The best I can hope for
December 20, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine, Mmhmm That's Right
“I always find it a little funny how things can seem so cruddy and then all of a sudden, they return to normal, or some variation of normal. It’s like we’re all set to some relative standard of balance, like a bobber in a lake. And we just bob, bob, bob our way back to okay no matter what.” - Jonniker
On Tuesday I was running ridiculously late to get to the airport. I had every intention of being up early and getting out the door on time and cleaning my bedroom floor but the road to hell is paved with good intentions so I did absolutely none of that. But I do have clean sheets so at least I’ve got that going for me.
Because of my absurd lateness and perpetual fear of missing a flight I didn’t clean off my car. I figured it was passable and went on my merry way. While driving, a police car passed me then promptly turned around to stop me because apparently it is illegal to drive around without being able to see anything out of the front of your car. Shocking. I was offered a ticket or the opportunity to clean off my windshield so that it wasn’t like driving in the dark without lights on. I obliged. When he came back to my car after running my license he asked my height and then asked my weight. I know that it is inadvisable to question a police officer even if they’re wrong as hell but I think I’d risk prison to avoid telling someone my weight, especially since I haven’t seen a scale since 1987. So, I asked why he would need such information and he gave me some bullshit excuse about filling out a ‘contact’ form to say he had had contact with me in lieu of giving me a ticket. I didn’t feel like waiting an extra 20 minutes for him to write out a ticket so I told him my weight and he looked at me as if I’d just informed him that since he was already here, he should also check for the heroin and dead body that I keep in my trunk. Kill two birds with one stone, I always say. He looked me up and down and said “Really??” in this high, you have my testicles in a vice, type pitch. Given that I had actually shaved off about 10 lbs I said “Uh, yes. Why?” then held my breath for him to laugh and call me a liar. He didn’t. Instead he looked me up and down again and said, “Wow, you don’t look it”. And then because the hood of my car was spectacularly clean and snow free, I asked him if he was in a rush or if we could do it on the hood of my car because he totally deserved it.
Needless to say this elated me. I’m taking my victories - however minor - as they come as of late. I’m generally easily pleased but the past two weeks have kicked my ass. I’m hesitant to give further details because it will come off as whining and well, I’m a HUGE asshole. It all boils down to this relentless tendency to think, analyze, talk, whinge, then rinse and repeat 17 times a day. It’s a classic case of questioning what I want and what I will do to get it. Basically, do I really deserve to be happy or am I destined to questioning my every decision. These are actually things that should be thought out over an extended period of time and hopefully without feeling like I’m at fault and yet I cannot help but think about every single scenario until I’m up at 3:30 AM because what if things don’t go as well as I need them to?
What an utterly stupid question. What if Susan’s roof caves in while I’m sleeping and crushes my torso and I can’t call for help and I die alone in Oklahoma? Seriously. If I ask all the what-ifs I am going to drive myself insane, which is exactly how things have been going for like four days straight. Now I’m tired. Ridiculously exhausted because I’ve worn myself out from all of the overuse of my brain only to come up with a conclusion that is so very easy. A conclusion that should be said very deliberately with a bit of reassuring petting: Things will be OK. I might be an asshole, I might completely fuck up, things will probably not be perfect (understatement of the decade, I know) but things always, always, always, end up OK. And for now that is the best that I could hope for. So I sleep.
Diane Mandy says:
What a story! I’d take that small victory,too. (Notice how I am focusing on the positive aspects of the story?) I think you are being too critical of yourself–not to criticize.
Jezer says:
Wanna know what I always say? Well, I’m telling you anyway: Everything is always OK. Even when it’s not OK, it’s OK. (But then, I think you know that part.)
I read an interview with Michael J. Fox where he talked about how we’re all just headed toward death (I KNOW! Uplifting, right?) so we should all cut each other and ourselves a little slack.
Cut yourself some slack, K? You may think you’re an asshole, but I think you’re delightful.
nopasanada says:
For the record it’s not like I’m trying to have a pity party or something. I know that everything will be just fine. Think of this as something that was written at 3:30 AM and nothing more. In the grand scheme of things what is bothering me isn’t that big of a deal or at least right now it’s pretty innocuous. What is happening is that I’m thinking of what might happen or what could happen in weeks or even months when really I should just say that I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
In short; it’s fine. I’m melodramatic and now exhausted and my brain hurts.
Amanda says:
Seriously freaking out over here. We’re the same age, same areas of study in college [I assume from reading your blog], and seriously, same shit in life. Sometimes reading your blog I feel like you’re reading my mind or our brains and our lives are connected in some random way.
Angella says:
Like I said before, come to Canada. We will drink wine and have a blast. But come in the summer - winter blows. Literally.
She Likes Purple says:
On your way to Canada, come to Texas and we’ll drink giant and very strong margaritas. Of, margaritas aren’t for you, almond champagne which is made a block from my house at this snazzy little pocket winery.
I know exactly what you’re talking about. I do this constantly. I am sitting at a light, and I think to myself, “What if the person beside me gets out of their car and into mine and points a gun to me and tells me to drive? Should I lock my doors? Will they see me lock my doors? Should I run the red light? Should I get my cell phone out and dial someone now and leave it flipped open so they can hear my screams? Is my cell phone charged?”
And, unfortunately, I’m not even kidding.
I wish I was.
It’s exhausting to be my brain.
Leah says:
Dude, I can’t believe a police officer flirted with you like that! You should have made a citizens’ arrest–handcuffed him to a pole and showed him who’s the boss, heh heh.
Hope Oklahoma cures what ails ya.
Trishie says:
I think it’s okay when a police officer flirts with you and doesn’t give you a ticket. It’s when he flirts and then still acts like a complete jerk and still gives you a ticket of some sorts.
Flirting should be the ultimate “get out of jail free” card. Except for Debra LaFave. She should just rot in jail with her perfect teeth.
Anyway.. um.. happy holidays!
Katie says:
I’m so impressed that you have the courage to question a cop! I, on the other hand, am easily intimidated by men in uniform. Am such a ninny.
sweetney says:
uhh, hello? you’re HOT. numbers matter not.
CGHill says:
The scary part is, I was reading her stuff and thinking variations on “Wow” before I had any idea that she was hot.
Gooseberried says:
Oh, I know exactly how you feel. Last night, a nice bartender guy gave me a free glass of wine. “You know what? Try this wine on me instead,” after I told him what I wanted.
Me: Really???
I was elated!
Maria says:
Did you get the digits? That’s what we want to know.
I do the “do I deserve?” game too. You know what? You do deserve to be happy and have what you want.
Whimspiration says:
LOVE!
Dagny says:
Thank you for the chuckle. It’s been some time since I’ve had a cop flirt with me. Perhaps I should do something mildly illegal in my car. Nah. Think I’ll just have a cocktail instead. And next time you’re in SF, I’ll get you one too.
Momo Fali says:
Where is that police officer and when can I meet him?
And…what are these clean sheets you speak of? Doesn’t everyone sleep among graham crackers crumbs and yellow labrador hair, as I do?
Aimee Greeblemonkey says:
Maybe I should try to get a ticket so a cop can ask me about my weight and make me feel good. Cause the scale is doing nothing but piss me off.
Lori says:
Somehow, I even manage to surprise doctors and nurses with what I weigh. It makes me feel good until I see the number on the scale again at home, with nobody to act surprised and say, “but you look so thin!” Then, it just looks like a big number.
Congratulations on the clean sheets!