Lull

Being alone, it can be quite romantic
Like Jacques Cousteau underneath the Atlantic
A fantastic voyage to parts unknown
Going to depths where the sun's never shone
And I fascinate myself, sure I do
When I'm alone


Sometimes I am quite overwhelmed by myself.

I mean, there's plenty to be overwhelmed by.

To assert grandly that I have some unspoken, clever plan for my life would be a lie. I manically swing from wanting to change the world to all too comfortably considering not going to school full-time and maybe even giving up on those life endeavors all together for awhile. I disappoint myself to the point of a familiar acquiescence when it doesn't (and it never does) go as planned.

'Isn't this just right? Charging ten steps forward, then stuck in the mud for fifty more paces?' I am particularly unforgiving when I'm overwhelmed by these paralyzing insecurities of the future, of any contribution I can make to it.

I want to write a book--no, I want to write several books. I want to join Americorps. I want to travel. I want to learn to knit. I want to swim in the ocean without flailing about, concerned about drowning. I want to run without my lungs rattling helplessly in my chest. I want to become a lawyer without hating myself. I want to wear that dress without feeling like I'm over-compensating for any short-comings I may feel I have in physical attractiveness. I want to fly a plane. I want to own a restaurant that just happens to have a perfectly brewed coffee and beer that don't taste like the charred Earth or the inside of a boot. I want to lock myself away somewhere and read for days straight. I want to love someone so much that the possibility of belonging to any one else would be impossible.

I want. I want. I want.

And, if that wasn't enough, I beat myself up for being capable of feeling so damn much, yet being equally incapable of sharing it with someone else. Oh, but who likes to admit to being lonely? Loneliness is embarrassing enough when you aren't constantly chastising yourself that you indeed have a significant haven of loving, caring souls that for one reason or another are offering at the very least companionship.

However, I never know what to do with myself when friendship is not enough and romance is non-existent. Not that I give myself much of a chance at romance. I have championed being aloof and intimidatingly careless. I make meager attempts at being flirtatious. (Mary and Joseph, do I even know what flirting IS?!) I am too nervous to learn how to properly make myself up, hiding behind a haphazard fashion sense most of the time.

My greatest obstacle to actually falling is my anxious disposal of any boy that does show interest in me. Now, I'm not going to pretend like I always have such a quick turn-over rate because I'm picky and have high standards. While I would never settle for some schlep who has no ambition or someone I couldn't force myself to be attracted to, I am mostly afraid of wandering into the Land of Vulnerable Emotions.

In that territory lies trust, honesty, and sensuality: three things that often make me terribly uncomfortable. I wonder if the reason I tense just thinking about these things is because I desire and value them in others, and ultimately they are what I want in a man. Yes, a man.

But, I'm still only a girl! I'm far from being a woman; at least, I'm worlds away from being the woman that deserves those things. The back of my neck still bathes in heat when an attractive guy tries to maintain eye contact for more than thirty seconds. I fumble blindly for wit when I meet someone new, and I am constantly caught off guard by the sheer idea of going on a date.

I have always been a guys' gal, a good friend that doesn't mind talking sports, throwing back beers, telling you to fuck off, and laughing at vulgar innuendos about other girls. Even with my scattered groups of girlfriends, I was never the one to have a boyfriend or speak openly about crushes. It was like this unspoken rule: Vicky is asexual, and therefore not allowed to be attracted or attractive to the opposite sex. I always felt like I was struck with some sort of single disease, expected to perpetually be indifferent about relationships and boys.

Okay, maybe that's in my head. Maybe that isn't what they've done to me, but it certainly feels like it sometimes. I'm terrified of chatting up guys at parties when I'm in the presence of friends. I stop short gestures of affection, what could amount either to a simple hand-hold or a lingering hug, under what I assume is their scrutiny. (Even when I'm dating the said person these affections are coming from!) Then, I get flustered because I know it's RIDICULOUS. I realize no one gives such over-analyzed consideration to my every action except for me.

So, I bottle it up, and there are months like this. In the late July heat, I effervesce with uncertainty and need, torn between finding contentment and riling myself up with possibilities.

And I get overwhelmed.