The Onion of Sanity

Earlier in the week I was invited to go to a card party, which involves a whole bunch of people having sandwiches and shrimp potato salad and fruit and making each other feel like losers at rummy. Tonight was the big night, and a good time was had by all. Until I burst into tears and left crying, that is. ‘Cuz that’s how I roll, apparently.

Seriously, what the hey?? I do know what the problem was, and although I can’t really tell you the WHOLE truth, I CAN say without a doubt that it was NOT hormones. It was sensory overload, mostly, because my social retardation leaves me unable to enjoy the company of fellow humans for any length of time without fudging it all up. I believe I have mentioned my sensitivity to perfumes and such. There is one person who PRETENDS to care that my head catches fire when I have to breathe in her presence, but she’s LYING and has said TO MY FACE that she likes her scent and will continue to wear it around me. (Thanks, btw. You rock, and your voice, which you use way too regularly for my taste, makes me crave an icepick or six.) She was there tonight, along with her more-smelly mother, who followed me around all night interrupting conversations and trying to touch me to share her granny-stink lovely perfume. I swear to you, I have had to go home and shower after this woman hugged me at some event or other, it’s SO. STRONG.

When I “leaked” my emotional state, quite by accident, daughter followed me out and tried to hug me. I told her to back off, nicely. My problem, see, is that she is much beloved, and if I try to avoid her, I will cut myself out of all social interaction at my church. She is everywhere.  People feel for her at the moment because the pure tool she married has royally screwed her over, and is taking her through a mother of a divorce. She wins, is all I’m sayin’.

Lest you think I am an unadulterated narcissist for making this sound like a contest, first of all, HAHAHAHAHAHA!!! No. I like attention as much as the next person, but I am painfully – PAINFULLY shy (I hide it well, I know). I HATE being seen. I fully accept that it is my problem that she bugs the living crap out of me just by being in the room. I do. She thinks we’re friends, and that makes it all the worse. She wants to hang out. We work together occasionally. Contact is inevitable and necessary. But I gotta tell ya, folks, tonight made me think I should just retreat and never go out again. I can’t avoid the smelly people. I can’t. They are everywhere, and they ALWAYS find me.  She is not the worst offender in the church, either, so it’s not JUST about tonight. I would just bring attention to myself if I wear a mask, like a surgical thingy, which actually does help. I can’t exactly lead worship with one of those on my face, now can I? No. I think not. Michael J. may have been able to pull it off, but that look wouldn’t go well for me.

Wah, wah, wah.

Today I have to attend the graveside service of my father’s last sibling, who passed away at pretty much the same moment that Michael did. Farrah beat her by 3 hours. What a way to remember the day, huh? I was hoping to get to see her this week, or next, to talk to her one more time. I have so many questions, and I never seem to appreciate how little time we all have left. I missed it, and now those details of my heritage, about my dad’s youth, have been lost forever.

The pool is up. It is small, but I can get wet in it, which is really all that matters. I love the smells of vinyl and chlorine. When I get home from the service I plan to finish the teeny deck and steps I’m building for the pool. Climbing over the side on a stepladder is not safe, especially for the knee I keep managing to stress lately. The last thing I need is to be found unconscious in my backyard, in my underwear. ALSO not a good look for me, nearly naked and wet.

You’re welcome!

Heh. Later!