Ripping off the Bandaid

I chatted with my neighbor, John, from my stoop as he scraped ice off of the apron of his driveway. He told me to be careful, drive safe, something I've recently picked up saying to friends myself, as that's what I think adults do; at least pretend to care about an acquaintance’s well-being. Something like awareness of others. I sat down on the metal strip in front of my door, the only haven for my ass free of snow, and directed my attention toward my iPhone.

"What's up, Jack?” I looked up to notice Steve, our little, loud fugazi neighbor across the street, greeting John from the end of his driveway. I guess he didn't see me sitting behind my bushes. I'd never known John to go by Jack.

After the usual formalities, ("how are ya?" yadda, yadda,) Steve delivered the foremost phrase I’ve ever heard him utter: "What's the use of bitchin', right?"

I’m pretty sure John/Jack and Steve don’t get along. 

I was finishing up my last stoge before I showered, but realized when my dad’s truck wasn’t in the driveway, that he wasn’t home after all, and I went back to my room to finish smoking my bowl in bed without replacing the blanket under the door crack that allowed the odor to dissipate into the hallway.

This was my escape on a Sunday afternoon, before going to a family dinner, where I had to man-up. Put your makeup on, smile, fake it. Pretend you want to be there. Pretend you love your family. Which you do, you truly do, just not very much at the moment. I tell myself this in the second person, listing my commands to buck-up and get over myself. 

How do I escape? I can’t this time, but there are ways that are lovely, and there are ways that are dark, almost "dirty” ways, and I don’t think I need to explain either to you, sir. Thank you, good day now.

See, when I feel good it's like a song that I never want to end, and it's chilling, because I start to be sad half-way through, because I know it's only going to end, and I'm sad when it's over, only deepening my task of getting out of the conduit, whose current drags me farther from my goals. This is my dark period, but I need these days, so that every new lovely thing that comes along will seem so much brighter. 

I'm torn between the persona I've created to fight my actual self; the dark, callous, snippy, uppity bitch at war with the sad, empathetic, lonely, over-emotional soul. I want to be honest with people, I want them to know I care, but it seems the more of my true, unprotected self I bare, that I allow people to see, the less people want to see of me.

So I put down the bowl, and get in the shower. I put on my makeup, (thank god—my eyeshadow ended up a conversation piece at dinner,) and I got myself a coffee, and I made it to the table, and it wasn’t the afternoon that dreams were made of, but I didn’t want to die every second I was there. It was okay, and I’m okay, and maybe when this song ends, I’ll put on another great tune, hell, a whole playlist of them. I look forward to it. And I’ll return to hiding behind my dark hair and fierce mocking humor, because hey, Jack, what’s the use of bitchin’, right? But really, all in all, take care, please drive safe, I mean it.