Priority Use

Here I am. Sitting alone at the library. A big table all to myself. Well, not for long. In fact, I wasn't alone a minute ago, and I won't be alone in a few more minutes.

I was sitting here, two chairs on my side and one on the other, minding my own business. One of the chairs was pretty obviously unoccupied, but it was right across from me. It hadn't been pushed in from its last user and I was debating on whether or not I wanted to get up to push it in so I could use it as a foot rest. Some girl came over, interrupting my own little debate, and asked if anyone was using that particular chair. Well, not really. So, I bestowed it to her.

She brought the chair over to her table, situated her stuff. It was only then that I realized how ridiculous this was. There she is, at a grand ol' table. Just her and her boyfriend and four chairs. She stole my chair so that she could use it for the enjoyment of her feet--or so I thought.

She never actually put her feet up on that chair. Instead, she sat diagonally from the chair she stole from me. Put her jacket on the chair across from the chair she stole from me and her boyfriend sat on the chair she stole from me. Oddly enough, the chair that she sits across from remains unused. No books. No bags. No feet. No butts. And, with no obvious plans to put any of those things there, either.

Maybe she just couldn't stand to sit at an incomplete table. Well, in her effort to complete her table, she made mine quite incomplete. Sigh.

The guy across from me is wearing a shiny metallic belt with cutouts in the shape of "PUSSY BOY."

Oh, the lengths people will go to make a statement.

I had just written this amazingly introspective and intimate portrait of myself on the verge of realization. And then it disappeared. Well, it didn't really just disappear on it's own, I made it disappear. Which is even worse. It might have been for the better. I might have been saying things I wouldn't have actually been glad I'd said tomorrow, or the next day. But, they were said, and they felt good saying.

So, the post disappeared and I just had to cry. Sometimes it just builds up so much that something ridiculous--like losing a post to the mysteriousness of cyberspace or the motherboard on my computer--sets me off. I spend so much time being consumed with being okay, staying sane, staying healthy while doing it all that sometimes I forget that it might be too much. But, somehow everyone else manages, right?

Tonight I went to a gymnastics meet. When I was little I used to love watching gymnastics. Yet, at the same time, it always made me feel bad about myself. It was almost as if I was adicted to the fascination of feeling bad about myself than actually enjoying watching the sport. I would look at those girls and wonder why it was that I wasn't good at something like that and why I didn't look as good as them. Yet, I couldn't turn away. Really any non-professional sport brings up these feelings for me. Only sports though. Nothing else.

But, tonight, it was different. I wasn't consumed by feeling bad. It was this odd realization of how things are. An acceptance, almost, that I could be that good at something. I'm just not, though, because I don't try. This could have made me feel worse, but, instead, it made me feel better.

We were sitting in, oh, I don't know, the third row maybe. Which was also really good. When I usually look at seemingly perfection, I'm usually looking at it through the lens of a camera, printed on the glossy pages of my magazine, or through someone else's perspective on my tv screen. But, this, was different. I don't know if it's cause I'm getting older, or maybe it was a fluke, or maybe just cause we were only 3 rows up. But, it didn't feel so bad. We were so close that I saw the bruises on their legs. I saw that their skin made dimples and little folds when the bent down to fix their taped up feet. I saw that their tooshies (quite strong, I might admit) jiggled a bit more than I'd ever noticed. And that was really good. Sometimes I forget that people aren't perfect. Instead of being consumed by their faultlessness--a faultlessness that I manifest, not one that is actually there--I looked at their faces and remembered--just for a second, but that's all it took--that they, too, were human.

It's odd to admit that I think about such ridiculous and "cliched" things. It's embarrasing to concede that I cry when I lose an unimportant piece of prose that doesn't even need to be written. But, it seems to me that if we all admitted these things, it wouldn't be so hard. We all spend so much time trying to be perfect that when people aren't perfect, I think they forget that no one else is too. So, I still want to be perfect. I still want to do good and be good. But, I guess it's not always that important. I'm sure I'll forget how self-assured I now feel in my momentary overwhelment when I wake up this morning

I am currently eating one of the best sandwiches I have ever had---ever. Well, I guess that's not completely fair to say. I've had myself a fair share of really good sandwiches in my lifetime. This one probably isn't any better than the others. What does make this one a bit more special, though, is how crafty I was in creating it--bringing a tupperware full of stuffings, saving my bagel from the morning festivities and snagging some packets of mustard and relish on my way to work. Delicious.

Sandwiches are probably one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. I am such a sandwich snob and die for a good deli, and I think there's not much better than a perfectly--exquisitely--crafted sandwich. The great thing about sandwiches is that they really are amazingly easy to make. Which is why I have no clue how people screw them up.

There was an amazing Judaic-Italian deli on the north side that I went to once. I had myself the tastiest grilled sandwich with these amazing homemade, fresh and thick potato chips. I tried to go back about a month ago--I had been raving about it to a friend for the past 2 years and we finally decided to make the trek--and it was closed. How unfortunate for the world. Really.

I think people, in general, would be much happier if they had really good sandwiches every day of the week. I know that's all it takes for me.

Now, I must go on enjoying my creation.

Somehow I have already managed to overcommit myself. Well, I hate to say "overcommit" because I did it. It's what it is. So, it's not really over. Nonetheless, I constantly think that I am doing less, taking a break, letting myself relax only to find out that my schedule just keeps getting more and more full.

It's okay. I'd love a free day. But, all in all, this is exactly how I like it.

I tend to see the same people at the gym whenever I go. It doesn't really matter when I go, either. Somehow there are certain people with whom I share a sort of inner "gym clock." Anyway, I'd never seen this certain friend of mine at the gym. We don't actually just happen upon each other around town. It's either in class or on a planned outing. It's pretty safe to say that I'd never seen him in my grubby (well, I don't think they're that grubby, actually. I wear them around on a regular basis) gym clothes. So, maybe that's his excuse.

"Excuse for what," you say.

I'll tell you. But be patient. What is about to be said warrants much background information.

I walked in to the gym to see my friend talking to some cute, skinny (this is an important detail, and yes, I noticed) Chinese girl who was sort of working there. He glanced over and I waved so he came over to say hello. I was getting my card swiped so I was sort of distracted:

Me: Hey, I was about to call you. Well, not this second, cause I'm at the gym. But, I've been generally meaning to.

Him: Cool. When did you get back?

Me: (feeling a tad bit guilty) Friday. Late.

[You may want to sit down for this one]

Him: Nice. Did you put on some pounds over break?

Me: (uncomfortable laugh) Uh, really? I don't think I did. (looking down at my soaked sweatshirt) Well, maybe. Uh, it's raining pretty hard outside. Maybe it's the water.

Him: (chuckling as if to show disbelief) Yeah, maybe the water's dragging you down.

Me:(quickly changing subjects) So, are you going to play basketball? The gymnasium looks closed.

Him: Yeah. Where are you going?

Me: Upstairs.

Him: See you around.

That just doesn't seem right, I don't think. I mean, he's not my best friend. Or my mom. Not that either of those people would likely comment about an increase or decrease in my reserves.

I may or may not have put on some pounds over break, but can one really tell that sort of thing? I mean it's only been 2 weeks. Is that even possible? Of course, now, I'm going to think about this for a long time. Of all people to say that sort of thing to. For one, I'm a girl. Come on. Plus, I'm me. I don't like to mess around that sort of thing. He must not know me at all.

I think I'd be equally bothered if this had been a girl telling me this, but that he's a guy puts a whole different spin on the matter. Is this what guys think when they see me (rhetorical question people, really. No reply required). I guess this isn't something I really need to bother myself with. But you know I'm going to. I know I shouldn't worry about his comment--the fact that he would think that is one thing and isn't all that terrible, but to say it out loud to my face is just bizarre.

I guess the ridiculousness of this is just so great that it's possible that he was just teasing me. Yeah that's it. It was just all a joke. Ha ha. Ha ha.

Time for dinner.
(Ironic, isn't it?)