I took a walk last night. Out of the Riviera, up towards the stadium, past the gas station and Dairy Queen, around and around the parking lot. I was restless. I called to Julie, as I walked out of our room at 12:30 or so, that I was going to go walking and that if I wasn't back in an hour I had probably died. I didn't die, and was back within the hour.
I haven't walked alone at night in awhile; only once or twice this semester I believe. It used to be a regular occurence, and I've had Audrey not speak to me for hours on a couple of occasions because despite her specifically forbidding me to, I walked anyway. Ted has joined me on a couple of my rounds, and when he did so we would walk in complete silence for most of the way as he was there not to talk, but just to ensure that I got back home safely. My walks were partly because I had nothing else to do in the middle of the night, and partly because I needed to get out; the fresh air was calming and the silence of the night was peaceful. The empty streets offered me freedom to roam as I pleased, and though I felt as though the rest of my life was out of my control, there was one thing I knew I had the power to do. I walked at night simply because I could. Unfortunately, my middle-of-the-night ambles affected not only myself. A friend of mine, innocent, one with little to no real life experience, followed my example last summer and took her own stroll after midnight - ending up halfway across town. I told myself that I wouldn't walk so often again - not for my own sake, but because my decisions affect others as well.
But last night, again, I felt powerless. Overwhelmed, and helpless, and unsure of what to do to ease my frustrations. So I fell back to what I knew, and I walked. I walked with tears streaming down my face until I could hardly see in which direction I was heading. I walked in a state of dizziness and surprisingly enough, only collapsed a couple of times. Stupid narcotics. I didn't know where I was going or how long I would be gone, I just needed to walk. So I did.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Stubborn
I'm writing the following while on narcotics; if it doesn't make any sense I'm not responsible. :)
"Alright, Tarythe, just lie down now."
Oh, yeah right, like that's going to work on me. Uh-uh, I'm going home and they can't stop me.
Audrey and Scott tried a few times to lie me down on the couch, pushing my head and shoulders over one time and pulling my feet up the next, then attempting to do both at the same time so as to throw me off balance. I wouldn't have it. I sat up, shook my head, and simply said, "No."
It took them a few tries, but eventually they won and I was lying on my back on the couch.
Why am I still here? I want to go home! I hate the dentist. Now, where's the car?
Little to my knowledge, I was no longer at the dentist's office but already in my apartment.
I titlted my head and looked inquiringly at Scott. "I love you. Where's LaQueshawnda?"
LaQueshawnda is Scott's car and the vehicle I knew I was riding home in. I don't remember what Scott replied, but I wasn't listening anyway. I couldn't believe that I was still at the dentist's office and that noone was cooperating with me. I turned away from everyone and went promptly to sleep.
I fought the drugs all afternoon. I wanted to be awake and interacting with people, and kept trying to join in others' conversations. "Be quiet and just go to sleep, Tarythe."
"No," I replied. "I already had a 3-hour nap today. I'm fine."
I, for some reason, equated "being sedated for a 3-hour surgery" with "a 3-hour nap".
I didn't want to be lying down. I would periodically get up for no apparent reason; I myself don't even remember exactly why, except for the fact that I wanted to be up and not still stuck on the couch. Only once or twice I had a specific reason for jumping up suddenly and attempting to sprint out of the room. The first was I wanted to be in my pajamas. As much as I love wearing them, jeans aren't quite as comfortable as the cotton duck-print pjs that my mother lovingly made for me over Christmas, and I was determined to switch out the first for the second. Audrey tried to dissuade me, saying that Scott couldn't help me change but that she would in a few minutes; she was lying, but I didn't recognize it in her voice and I was momentarily appeased. But only momentarily.
Wait a minute, pajamas! I want my pajamas now, not later. Silly Audrey.
Suddenly I stood up and stumbled out of the room at a dangerously quick pace. Cassidy followed behind, asking me where I was going to and what I thought I was doing. I simply said, "pajamas". I somehow pulled on the duck-print pants, and tried to walk back out to the living room until Cassidy threw a shirt at me and I realized that I was only half-dressed. Thank goodness for roommates. I went back out to where everyone was and collapsed back onto the couch, much more comfortable. I slipped back out of consciousness.
I've spent the last few days doing pretty much nothing; everything makes me feel naseous and the drugs keep me in a constant state of drowsiness. My roommates keep getting frustrated with me, because I try to walk around and will collapse unexpectedly. I just hope that this doesn't last for long.
Drugs + Tarythe = Bad.
"Alright, Tarythe, just lie down now."
Oh, yeah right, like that's going to work on me. Uh-uh, I'm going home and they can't stop me.
Audrey and Scott tried a few times to lie me down on the couch, pushing my head and shoulders over one time and pulling my feet up the next, then attempting to do both at the same time so as to throw me off balance. I wouldn't have it. I sat up, shook my head, and simply said, "No."
It took them a few tries, but eventually they won and I was lying on my back on the couch.
Why am I still here? I want to go home! I hate the dentist. Now, where's the car?
Little to my knowledge, I was no longer at the dentist's office but already in my apartment.
I titlted my head and looked inquiringly at Scott. "I love you. Where's LaQueshawnda?"
LaQueshawnda is Scott's car and the vehicle I knew I was riding home in. I don't remember what Scott replied, but I wasn't listening anyway. I couldn't believe that I was still at the dentist's office and that noone was cooperating with me. I turned away from everyone and went promptly to sleep.
I fought the drugs all afternoon. I wanted to be awake and interacting with people, and kept trying to join in others' conversations. "Be quiet and just go to sleep, Tarythe."
"No," I replied. "I already had a 3-hour nap today. I'm fine."
I, for some reason, equated "being sedated for a 3-hour surgery" with "a 3-hour nap".
I didn't want to be lying down. I would periodically get up for no apparent reason; I myself don't even remember exactly why, except for the fact that I wanted to be up and not still stuck on the couch. Only once or twice I had a specific reason for jumping up suddenly and attempting to sprint out of the room. The first was I wanted to be in my pajamas. As much as I love wearing them, jeans aren't quite as comfortable as the cotton duck-print pjs that my mother lovingly made for me over Christmas, and I was determined to switch out the first for the second. Audrey tried to dissuade me, saying that Scott couldn't help me change but that she would in a few minutes; she was lying, but I didn't recognize it in her voice and I was momentarily appeased. But only momentarily.
Wait a minute, pajamas! I want my pajamas now, not later. Silly Audrey.
Suddenly I stood up and stumbled out of the room at a dangerously quick pace. Cassidy followed behind, asking me where I was going to and what I thought I was doing. I simply said, "pajamas". I somehow pulled on the duck-print pants, and tried to walk back out to the living room until Cassidy threw a shirt at me and I realized that I was only half-dressed. Thank goodness for roommates. I went back out to where everyone was and collapsed back onto the couch, much more comfortable. I slipped back out of consciousness.
I've spent the last few days doing pretty much nothing; everything makes me feel naseous and the drugs keep me in a constant state of drowsiness. My roommates keep getting frustrated with me, because I try to walk around and will collapse unexpectedly. I just hope that this doesn't last for long.
Drugs + Tarythe = Bad.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Maryland
A new school, a new city, a new job, new friends, a new apartment, new roommates, a new church district...terrifying? Yes. But I feel surprisingly calm about it.
Perhaps it's the drugs.
Perhaps it's the drugs.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Drugs + Tarythe = Bad
"Alright, put down 2 B, 3 MO, 4 OD, 6 F, 7 DF, 13 MOD...19 DO, 19 B, 29 MOD, 30 OD..."
I tried not to wince as the dentist poked and prodded and scraped my teeth, giving his nurse notes on their condition. A man walked into the room and looked around.
"I've also got a 3 labial facial caries: on 6, 7, and 13. And the 4 extractions are: 1 and 16 regular, 17 and 32 partially impacted in the soft tissue," the dentist continued. The random man looked at the x-rays of my teeth, mumbled a few things to himself, and walked out.
Wait a minute, impacted? That can't be good. Aren't impacted teeth supposed to be painful to remove? Don't cry don't cry don't cry...
The dentist stopped poking inside my mouth and looked at me. I eyed him sideways from the dentist's chair, wary of what he might say next.
"Well, it looks like we've got some cavities to take care of, young lady. We'll try to get you scheduled to get your wisdom teeth pulled as soon as possible; these bottom ones look like they are really hurting you already, especially the right one. How's about we do the fillings then too, take care of everything at once?" I asked if I could be sedated. "Oh, yes, of course. We'll put you out for the whole procedure and you won't even know what's happening."
"Alright," I said. Just then the same random man from earlier walked into the room again. "You know, when I had my wisdom teeth out I was semi-conscious. I could see everything...it was the oddest sensation."
I looked back at the dentist in a panic, and he reassured me that I had nothing to worry about; I would be completly out for the whole procedure. The random man was ushered out of the room. The nurse took two more x-rays, and Penney scheduled an appointment for next Friday. She told me to have soft foods ready to eat after the operation; to take the valium pill 1 hour before the appointment; and not to drive, drink alcohol, or operate heavy machinery for a few days afterwards. I left the office, not sure what to think; I was scared, as I hate going to the dentist more than anywhere else, but at the same time grateful that I would be asleep for the entire procedure. It'll be a 3-hour surgery that I definitely do not want to be awake for.
A week seems a long time to wait when my mouth is already killing me, so the nurse gave me some drugs to tide me over. The drug that she gave me came in liquid form and is to be taken 4 or 5 times a day. It contains codeine, a narcotic analgesic; it's supposed to dull the pain of my already-throbbing wisdom tooth until next Friday. I took some on Thursday morning, and suddenly the world looked soft and pink. Nothing seemed to really matter that much; I was nauseous, and I was dizzy, but I was mellow. Ah, so this is how narcotics feel. My gums hurt a lot less than they would have, but the down side was that I felt sick all day. And though I was mellow most of the day, when I did get upset it was intense.
One of my teams lost their NCAA game on Thursday night. Syracuse lost to Texas A&M (of all people), and I just couldn't handle it. Scott and I were competitive over that particular game anyway; his family are die-hard A&M fans. We spent most of the game wondering who wasn't going to speak to whom when their team lost, insisting, of course, that it would be the other person who was maddened into silence. After an agonizing last few minutes of the game, Syracuse couldn't pull ahead and the game ended with a score of 66-58, A&M.
I was furious; I suddenly had the urge to lash out, and I decided it would be a better idea to walk away than risk injuring someone. I walked out of my apartment and over to the stairs, leaving Scott and my roommates wondering what my problem was. The thing was, I didn't know. I sat down on the top step and put my head in my hands, breathing heavily. I was shaking with rage and didn't stop for the next 20 minutes. I rarely get so upset about anything, and never over anything as trivial as a basketball game. I hated the way I felt; I couldn't control my emotions and I felt sick. The drugs were definitely working me over. Scott came out to find me and, after holding me for awhile, took me to get ice cream. It helped. I stopped shaking, started breathing normally, and then just felt weak. I had exerted all the energy I'd had in containing my anger. After we finished our ice cream, Scott went home, and so did I. I worked on my computer for an hour or so, checking my email and the scores of basketball games that had ended after I'd stormed out. I then went to bed and lie awake thinking for awhile. When I did fall asleep, I slept better than I have for months. At least the codeine was good for something.
Seems quite a costly way to get some sleep, though.
I tried not to wince as the dentist poked and prodded and scraped my teeth, giving his nurse notes on their condition. A man walked into the room and looked around.
"I've also got a 3 labial facial caries: on 6, 7, and 13. And the 4 extractions are: 1 and 16 regular, 17 and 32 partially impacted in the soft tissue," the dentist continued. The random man looked at the x-rays of my teeth, mumbled a few things to himself, and walked out.
Wait a minute, impacted? That can't be good. Aren't impacted teeth supposed to be painful to remove? Don't cry don't cry don't cry...
The dentist stopped poking inside my mouth and looked at me. I eyed him sideways from the dentist's chair, wary of what he might say next.
"Well, it looks like we've got some cavities to take care of, young lady. We'll try to get you scheduled to get your wisdom teeth pulled as soon as possible; these bottom ones look like they are really hurting you already, especially the right one. How's about we do the fillings then too, take care of everything at once?" I asked if I could be sedated. "Oh, yes, of course. We'll put you out for the whole procedure and you won't even know what's happening."
"Alright," I said. Just then the same random man from earlier walked into the room again. "You know, when I had my wisdom teeth out I was semi-conscious. I could see everything...it was the oddest sensation."
I looked back at the dentist in a panic, and he reassured me that I had nothing to worry about; I would be completly out for the whole procedure. The random man was ushered out of the room. The nurse took two more x-rays, and Penney scheduled an appointment for next Friday. She told me to have soft foods ready to eat after the operation; to take the valium pill 1 hour before the appointment; and not to drive, drink alcohol, or operate heavy machinery for a few days afterwards. I left the office, not sure what to think; I was scared, as I hate going to the dentist more than anywhere else, but at the same time grateful that I would be asleep for the entire procedure. It'll be a 3-hour surgery that I definitely do not want to be awake for.
A week seems a long time to wait when my mouth is already killing me, so the nurse gave me some drugs to tide me over. The drug that she gave me came in liquid form and is to be taken 4 or 5 times a day. It contains codeine, a narcotic analgesic; it's supposed to dull the pain of my already-throbbing wisdom tooth until next Friday. I took some on Thursday morning, and suddenly the world looked soft and pink. Nothing seemed to really matter that much; I was nauseous, and I was dizzy, but I was mellow. Ah, so this is how narcotics feel. My gums hurt a lot less than they would have, but the down side was that I felt sick all day. And though I was mellow most of the day, when I did get upset it was intense.
One of my teams lost their NCAA game on Thursday night. Syracuse lost to Texas A&M (of all people), and I just couldn't handle it. Scott and I were competitive over that particular game anyway; his family are die-hard A&M fans. We spent most of the game wondering who wasn't going to speak to whom when their team lost, insisting, of course, that it would be the other person who was maddened into silence. After an agonizing last few minutes of the game, Syracuse couldn't pull ahead and the game ended with a score of 66-58, A&M.
I was furious; I suddenly had the urge to lash out, and I decided it would be a better idea to walk away than risk injuring someone. I walked out of my apartment and over to the stairs, leaving Scott and my roommates wondering what my problem was. The thing was, I didn't know. I sat down on the top step and put my head in my hands, breathing heavily. I was shaking with rage and didn't stop for the next 20 minutes. I rarely get so upset about anything, and never over anything as trivial as a basketball game. I hated the way I felt; I couldn't control my emotions and I felt sick. The drugs were definitely working me over. Scott came out to find me and, after holding me for awhile, took me to get ice cream. It helped. I stopped shaking, started breathing normally, and then just felt weak. I had exerted all the energy I'd had in containing my anger. After we finished our ice cream, Scott went home, and so did I. I worked on my computer for an hour or so, checking my email and the scores of basketball games that had ended after I'd stormed out. I then went to bed and lie awake thinking for awhile. When I did fall asleep, I slept better than I have for months. At least the codeine was good for something.
Seems quite a costly way to get some sleep, though.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Have You Filled Out YOUR Bracket Yet?
So begins the NCAA tournament, anxiously awaited by some and callously ignored by others. I must admit, I wasn't a March Madness fanatic until I came out to BYU. But then I met my roommate Christine, who not only fell instantly in love with any man who could dribble the ball, but also had her bracket filled out and turned in to the ward pool before anyone else. She converted me. Or just educated me a little bit; perhaps even now I can't honestly claim the title 'fanatic', seeing as how I'm still fairly ignorant as far as details of the tournament and teams go, but at least now, unlike my prior-to-BYU days, I know that "March Madness" is not a springtime epidemic or related in any way to Cabin Fever.
I have my teams picked. Some are good picks, others are gutsy, and the rest are probably just plain stupid (Georgetown and Northwestern State, for example). What can I say, I'm hoping for a miracle - and gloating privileges. If they lose, well, no one will be surprised. My strategy is: pick a couple top teams, pick teams that will likely play against each other so that I will be sure to win either way, and then pick some underdog teams just for the sake of it. Hey, someone has to cheer for them right? And besides, there are always upsets. I'm just hoping they're by my teams.
I'm in a competition for the first time ever; Scott's family has invited me to join their family bracket competiton, and perhaps against my better judgment (this is an opportunity for me to reveal how stupid I really am) I've accepted. My family was never big on brackets (like I said, I didn't even know what March Madness was until I came to BYU), and for the last few years I've watched, amused, from a short distance. But no more. Now that I have a competition, a challenge, I've got teams to fight for. And you'd best believe that I will. Even if I'm losing spectacularly, I'll hold my head high. Even if my teams can't make their free-throw shots, I'll cheer them on anyway. Even if my teams trip and take me down with them, I'll continue to smile smugly - and trash-talk all the way down.
I don't think Scott's family realizes what they've gotten themselves into.
I have my teams picked. Some are good picks, others are gutsy, and the rest are probably just plain stupid (Georgetown and Northwestern State, for example). What can I say, I'm hoping for a miracle - and gloating privileges. If they lose, well, no one will be surprised. My strategy is: pick a couple top teams, pick teams that will likely play against each other so that I will be sure to win either way, and then pick some underdog teams just for the sake of it. Hey, someone has to cheer for them right? And besides, there are always upsets. I'm just hoping they're by my teams.
I'm in a competition for the first time ever; Scott's family has invited me to join their family bracket competiton, and perhaps against my better judgment (this is an opportunity for me to reveal how stupid I really am) I've accepted. My family was never big on brackets (like I said, I didn't even know what March Madness was until I came to BYU), and for the last few years I've watched, amused, from a short distance. But no more. Now that I have a competition, a challenge, I've got teams to fight for. And you'd best believe that I will. Even if I'm losing spectacularly, I'll hold my head high. Even if my teams can't make their free-throw shots, I'll cheer them on anyway. Even if my teams trip and take me down with them, I'll continue to smile smugly - and trash-talk all the way down.
I don't think Scott's family realizes what they've gotten themselves into.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Insecurity
Emilie walked into the apartment shortly after midnight, grinning from ear to ear.
"How was your night?" I asked, curious to see if anything had come of Emilie's recent interaction with her new love interest.
"Oh, it was good," she responded as she walked out of the living room. "Is anyone else home?"
"Julie and Audrey, but Audrey's asleep. She just got home about 20 minutes ago. She was so tired that I was afraid keeping her awake any longer would have resulted in a nervous breakdown."
Emilie only heard part of what I said as she stood in the doorway to the back rooms. "20 minutes ago? Then she probably is actually asleep already. Dangit!"
I tried to ask about her night again, but she was no longer within earshot. "Emilie!" I yelled with an exaggerated whine in my voice. "Come talk to me!"
At this point Emilie was discussing something completley different with Julie, and I gave up. I went back to my game of online Canasta, which I was losing at spectacularly. My opponent must have been cheating. About 10 minutes later, after the return of Caitie and her date, a knock on the door signalled Ted's arrival at our apartment. He was in search of a pancake recipe, a very specific one apparently, and asked whether or not we had a Better Homes and Gardens recipe book. I fetched it for him. Emilie came out from behind the curtain separating the living room from the vanity area, and the two of them starting talking about the evening. Their word choice and tones of voice were telling, but the details were vague.
I looked back and forth between them, feeling left out and frustrated. "Emilie! You mean something happened and you didn't tell me? I tried to ask you about it!"
Apparently Caitie was privy to the evening's events, as she instantly attempted to defend the lack of revelation about the evening. "Well, you know, she was still in shock!"
I didn't believe that was true, and was hurt. Why had she sought out Audrey so instantly after arriving home if the shock of the evening's happenings prevented her from talking about them? Why wouldn't she tell me instead? I sat on the couch and pouted (I know, the very mature thing to do), struggling between wanting to become invisible and desiring others' attention in my imagined personal injury. I worked hard on convincing myself that this was just another example of how Emilie loved Audrey better than she did me. "I just knew it!" I silently mewled to myself. "I'm not good enough and Emilie doesn't consider me a close enough friend to talk to about things. I know I'm not perfect like she is, but why does she look down on me so? Why doesn't she love me?" Few things hurt me more than witholding information from me, especially if that information is given freely to someone else. I pride myself on being trustworthy and a good confidant.
Later that night, as (in spite of myself) I cried on Emilie's shoulder about life in general, I realized just how insecure I am. How silly is it to think that I'm in a competition with others for any one person's attention? I don't need to feel hurt because I'm not the first one someone runs to with news, be it exciting or distressing. Why is it that the first thing I assume when faced with a situation like this is that I've somehow failed? That I'm not good enough and that it's a personal attack (whether intentional or not ) on me? I feel at times like Buttercup: "I will never doubt again," I say with every hope that it is true. Yet how quickly I fall and how quickly I doubt! I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I am enough, that I'm not a waste of space and my existence is valid. The amount of love and support I receive from others every day astounds me; how lucky I am to have such friends. As Emilie held me tonight and whispered that she loved me, my fears of inadequacy were temporarily allayed. The recent hurt feelings were forgotten. She loves me? She loves me! Despite my predisposition toward disbelief of any profession of love for me, I knew somehow that what she said was true. And I was grateful for it. "I will never doubt again," I thought to myself. Emilie smiled kindly and silently replied, "There will never be a need."
"How was your night?" I asked, curious to see if anything had come of Emilie's recent interaction with her new love interest.
"Oh, it was good," she responded as she walked out of the living room. "Is anyone else home?"
"Julie and Audrey, but Audrey's asleep. She just got home about 20 minutes ago. She was so tired that I was afraid keeping her awake any longer would have resulted in a nervous breakdown."
Emilie only heard part of what I said as she stood in the doorway to the back rooms. "20 minutes ago? Then she probably is actually asleep already. Dangit!"
I tried to ask about her night again, but she was no longer within earshot. "Emilie!" I yelled with an exaggerated whine in my voice. "Come talk to me!"
At this point Emilie was discussing something completley different with Julie, and I gave up. I went back to my game of online Canasta, which I was losing at spectacularly. My opponent must have been cheating. About 10 minutes later, after the return of Caitie and her date, a knock on the door signalled Ted's arrival at our apartment. He was in search of a pancake recipe, a very specific one apparently, and asked whether or not we had a Better Homes and Gardens recipe book. I fetched it for him. Emilie came out from behind the curtain separating the living room from the vanity area, and the two of them starting talking about the evening. Their word choice and tones of voice were telling, but the details were vague.
I looked back and forth between them, feeling left out and frustrated. "Emilie! You mean something happened and you didn't tell me? I tried to ask you about it!"
Apparently Caitie was privy to the evening's events, as she instantly attempted to defend the lack of revelation about the evening. "Well, you know, she was still in shock!"
I didn't believe that was true, and was hurt. Why had she sought out Audrey so instantly after arriving home if the shock of the evening's happenings prevented her from talking about them? Why wouldn't she tell me instead? I sat on the couch and pouted (I know, the very mature thing to do), struggling between wanting to become invisible and desiring others' attention in my imagined personal injury. I worked hard on convincing myself that this was just another example of how Emilie loved Audrey better than she did me. "I just knew it!" I silently mewled to myself. "I'm not good enough and Emilie doesn't consider me a close enough friend to talk to about things. I know I'm not perfect like she is, but why does she look down on me so? Why doesn't she love me?" Few things hurt me more than witholding information from me, especially if that information is given freely to someone else. I pride myself on being trustworthy and a good confidant.
Later that night, as (in spite of myself) I cried on Emilie's shoulder about life in general, I realized just how insecure I am. How silly is it to think that I'm in a competition with others for any one person's attention? I don't need to feel hurt because I'm not the first one someone runs to with news, be it exciting or distressing. Why is it that the first thing I assume when faced with a situation like this is that I've somehow failed? That I'm not good enough and that it's a personal attack (whether intentional or not ) on me? I feel at times like Buttercup: "I will never doubt again," I say with every hope that it is true. Yet how quickly I fall and how quickly I doubt! I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I am enough, that I'm not a waste of space and my existence is valid. The amount of love and support I receive from others every day astounds me; how lucky I am to have such friends. As Emilie held me tonight and whispered that she loved me, my fears of inadequacy were temporarily allayed. The recent hurt feelings were forgotten. She loves me? She loves me! Despite my predisposition toward disbelief of any profession of love for me, I knew somehow that what she said was true. And I was grateful for it. "I will never doubt again," I thought to myself. Emilie smiled kindly and silently replied, "There will never be a need."
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Valentine's
A steak dinner (Outback, no less!); ice cream (The Malt Shoppe even!); a movie (The Chronicles of Narnia, who'd have guessed?!).
Dang Gina, could Valentine's Day get any better?
That's right. I didn't think so.
Dang Gina, could Valentine's Day get any better?
That's right. I didn't think so.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Default to Submission
"Hello, my name is Tarythe."
"Tyler."
He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.
"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.
He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.
"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.
"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."
"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.
"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.
"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Indeed."
My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.
The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.
Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.
There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.
As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?
"Tyler."
He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.
"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.
He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.
"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.
"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."
"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.
"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.
"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Indeed."
My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.
The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.
Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.
There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.
As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Anticipation
They say that patience is a virtue...but I'm not feeling very virtuous right now. Or patient, for that matter.
There are so many things in life that I want. Most of them I have, but there are a few that I don't. And concerning those things which I lack...like Veruca Salt, I want them now. Not in a few weeks or a year or 10 years.
1. I want a car. I would use a car not only to drive me between point A and point B, but also as a way to relax, listen to music, and have some "me" time. Instead of taking long walks by myself in the middle of the night, I would opt for a quick post-midnight jaunt down the freeway to clear my head.
2. I want to know if I've been accepted into my major. Of course, this requires me turning in the application...hmm, I suppose I should get on that.
3. I want a new laptop. My current one is only 2 years old, but the blasted thing keeps breaking. It will randomly decide to not turn on, and is convinced (despite all evidence to the contrary) that my D:\ doesn't exist. Stupid computer. Don't tell my laptop I said that.
4. I want my parcel to come. I've been anxiously waiting and waiting for a box to arrive in the mail, lovingly packed with some books, movies, and games that I got for Christmas. Every day that the parcel doesn't come just makes me want to watch Muppet Treasure Island and The Emperor's New Groove that much more...
5. I want ice cream, and the anticipation is killing me. What idiot said that awaiting something was sweeter than receiving it? They should be flogged. The end.
*Deep Sigh* Just Breathe...
There are so many things in life that I want. Most of them I have, but there are a few that I don't. And concerning those things which I lack...like Veruca Salt, I want them now. Not in a few weeks or a year or 10 years.
1. I want a car. I would use a car not only to drive me between point A and point B, but also as a way to relax, listen to music, and have some "me" time. Instead of taking long walks by myself in the middle of the night, I would opt for a quick post-midnight jaunt down the freeway to clear my head.
2. I want to know if I've been accepted into my major. Of course, this requires me turning in the application...hmm, I suppose I should get on that.
3. I want a new laptop. My current one is only 2 years old, but the blasted thing keeps breaking. It will randomly decide to not turn on, and is convinced (despite all evidence to the contrary) that my D:\ doesn't exist. Stupid computer. Don't tell my laptop I said that.
4. I want my parcel to come. I've been anxiously waiting and waiting for a box to arrive in the mail, lovingly packed with some books, movies, and games that I got for Christmas. Every day that the parcel doesn't come just makes me want to watch Muppet Treasure Island and The Emperor's New Groove that much more...
5. I want ice cream, and the anticipation is killing me. What idiot said that awaiting something was sweeter than receiving it? They should be flogged. The end.
*Deep Sigh* Just Breathe...
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