Regressed

I regressed at the departmental meeting this morning as I focused on avoiding any D-related emotions while I tried not to listen to any of the words regarding possible future maybe we-know-nothing and we-understand-how-you-feel joblessness. In so doing, I found myself drawing on my sneakers!

First of all, I'd completely forgotten that we once did this in elementary school when not listening to the teacher. Oh, the elaborate patterns we'd create with fluorescent highlighters and putrid smelling sharpies!

Second of all, I can't believe my parents ever allowed this.

Third of all, I can't believe I found myself writing on a sneaker at age 30! I haven't thought about this since I was, like, 11. I found myself drawing lines and then outlining cute little geometrical patterns before I actually committed to them with pen.

Luckily I only have a few pen lines on my right shoe. I was doing it and then all of a sudden I was like "What am I doing!?! What's going on? Am I writing on my shoe? Am I suddenly eight years old?"

I looked around, horrified that someone may have noticed, and then imagined little drawings on the shoes of the real adults at the meeting.

I want to doodle right now to help me forget that I have neither heard from nor seen D all day, and am afraid he is busy practicing his speech which will begin with something like "Look, I know we've been talking about the future in the abstract, but that was pretend. The idea of actually having an actual future that I actually have to plan for with you horrifies me, so I'm afraid that you will have to remove your hair straightener and toothbrush from my apartment at your earliest convenience, or, now. And how dare you ask me about moving in together without warning? How dare you?"

Nothing like avoiding a person when she's rendered herself completely vulnerable. That's mature.

I hate the status of my life right now. Nothing is certain. There's nothing to hold onto. At times like these your relationship is supposed to be a source of security and solace, not mystery and angst. I feel like the living together issue is secondary to the inability to communicate issue.

Ugh. In six months I will be homeless without a job and without a boyfriend and without the beautiful future we were able to discuss only in the abstract.

I could cry, but instead I shall draw on my sneakers.