THE REAL ME . . .

Patience = thin. Thin as ice.
I actually rolled my eyes at her, in front of everyone.

I don't know why her in particular, now, lately, all the time.
Is it the claws? The fluttering eyelids? The constant nodding? The jutting chin? The shrill voice? The transparent desperation? The know-it-all paternalism? The trite speech? The wretched grammar? The apparent inability to form personal and original opinions or thoughts? The apparent unawareness of personal space? The too-oft-repeated anecdotes? Did I already mention the shrillness and the claws?

Argh. I need so much grace right now. I know God forgives me for my evil thoughts and my awful, awful rolling of the eyes, but I certainly don't forgive myself. In fact, I feel even worse knowing that I derive some sort of perverse enjoyment in watching her and internally scoffing at every possible moment and pointing out to myself every little flaw I notice. I feel awful knowing that if she were a man, I wouldn't care at all. I feel terrible that I can't even bring myself to pity her, because that would require sympathy and compassion and kindness on my part, and I confess: I just don't want to give ANY of that to her.

She grates on me. She annoys the living daylights out of me. I want to actually be mean to her, to her face -- I can't even bring myself to be cordial or polite to her. I can't look her in the eye, partly because I can't stand the sight of her nodding needlessly at me, partly because I know the thoughts I am thinking, and some small, conscientious fraction of small, evil me wants to spare her my venom. She is everything I hope I am not ...

And still, I know in my heart of hearts that she is a precious creation of God, and who am I to say differently? And I know that my arrogance and meanness and pettiness knows no bounds, and still I am forgiven by an all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-merciful God. Why can't I give even just a little bit of that grace to her? I can't ... or I won't ... or some combination of both. And I really don't know why.

***

UNDER A ROCK . . .

Tonight, I realized: I have been so busy and out of it that I have not even seen a television trailer for the new "Star Wars" movie.

Bommalommadingdong helped point this out. And I shrugged it off, but it's true. Where have I been? I've been everywhere, but I haven't been anywhere. Trigger events here and there have made me withdraw and pull away from certain people -- people I had thought I could trust and lean upon as a beloved friends. Self-evaluation and acknowledgement of my terrible behavior have made me ashamed to be around people in whose company I'm not worthy to be, though of course, that doesn't stop me from constantly seeking redemption. My lessening tolerance for all things annoying has made me unavailable -- I simply avoid the company of those I don't enjoy, even if those whom I do enjoy are there, fully tolerating everything that need be tolerated. I question my own motives and so, while I'm looking at myself, I don't want anyone else looking at me; thus I hide myself away, at least the inner parts of me.

I think it's just a phase. Lots of changes coming up, and girl needs a coping mechanism. After all, a touch of withdrawal and introspection is way better than binge-drinking, no? But maybe some of it's real? I just get tired of trying to interpret looks, drop hints, ask for help or friendship or clarification, playing the guessing game, seeking approval, waiting. Instant gratification is the name of my game ... but naturally, my own passive-aggressiveness doesn't help the "instant" part of the gratification. Or at least the knowing.

Don't know what I'm talking about? It's alright. You don't have to. Heck, I don't even know. Just thinking aloud and wondering if I really even want to see "Star Wars III."