Sigh

I am so tired of being treated as if I am invisible, not worth listening to, out of sight--out of mind. Although I do believe my sister always was an evil bitch, she was, it appears, right when she declared I was a "non." As in nonexistent.

I am offended when the person I'm talking to turns and talks to someone else when I am in mid-sentence.

At least Jolie checks in dutifully and I give deep thanks for that, but I try to limit my babble and check-ins with her, as I believe that is the root of the entire issue with my life and it is driving my lack of relationships.

Hmmm. I've worn out my welcome in the world. Of course, the people who see me regularly sure do appreciate all of the work I do and the help I provide and the insights and research I contribute and they tell me how much that matters...but I as a human being do not. I am valued as a provider of services only. I wish I could articulate this better.

Nobody gives a shit about me. My own mother doesn't say anything nice about me.

My lack of relationships is not due to a lack of trying on my part. I have tried in every way I know how. I have employed every piece of Dear Abby advice on this issue. I am involved in my community, I ask politely after others, but the truth is, nobody wants me around. They simply dread the thought of being around me. I observe. I listen. I see it clearly. I am astute in this regard.

If I were to kill myself, say, during one of those periods when our office closes to save on expenses and funding, apart from Frank, I wonder how long I would lie dead somewhere before it occurred to anyone--anyone--that they hadn't heard from me in a very long time.

So, this is my new challenge. No outgoing phone calls, no email that isn't work-related, no Facebook, no initiated conversation beyond the polite hello.

I am going to try not to talk anymore. What a big fucking relief THAT's going to be to the world. Yes, I do get it.

Shut the fuck up, May, shut the fuck up May, shut the fuck up, May, shut the fuck up, May.

With any luck, I'll have a heart attack or aneurysm or something that will kill me soon. At least Frank will get the insurance money along with the quiet. I do believe it's important to contribute to the comfort of others whenever I can.

On an unrelated note, Frank has been working on our taxes. He said we should be getting a large refund, and then he started reciting the list of home-improvement projects we can tackle with that money.

I am going to go to my grave having never taken a vacation with my husband. I hate this about him. I resent it deep in my gut. Yes, sure, I could go somewhere alone. Sure. Because that's all I can do or ever will be able to do. Nobody wants to spend time with me. Not even my husband. Why have fun when you can fix something in the house?

Next week, I'm changing my withholding.

I can think all along the spectrum

Lately, I'm trying to counter every negative thought with a thought of gratitude or appreciation. It doesn't make me feel any more worthwhile, but it reminds me that there's something to acknowledge about my day.

While driving to work today and feeling sad about feeling so unloved, I composed this list. New list tomorrow, even if not blogged:

• I am grateful to have a job.
• I am grateful that I earn enough money to pay my bills.
• I am grateful that I have a safe and pleasant home.
• My pets make me happy.
• I am fortunate to have a responsible and honest husband.
• I am relieved to have a reliable car

But more than anything

I really hate to be ignored. I hate to be told I'm irrelevant or to hear someone be told that I should not be taken seriously.

Diminishing my worth is demeaning in its own way, but ignoring me completely is what makes me want to take that cue and run with it--into traffic, off a cliff, whatever.

Valetine's sweet

And so it goes. Seven years today...

Doh.

I just tried to make a bracelet, but being the dorky moron I am, I made it way too fucking big. May, you suck. Stop trying to be creative. It's not working.

An ache in the heart

I really, really, really miss Joanna. I miss talking to her. I miss her insights and opinions. I miss intelligent conversation. OK, I have intelligent conversations with Jolie, but I always worry about wearing out my welcome.

I miss Joanna a lot.

Socially networked

I closed one of my Facebook accounts this week. You're only supposed to have one, anyway, and technically, one of my accounts wasn't really "me." It started to feel ridiculous after a while, especially since I only had one "friend," and that's someone I speak to regularly, anyway.

Meanwhile, back on my real Facebook page, I'm holding steady with 78 "friends." I knew almost all of them long before I had a Facebook account. Some of them are acquaintances whose friend requests I accepted because it felt too awkward to decline. Most I thought I might want the connection with, although I frequently reconsider the wisdom of that decision.

I don't know how people can have hundreds of friends on Facebook or why they would want to--unless they are a public figure. When I first joined Facebook, I sent friend requests to six people. That was it. Everyone else found me on their own. I've received requests I declined after some thought, and others that took me by surprise along the lines of, "You don't even like me. WTF?" Others I had written out of my life years--if not decades--ago, and I felt no mellowed nostalgia prompting me to push those doors open again. There is simply no point.

The more people I add to my friends list, the less freely I can say what I'm thinking. A large friends list full of vague acquaintances presents too many variables to keep track of.

Maybe I'm not cut out for Facebook. Sometimes I feel too exposed; other times, too stifled because I don't want to offend anyone with what's on my mind. Most of the time, though, I just feel ignored. Very ignored.

This weekend, I'm struggling with the automated feature that lets you know when several of your friends have a common friend, and it suggests you might want to be friends with that person, too. This time around, that would be my older brother. I've spoken to him once in about three years, and that was over a year ago--and he had the conversation reluctantly.
So, he's on Facebook now and he has friended my cousins, my sisters-in-law, my nephew and a niece, but once again, I'm the elephant in the room.

Maybe it's karmic payback for all of the friend requests I ignore without any acknowledgement whatsoever. Maybe it's a reminder that I was born into the wrong family.

I stand by my decision to not accept any other new friend requests, though, because at this point, what I really want is for the people who know me to be sincere about the connection we supposedly already have.

I've never been so lonely, and that's a sad situation for someone with 78 Facebook connections.

Double take

Compulsively channel surfing through commercial breaks is a personal trademark. I can time it perfectly to be back at the show at the precise moment the commercial break ends without missing a line of dialogue.

If I'm on the computer, though, I can't multitask with a remote. This is how I came to have a moment of feeling puzzled and intrigued at the same time.

We were watching something on OWN, the new Oprah network. It must have been Mystery Diagnosis because that's pretty much the only thing we watch on OWN. I am sick and I am exhausted, and Frank was cooking dinner, so I didn't change the channel when a commercial break came on. A spot for a new Lisa Ling show came on. Actually, it ran several times, but it wasn't until the third or fourth time that I looked up and actually saw the video.

It took me a second. I did a double take. I could have sworn...

Someone I knew many years ago is in the process of a male-to-female transgender transition. I am almost sure I saw him/her on the promo for Our America with Lisa Ling. If it's not her/him, then she has a blocky-body-and-blonde-pageboy-wig identical twin. It was uncanny.

Of course, now I haven't seen the commercial again--mostly because I've been onto another network since Mystery Diagnosis finished. I've actually been flipping between channels at the commercial break hoping to find a commercial. Odd, but inquiring minds really want to take a closer look and pay attention this time.

I checked said person's blog, but there is no mention, not even a hint, of being included in a Lisa Ling documentary. Well, the gender identity issues were kept secret for over 45 years, so why not this?

Viral

I'd like a new immune system, please. This one doesn't work right. Oh, and I'd like a side of normal central nervous system with that. Thanks.

blurry

I believe I am starting to disappear, little by little.

I wonder if anyone else will notice?

Quiet

sometimes,
I just want to close the door on my life,
turn off the lights,
and sit in the dark,
quiet, without obligations or interruptions,
until I am no more

Sometimes the lyrics are my life

El Greco
from the album Courage
by Paula Cole

Click here to listen, and then click on song #3, El Greco.

I’m black on blacker velvet,
Milk skin and veins,
Like some El Greco painting,
So full of pain.
So full of longing for light of day.

I thought I knew who I was in the world.
But here I am twice blind at being born,
Crawling to my buried voice, within.

And I’ve forgotten who I used to be.
And I’ve forgotten the woman in red,
Living her dream.
And I’ve forgotten the courage I used to be.

Happiness is overrated,
It never lasts.
Skating the surface of oceanic depths.
Oh may the fruit of my life be meaning.

So please forgive me all my seriousness,
My so-called spirituality,
I’m just a mess.
I’m tears and anxiety,
But I’m unafraid to See.

And I’ve forgotten who I used to be,
The leader in her glory shining, divining.
And I’ve forgotten, the courage I used to be,
The middle passage is so damned humbling, persona crumbling,
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
And I try, and I try, and I try, and I try, and I try.
I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,
And I try, and I try, and I try, and I try, and I try.

Like some El Greco painting,
No sun or sky.
No lantern, no candle needed to light,
The holy radiance behind the eyes.

And I’ve forgotten who I used to be.
And I’ve forgotten the woman in red, living her dream.
And I’ve forgotten the courage I used to be.

I don’t know…


Decca Records, Copyright Paula Cole 2010, All Rights Reserved. Photo, Images.com.