Emotional Critters that Live Under a Rock

23 March 2009

“Lots of emotional critters live under the rock of cognitive dissonance” I wrote a friend in a recent g-chat session.  Fear of Rejection is one of the inhabitants under my rock.  Lured from hiding by three rejections in a relatively short span, he crawled into other spaces of my mind all weekend. 

The disquiet of each rejection is borne of the fact that each should be irrelevant:

  • A woman who gives radio silence after two dates which ended in her expressing fondness is a woman made unsuitable by that behavior. 
  • A restaurant owner who is more than an hour late and completely unprepared for an initial meeting would make a painful client. 
  • Some stringy haired harpy who is pissed at me for reasons I neither know nor should matter to me is, well, a stringy haired harpy of dubious standing for friendship. 

All of these were justifiable causes for my rejection irrespective of the other person’s thoughts.  Yet, their rejection has stuck in my craw long enough for me to vent to friends, and write this post.  As natural as the human desire for all forms of affection may be, we all know better when we should know better.  People tell us how to treat them with their actions more than their words.  Their actions have told me that I need waste no more energy on the rude, the disrespectful, or the stringy haired harpy*.

 

*Yes, I enjoyed typing that one more time.  I guess petty can crawl from under the rock sometimes too.


An Ordinary Reminder of the Unordinary

23 March 2009

It’s the little things I remember most: the first time I caught a hit of her perfume, the moment her ankle crossed mine and she decided to leave it there, the exact height of her bed and color of the sheets, a certain sundress and the way she let the left strap wander down her shoulder.

I am deluding myself – I remember every fucking thing about ADA.  So when I saw her virtual fingerprints on certain parts of this blog yesterday morning, I swallowed hard and blinked four times hoping to refocus my eyes after a long Saturday night without a decent interval of sleep.  Between StatCounter and my imagination, I was left with the indelible mental picture of ADA lying in her bed of certain height and linens slightly off white and reading my thoughts about our time together.

The picture was at least as hard to remove as the questions, and thoughts of wishes left unfulfilled.

Does she know that it was unordinary for me? Am I really over her?  What was she thinking as she read?  Why do I care so much?  Will the thought of her always have this power over me?  These questions and more ping-ponged through my mind while showered.

As I dressed for day four of basketballapalooza, I closed my laptop with more force than required.  I wonder if that chapter of my life will ever close, or if I ever want it to?


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