonnie remember I have to leave early, will passover go well, will the temple be too busy...the slow moments reflect on tonight. On the inaction, and actions. Knowing I couldn't have changed a thing, yet wishing for some sign...

My corner is visited, found out in his the circling of the room. It is nice to have a body stand close. Arms crossed in self comfort this girl is certainly not ideally situated for positive body language. Still, does he oft return to this corner, pause near me, or is it just the music controls off to the right that need his proximity. I stand, brushing shirt sleeves with him, watching the room, almost feeling that the secret comments floating in my head will be meet with laughing banter. Proximity and wishing may lead me to hope, but no sure signs are available with three boys, twenty-odd girls and a seven year old on a newly made dance floor.

I do disappear, in a perfectly tactless way. Goodbye to the entertaining mother and daughter duo I hear her words only to smart internally. My awkwardness may have been only noticeable to some who know me well, or those who meet me expecting conversation, warming up on the dance floor and in a short game of twister. Still, I walk away while the music is being adjusted with out a goodbye to anyone else. I quake down the stairs, through the remolded hallway, and out the front door. certain I shouldn't have come. Crashing inwards I feel the tears ache in my chest. Sinking deeper to a place I've forgotten; shut away for such a long time. I'm desperate for a way to laugh at it all. Someone to smile at my theatrics reminding me not all is as I see it.

I dreamed last night. Holding hands in the middle seat of a SUV. Nephew in a car seat next to me when it happened while I was helping the baby. I panicked, even then. Stoic and unmoving I just turned and glanced at him in the corner of my eye. I really wanted to smile grandly, curl under his arm, breath in the relaxing feeling of being home at last. Yet, like 2 years ago, I find only fear. Terror of what might be, doubt of its reality, even of it's possibility. So I wake, wonder, and systematically botch several text messages later that day.

Should have gotten a raincheck on that house tour!

Valentines Day

Joseph: Happy singles awareness day! :)

Me: I'm suppose to be aware I'm single? Who knew.

Joseph: Ya, today is a nationally recognized day for all single people to feel depressed and to be made fun of by those fortunate enough to be married.

Me: So I shouldn't be happy with my life, and satisfied.

Joseph: Typically singles sit at home by themselves in the evening watching a chick flick with a carton of chocolate ice cream.

Me: Minus the chocolate ice cream, sounds like my plans. Want to join me?

Joseph: Join you? ...

Me: So that's a no.

Me: Would it help if I said I had chocolate pudding?

Needless to say that successfully ended our text conversation. Far too many retorts spun in his mind. We talked for about an hour. Hard to be SAD when your best girly friend is so chipper on the phone with you. :) sorry Joseph, I had nothing but happy thoughts all evening. I even enjoyed my movies. Although some company is always welcome.

Maybe next year we'll think of it before dark. Your still my ling distance valentine; happy SAD day.

Over Thinking

Everytime I come to post something my mind draws a blank.

Similar to the scene in Mom's favorite movie, You've Got Mail, I sit at my computer trying to come up with the perfect thing to say (Meg Ryan is talking about an insult) and nothing, a complete blank. How frusterating. Put me in my car, hour drive back to work or home, and I'm rife with witty ideas and moninomes. Reading books my mind rearranges funny scenes, or commentary that would entertain. Even watching Masterpiece Theater I come up with ideas. But with the keyboard at my fingertips, computer at the ready, I am paralized mentally. Frozen at the inability to articulate.

Suddenly I'm back to looking across the dance floor at that guy I might, maybe, possibly get a crush on. Where a smile is suddenly all I've got to offer. Get him to laugh, nope, that's saved for recollections of sudden stupidity later on at home when I recount my wonderful adventures of "Silly Girl Syndrome" once again striking. Tanner will bemoan my lack of finese, and lack of getting kissed. Mom and Dad internal groan at the irrationality of it all. Steph, being recently cured of my ill fated ilk, laughs. Naturally all reactions pick me up and remind me that eventually I'll find my odd voice again. Some random fact will filter it's way to the top.

Perfect example is regaling my crew Saturday night about why I was asked to draw a line up the back of a girl's nylons for a 1940's skit. Why I knew the necessity of this simple act, and could expound on it to the point of expalining why having a soilder for a beau was not just a social, but a beneficial part of life, is beyond me.

Still, for this odd moment of run-a-way thoughts scribbles of a page; full of spelling errors, life is good. I'm enjoying it.

'Till I get my mind repaired. Love you all. Have a wonderful V-day!