An Ode to the Club (not 'da Club' though I do love Fity)

It's been a short 14 years since I last posted something here; if this blog were a teenage girl she’d have gotten her period, braces, and possibly herpes by now. But rather than doing any sort of unnecessary recap (though, worth confirming at this point that neither the blog nor its author have gotten herpes), we're going to jump right in. I might not have put my thoughts on the interwebs in a very long time, but you know I've definitely been capturing them along the way. And it just feels right to share some of those words again. Even if no one reads this, it's still thrilling to know that someone COULD read it. It’s as exhilarating as meth but way safer.

I wrote this on a plane ride home from Vegas recently, while overthinking and self analyzing my affection for strange dark places.

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We go out (searching?), so that in the presence of all the unknowns, things of certainty show themselves starkly. Searching unknown faces for affirmation of our own qualities, the validation that we picked the right dress, the right look, the right amount of drink.

Moving together, not knowing each other’s struggles and victories, but it simply being enough to be in the shared moment, released. Unified in our common pursuit of anonymous abdication of reason and logic. Judged only for appearances and not having to pretend that we are  anything more than that. Outside of the club we dress up our insecurities in the fabric of forced personality, shaped by expectations and norms, trying to meet someone else’s ideal of being funny enough, smart enough, wholesome enough. Inside the club, that all falls away. We are at our most naked - figuratively and often literally, too.  Judge me only for my body, my face, my moves. Give me the immediate gratification of your intentions and assessments - positive or negative. It’s the straightest talk we have, unshrouded and uncomplicated. It’s an over-thinker’s paradise of straightforward intentions.

This is why I love a dark, overbearingly loud club. I am freed from making my personality speak for me, from quieting my geekiness, my constant self doubt (making myself small enough to not be a bother). I am untethered from forcing my space, making a show of my worth, proving my good-enough with every witty comment. When my insides aren’t seeking your validation, they don’t feel so less-than and up for impending rejection. Instead I can simply be my outside and know that the reaction is nothing more than that. I can dance and fling my arms and torso around with abandon, knowing that when I leave this smoky space I’ll be myself again, filled with hesitation and pause. But for these few hours, I’m just that girl with the huge smile, no cares, and writhing torso. 

It's not fair for you to make me hurt this bad, especially when you don't even care as much as I do. It's not fair for you not to understand that when I'm upset you can't always get defensive and angry, that all I want is for you to hug me until the hurt goes away. I want you to comfort me and tell me everything's going to be ok. I want you to be as sleepless as me tonight. I want you to realize you're not perfect. Why can't you just listen to me without taking everything as a personal affront on you??

I just want to go to sleep. Stop haunting my mind so I can sleep. Leave me alone so I can get better! (but come back in the morning because I still want you.

I wonder if I'm ever going to be able to be in a normal relationship, one in which the other person cares about me as much as I do about them. I wonder if I'm ever going to be ok with giving my heart to someone. I wonder if I'm ever going to find someone with big enough arms to hold it and be gentle with it. Cause right now it just hurts too much.

Everyday, a new opening
a new swatch cut into the otherwise gently sparkling fabric
does it ever mend?
Or, irreparable until the seamstress finally puts down her needles.

I think that I love you. I just want to throw that out there, that I might love you. Ok, there's really no "might" about this. My heart is screaming that there's no two ways around it; I love you. My biggest fear right now is that I'll blurt it out, unknowing and unwilling, at the most inappropriate time, terrifying both you and me with the force of my emotional conviction.

This newfound emotional attachment (fine! maybe it's not so "newfound") has me playing chicken with myself, an emotional basket case trapped in a larger bubble of unease. (The bubble is, by the way, floating through a pinprick-riddled atmosphere of nerves)

At the same time, I worry that I'm not assertive enough with my wants. Maybe because I don't know what I want? Or I assume without giving you the chance for input what your opinion's going to be, and save myself the rejection? Or because I belittle my own desires, shooing them away like pesky taunts from the back of my mind? What do I tell you? What do you care about? What do I hide in my shell? I know I'm not as emotionally incompetent as I give myself credit for, and I can't continually internalize this idea of being emotionally crippled or crutched -- or eventually I'll make it true. When is sharing too much, and when does it become greedy of your ears, your time, your feedback?

When your face passes through my mind, I smile in warmth.
When your laugh crosses my ears, I grin and want to say anything that would make you laugh again.
When you smile into me, I melt and my mind goes blank.


I love you?