Monday, December 7, 2009
Go Home Now.
I am 34 years old. I do not resemble the girl in this photo. Not at all, not ever, not in the grocery store, not at home. Even if I dressed up in pigtails and a short skirt, dyed my hair black and adopted a snarky-sexy-but-trying not to be look,I don't resemble this girl.
Every few months I go through a period of time when I experience extreme anxiety if i have to leave the house. For no reason, apprehension begins to rise somewhere to the left of my concious thoughts about 2 hours before I know I have to go out, until about a half hour before the event. I cancel the plan-if it's cancel-able. If not, I suck it up, but feel slightly disoriented as I drive around and eager to return home.
It's not anything specific I'm afraid of, I'm not worried about a flat tire or a terrorist attack, it's just a little voice that grows louder with each minute.
"GET HOME NOW!"
I resist it, and usually after a few days it goes away again.
My mother spent three years unable to drive herself anywhere, maybe it's hard wired in me to respond to stress this way.
The grocery store is a big trigger of this type of craziness for me. I've been putting off the trip for a few days
"NO GROCERY STORE. GO HOME."
but once you are out of milk or coffee it's critical. I remembered something else.
"I'm out of fish oil. Maybe that is why i am anxious."
Because, if you don't already know, fish have extremely relaxing oil in them. They squeeze it from them, or shear it from their scales, something, anyway they retreive this oil from the fish and I take it and it calms my brain down. All the fish in the big, calm sea, floating around with cholesteral-free heartsrelaxed about the future, dealing with the grocery store just fine,thank you. Except nemos dad. He had a problem with his oil.
If i make myself go to the store for coffee, milk and fish oil then I can also get some abortion milk. I have to strike little deals with myself, as if I am a toddler, to physically move myself to the car.
Abortion milk is made by a company called PromisedLand. It's the creamiest,most delicious chocolate milk that has ever been produced. i call it abortion milk because the owners of the company donate a large amount of the profits to Pro-Life causes( Get it? PROMISEDLAND?)
So every time I buy it I'm supporting a cause I vehemently disagree with, probably providing the money to buy the life-size blown up photos of fetuses they carry. I do it anyway, i go against the moral center at the core of my being, because this milk is so good. I usually have to drink the entire thing in one day to hide my shame.
When I walked into the store to get Coffee, Milk, Fish Oil and Abortion Milk an old couple pounced on me. I had felt them following me from the parking lot.
(GO HOME NOW.YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED)
The little man hopped over to me.
"HEY THERE NOW-HEY THERE-" he yelled-deaf, hostile, I couldnt tell yet.
"He likes your outfit!" said the little wife. They were like grey haired elves these people.
"HEY NOW, YOU EVER SEEN A SHOW CALLED NCIS, COMES ON ON TUESDAY NIGHTS?"
"It's our favorite show."The wife smiled up at me.
"No." I said.
"YOU LOOK JUST LIKE ABBIE WITH THAT SWEATER! YOU KNOW ABBIE? TUESDAY NIGHT."
"Yeah, I dont really watch TV, but thanks, I'm sure she's very pretty-"
"YOU SHOULD WATCH THIS SHOW!THIS GIRL, SHE LOOKS JUST LIKE YOU, SHE WEARS A LOT OF BLACK-"
"Very goth, she wears a lot of, you know spiked dog collars and stuff like that," said the wife, grabbing my arm because I am giving the cues-the glance away quickly, the small steps backwards, the tone of voice, that say-I gotta go!
"SHE HAS A NECK TATTOO!" he spits at me."YOU DON'T HAVE A NECK TATTOO BUT YOU LOOK JUST LIKE HER!" I look down at my tan cashmere cardigan, olive green skirt and cowboy boots, not your typical housewife but not even close to dog collar S & M goth either.
Just what are you old people watching, anyway?
"Thanks, i'll watch it. i will, thanks,"
"TUESDAY NIGHT!" he calls after me, and the wife lets go of my arm.
GO HOME NOW.
I got my groceries,went home and swallowed my fish oil. I'm not floating on a soothing sea, drinking abortion milk, looking up pictures of Abbie and wondering what kind of crack Mr and Mrs. NCIS were smoking.
It's ON TUESDAY NIGHT!