Dear Diary, I Think I Might Not Be Cool

I'm sitting here, restless but exhausted. I have serious winter-time Colorado lizard skin, but I half heartedly want to do some pole stuff in "just a few minutes, I mean it" so I keep resisting my desperate need to whip the cap off my moisturizer, pour it all over myself, and sigh in deep satisfaction like it was some kind of performance art. I need to write words for NaNoWriMo as I have been behind since day one but I keep clicking the "play next episode" button on Netflix. I'm just three episodes from finishing the 6th season of How I Met Your Mother, after all. I only started re-watching it at the beginning of the month and I am making great progress. On top of all that, I am thinking about how I need to write a blog entry for the week, do some pole instructor training homework, and be a better person at life, but I've got nothing to say, I'm lazy, and I'm lazy.

Ugh.

A couple of weeks ago Tinted Wall told me he read my blog about our climbing trip.

"I try not to read your blog." He said after he mentioned it.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because you write it like a diary."

Oh honey. If I wrote this like I write in my diary, no one would be friends with me.

I also don't need to write most of this stuff in my diary. Diaries are places for working shit out. This is a place to learn how to deal with that shit. But since I am lacking inspiration to write something actually clever[ish] right now, let's experiment for a moment, shall we?

Back to the not reading my blog thing.

People get so weird about reading this thing. They will say things to me like, "I was reading your blog. I hope that is ok." Or "I'm sorry if this is weird, but I read your blog."

Uh. Guys. I don't put it on the internet because I don't want people to read it. I'm not standing over all these words and hissing at everyone who walks by "BACK OFF. THESE ARE MY DEEPEST INNERMOST FEELINGS. DON'T TOUCH THEM. DON'T EVEN LOOK AT THEM."

On the other hand….

Earlier this week, the personal organizer and fellow poler my boss hired [that makes me look really irresponsible and lazy in comparison] said to me while she was being productive and I was sitting there watching, "It's so funny, I read your blog, so I already know what is going on in your life!"

I was really hungover-- like super hungover-- at this point in the morning afternoon. So instead of laughing I just smiled a bit.

Because the truth is…Well, I write stuff because I don't know how to express myself in words out loud to people. At the same time, I still hold back a lot on here. Because being vulnerable to strangers is hard. In the little Meri-universe I live in, basically everyone is a stranger.

Do you ever have those moments where you look in the mirror after taking a really good, life-changing poop, and suddenly realize that everyone, nay, everything else in the world, only sees you in that way, just like how you look in the mirror at that exact moment? All they know about your little universe is what you choose to tell them. They will never know anything else, they'll never know the inside of your head and you will never know anything but. It is like you are trapped in there and can't let yourself out. I have that experience basically every day and it freaks me out equally each time. And yes, I know what you are thinking. I do have a life changing poop basically every day.

The real point you should focus on here though is that I feel incredibly separate and alone from absolutely everything around me, all the time. It is like I am constantly at an arms distance from all the people around me.

It's all about me, people. I'll tell you the secret of life changing poops another time.

I know this whole alienation thing is generally my fault. My boss recently described my main facial expression as "that inscrutable face that would be murder to play poker against" (except that I don't know how to play poker, I am lacking in balls, and don't like taking risks, but don't tell her that in case we ever play poker sometime). I've had countless teachers make fun of me for never changing emotions. People sometimes walk up to me randomly and ask if everything is ok, why am I so upset, and do I want to talk? My roommates used to confess that they were afraid of me because they never knew what was going on in my head since my face never changed. They couldn't tell if I was angry at them or normal or what.

I was only angry like, 50% of the time. Geez guys.

I don't know how to change this not being able to communicate thing besides posting stuff on this blog. Why can't people just learn how to read my mind already?

Those mirror moments I have really freak me out also because I've been having horrible acne lately and feeling very self conscious and insecure about it. Every time I look at myself, I think about how I'm 21 years old, why is my face morphing into this horrible pubescent monster? I JUST WANT THAT PART OF MY LIFE TO BE GONE FOREVER.

I feel lame for only being able to express things on a blog, though. Speaking of insecurity.

I try to do things like force myself to send a dirty text every now and then to Tinted Wall, you know, baby steps towards saying normal people things like "I like you," but then I chicken out every time. Or how I wrote that blog about how I was going to make solid friendships this year. I haven't seen any of my old friends in over a month, I haven't made many new ones, and every social event I go to I'm only like, half into it and feel the need to leave early. Becaaaaaaause. Of my insecurity. I keep having these panic attacks that I am not cool enough.

Remember how I said I was hungover the other day?

I went to this bar with Tinted Wall. He literally called it "Bar Bar," and it was just like the french elephant except less french and elephant-like and with more alcohol and Lord of the Rings pinball. I got super-de-duper! drunk. It was a Sunday night, because I am just so responsible that I go out drinking on a Sunday night, so the bar was empty and the 'spirits' of the few people there were high with how not crowded and annoying bars tend to be. People just kept handing me shots, the bartender kept refilling my beer glass while my back was turned.  I don't know. I guess I knocked over a few drinks and pissed off the bartender, who seemed pretty friendly to me, but then again I don't remember a lot of things that night. Like all these pictures and this one video I took that I found on my phone literally five days later.

It started off with taking pictures of the bathroom. This was apparently really cool and I absolutely had to take this picture. There were many others with me making stupids faces that I didn't really feel like sharing. I wonder why. 

This is not the first time I have taken pictures of bar bathrooms in Denver, oddly enough. 

So of course I needed to take two. 

This is my favorite. It really solidifies my memories of the evening. 

I posted this one the exact way I took it, like a true artist.

Note several things about this video. First that I don't remember any of this actually happening. Second that I laugh like a douche and it embarrasses me to watch/listen to this. Third that those people/strangers ordering drinks ordered some for me too, so me being totally drunk-lame was all THEIR fault. Just sayin'. 

Tinted Wall said we were about to get beaten up on the walk home, which is why we had to leave.
That may have been an exaggeration.
I may have fallen over while standing still on the sidewalk.
There are certain things in life we can just never be sure of.

Except that I woke up with leaves in my hair so I am pretty sure I did. All I really remember is that once he told me that the bartender was mad at us, at me, I started melting on the inside.

I'm not cool. 

And I can't do crazy handstands with Marlo Fisken. 

And I have shitty acne that won't go away. 

Probably because I can't stop touching it. 

Where is my life going?

It may have been the drunkenness speaking, but it isn't like I don't really feel that way 100% of the time.

It's funny because I always used to wonder how people who were regularly having sex with the same person could ever feel upset about life. I mean, guys, you are having sex. On a regular basis and everything. That is the dream! What is there to worry about beyond that? I guess when you are sexless your other concerns in life kind of become overshadowed. It is kind of like when you are starving on a desert island. You aren't really thinking "Oh my god, do people think I am lame because I can't handle my drunken-like starvation stupor? Will they still want to hang out with me? Am I still invited to the beach party???" You are usually thinking "HOLY SHIT I NEED TO EAT SOON OR I WILL DIE LIKE ACTUALLY DIE OH MY GOD I AM SO HUNGRY." Except in first world countries it is with sex. I guess.

I really can't decide which is worse.

Nina, my pole-business-organizer-hero, told me at a party the other week, "You have a way of writing about your life [on your blog] that makes it seem much more boring than it really is."

And I always thought I over-sensationalized things. Hm.

I tried really hard to do that here today. Make things seem more boring than they really are, I mean. My melodrama is about a million times more intense in my head and even though this is an "experimental diary" blog, I'm still insecure and want you to think I'm cool.



...This is a vicious circle, isn't it?





Dammit I bet if this acne would finally go away I would feel about 1000% better about myself right now.