I woke up this morning at 3:18 because I a) had cramps b) needed to pee c) my foot hurt for unknown reasons. If they were known, I think they would be related to the part where all my summer work shoes are heels and too much pressure is put on my toes. OR my feet just hate me.
I got up and peed, and then wandered into the dark living room. Jelly Roll hasn’t been hanging out with me much lately (most of his time is spent staring out the living room window while chattering angrily at birds, or sleeping in the living room window so he is Extra Prepared to Mess Up Some Birds). My presence woke him, and he meowed in surprise two or three times, as if to say, “OH! I forgot about YOU!” He followed me back to the bedroom. Sometimes I shut the bedroom door behind me when I get up in the middle of the night to pee, to prevent the dogs from thinking “OH BOY IT IS MORNING LET’S GALLOP AROUND FAST FAST FAST,” and I walked smack into the closed door. This hurt my nose. I got back in bed and Jelly Roll followed me and got on my crampy stomach. Something important to know about Jelly Roll is that he is a furious kneader. He’s very big (Jut refers to him as The Behemoth sometimes), strong, and uses his shoulders to do super-extreme kneading. After he settled down he started the ritual purring/flopping up against me to find the perfect place to sleep–this place must be uncomfortable as possible for me and he likes to be sort of cradled, because he is the weirdest cat ever–I waited crankily for sleep to return and it never did.
But I got in some quality thinking time (although the thinking I do at four in the morning while I am cursing my brain is not the clearest sort of thinking). I thought about the animals, and about the yard. Mostly I thought about work, and this resulted in me thinking about how I am surrounded constantly by parents. I thought about how it is sort of a club, how reps can come in and everyone relates about their kids and how old their kids are and what they are doing. I think about how they will say to me, “And what about your kids?” and I will say, “We don’t have kids.” And someone invariably will think this is awkward, and the asker will say something silly like “Good for you” or “You’re young, there’s still time!” Both of these responses assume something about me. And then someone who knows me will pipe in to save the day, “She has the four-legged kind!” which, is really not necessary, ever, because really: I am comfortable with where I am. Everyone has been swapping baby photos and stories and comparing milestones, and I stand and smile and ask questions, too. But it seems weird that as soon as it is discovered I don’t have children, a few more obligatory questions might be asked, something glossed over to make up for it, and then it is obviously a relief to move back to the children talk.
I hope I’m not saying this in a cranky way, because I don’t feel cranky about it, just observational. I like to notice the Things People Talk About, the subjects that are always okay. I like noticing the subjects that are never okay, I like noticing the vague way small talk bounces around on very top levels of things, and they way it always settles on children, movies, television, gas prices, traffic, weather. I think I have a problem with assuming mental or emotional intimacy with everyone I meet, thinking we can relate immediately, and maybe that is why these topics bore or frustrate me. I’d rather talk about how I walked into a closed door at 3:25 in the morning, or about what it is that really makes you like your house, or how you ended up here. I like hearing about kids when the conversation feels real and genuine, but it doesn’t always feel that way. Small talk feels unnatural to me, and I have to mentally force myself to do it properly, I have to correct myself and carefully watch each question or sentence. I don’t know why I assume familiarity while I simultaneously feel very isolated.
I also don’t know how to stand still when I talk, and I am teased about it at work quite a bit. And I don’t even realize I’m swinging my arms back and forth wildly, or that I’m doing that weird thing with my feet, or that I’m playing with my hair. I clutch my notebook and pen, and try to be normal when I stand and talk, but always still end up twitching all over the place, grabbing at my clothes, twisting my arms around behind my head.
This post is just getting sillier, so I’ll stop, and go take a shower, and have a very very busy Thursday. And then we’ll plant the black violas Jut picked out, and maybe I’ll wear a dress today.
Love,
black sheeped
