Day 26: Over the Hump, Buddy

"Spring is in the Shirt." I am still wearing my parka, but I'm already mentally in spring. I figure if I delude myself strongly enough, I can start to believe that, despite it being only January, green trees and flowers and tank tops are right around the corner. It's working so far. The thing I love about neutral-colored clothing is its practicality. Everything is interchangeable. It's smart, sophisticated, and virtually hassle-free. The thing I love about color is that you can do whatever the hell you want with it--play it up, play it down, mix contrasting colors, stay within one color scheme--depending on what mood you're in. Take this shirt. You could virtually accessorize with anything. Black flip flops? Fine. Sexy, bright yellow heels? Awesome. Brown, black, gold, silver, jeans, trousers, skirt, doesn't matter. Just pick something and go with it. Here, our motto is: the crazier the better.

The next episode on our list deals mildly with the concept of a "fuck buddy." "What's that?" you ask. It's an acquaintance you keep around just for on-call sex when you're feeling low. The installment also talks about each of our dating patterns--if and why we tend to date the same sort of people over and over again.

In an effort to keep her morale afloat, Carrie makes a bootie call. Miranda dates an angerholic (just made that up) and realizes that she gravitates toward pessimistic, crabby men. Charlotte tries to brake her pattern of first, waiting to be asked out by a seemingly ideal man, and second, on their first date, projecting onto him all her fantasies of the perfect husband. She decides to ask out random guys and keep it casual. All's fine, until one of her dates finds her kissing another of her dates on the same night. She decides to go back to her old approach. Samantha's neighbors invite her, via a note under her door, to join their nightly sex-a-thons. She's thrilled, until she realizes they're both over fifty and overweight.

The fuck buddy is kind of a sensitive subject for me, gotta admit. A relationship gal to the core--meaning the concept of sex without strings attached is beyond my comprehension--I feel almost angry that I never got to have this experience. People I know had fuck buddies. Why not me? After watching this episode, I actually found myself fuming a bit. Why couldn't I have had, at some point, a friend I could rely on for sex but no drama? Why did I always just get the drama?

Then it hit me. Everyone I've known who had this type of pal thought the person (out of bed) was a total freak. However, since the sex was so good (or so easy), the "freak" part wasn't important. The theory was simple. Who cares if a girl's obsessed with wolves and gummy bears if she gives good head? What's the big deal if a guy is a nymphomaniacal singer, who raps about sleeping with 97 women, if he'll come running over to make love to you at the drop of a backwards hat? The point was to look beyond the bad stuff and just see the sex. I realized that was my problem. It wasn't that I was opposed to the concept of a fuck buddy. I just couldn't handle the thought of kissing someone who disgusted me.

Today, I met a friend for a walk around the park. She has been trying to land me a job as a cashier at her workplace. After submitting my resume and application and hearing nothing back, I found out today that the position went to a recent high school grad with experience working at Trader Joe's. When my friend asked her boss why he didn't call me, he asked, "Would she really be okay being a cashier?" Hmm. I thought putting my cumulative GPA on a resume was a good thing. Apparently, it can also say something about your inability to be happy (and therefore reliable long term) in crap jobs.

As I parked my car to meet with this friend, I realized I was tired and cranky. I was also possibly seriously depressed. I felt like an empty shell, a fragment of the busy, vibrant person I was only five months ago. I had almost canceled, fearing the prospect of having nothing interesting to say about my life and therefore just appearing dull, but I figured getting out of the house was a good thing. It didn't matter what happened. Hopefully, she wouldn't judge. As we talked, my mood lightened. I asked her about the details of her upcoming wedding. She asked me about the job search. I felt alive in a way I hadn't for days, maybe weeks. Maybe it was talking to a woman, a person who felt and thought in similar ways as I. Perhaps it was talking to someone at all besides Hank, or just getting out of my head for an hour. Whatever it was, it felt good.

On the way back home, I thought about what had been happening to me in the past few months and realized that it had gotten pretty bad. I seemed to be succumbing further and further to the feeling of hopelessness I'd been trying to avoid since the day I graduated, no longer seeing possibilities, just obstacles. Not only was I drowning in a sea of indecision about what to do with my future, I couldn't even find something to fill my days. I felt cut-off from society and unable to access my usual resiliency and determination--to pick myself up and attack the job search as I used to attack midterm papers--that I now desperately needed. Instead, when I talked, there was a lackluster in my voice, like someone who was far away. In conversations, I found myself asking the same questions minutes apart from each other. Exhausted by my mental chatter and the quietness of the house, I often wished I could disappear and be someone else for a few days. At least it would be interesting.

I got to thinking about craziness. It would be so easy for any of us to go insane. Just lock us up for three months without access to the outside world. I almost think that's all it would take.

I didn't realize all of this until today, until I imagined myself through my friend's eyes. I hadn't realized that I'd been trying, in fact, to be invisible. I just knew I was distancing myself--from my family, from Hank, and even from this blog--about what I felt, worried that it was old news, that everyone was tired (including me) of hearing about my fruitless days. No wonder Hank and I had been fighting.

I know I have to continue looking for work. I realize that bills don't stop, because you're feeling depressed, and that jobs don't land on your doorstep. I also realize that, of course, I have things very good, and it could be much, much worse. It's so hard--and so essential--to remember that. I just have to keep pushing forward, even on the days I don't feel like it. And somehow, knowing that--that I don't have to be happy about being in the third month of job searching or not having money, that I don't have to make myself feel chipper--makes the prospect of looking at Craig's List more manageable and actually makes me in a much better mood. So, off I go. Wish me luck. I could use some.

Hope you'll be back. I will.