you can either choose to be somebody’s patsy or…
I’ve got a lot brewing in this mind of mine, most of which revolves around the slowburn realization that being a fool gets old.
I’m on the fence about whether I put myself out there too much or too little. I used to be pretty angry, apathetic about relationships platonic or otherwise. It was hard for me to trust people enough to really connect with them on any level at all. It was part life experience, part twenty-something emotional growing pains. I’d like to think I’ve grown a lot since then but some days, like this one, I’m not so sure.
This weekend was pretty fucking unreal. The hours that passed from Saturday morning up until I fell asleep hurt and confused and altogether exhausted on Sunday night are a little difficult to categorize under anything other than WHAT THE FUCK. Seeing as though I drank enough vodka Saturday night to make my skin flammable, got three and a half hours of sleep, and moved furniture with a hangover the size of South America, I’d call the last two days a bust. When I woke up this morning I tried to run the events through my head but I can only grasp and flash-like pictures of faces, clinking of bottles and glasses, cigarette smoke, phones ringing and, maybe more importantly, not ringing.
Standing up was fucking painful on Sunday morning, still, I woke up at eight a.m. to move two giant couches out of my tiny apartment through what seems like the tightest spiral-landing staircase on the west side of Providence. The morning was complete with moving hangups like a bikelock that refused to open, pessimistic non-helping person, some holes left in walls that I will have to spackle before I leave, and sweat like a gym workout. Either way, they are gone and my living room is empty.
After the moving came the waiting. The waiting to find out if I truly am as gullible as I’ve felt for a couple months. Turns out, I might be. Turns out, I’m again… somebody’s patsy. Maybe even for several people who somehow turned up in the same weekend! Friends, un-friends, randoms. I feel a little like a participant in a daredevil act who is tied to a wall while people throw darts at balloons around my head.
I laughed out loud when I typed that. I really did. It’s almost amusing to realize just how easily you can get played when you’re willing. Needless to say it was tempting to start drinking at three yesterday but I was sick of vodka and no scotch could be found. I decided to sleep.
I’m not even sure it matters that I’m writing all of this out, I’ll probably regret it later but really, who the fuck cares?