and then came the rush of the flood

You know, I think I migrated to the new blogger, but I am not really certain. If ever you needed more evidence of my lack of tech savvy, here you have it.

On Wednesday night, the Original G asked me to go see a movie. And let me tell you, El Laberinto Del Fauno is one stunning movie. The OG and I both noted that neither of us are particularly inclined towards movies about fairytale fantasies or about war and violence. Yet the odd juxtaposition of the two mesmerized us.

Apparently, I have been dating a lot lately. I realized on movie night that I had just been on a date. The OG bought the tickets, I bought the popcorn, we found ourselves clinging together during particularly squeamish scenes, and I even got a little action at the end of the night. Okay, all I got was a kiss on the cheek, but really, people, beggars can't be choosers. And frankly, I think all of the dates I've been going on with G's far supersede all the tension-filled, alcohol-laced XY-drama that has manifested over the last few months.

Other than that, it seems like life insists on excruciatingly banal tasks that simply cannot be put off any longer. Yesterday, I spent the day running many such mind-numbing errands- dentist's, doctor's, return this, buy that, rent check, grocery shop. I am continually in wonder at my inability to manage such routine activities, especially after so many years of having to do such things on my own. And given this complete display of inadequacy, I cannot help but panic a bit, feel a wave of anxiety, at the impending wave that is about to crash upon me.

So much to be done, and that is just to get to the point where the real work begins. I can't help but shake my head, and muse at the shock it will cause among my acquaintances. I cannot blame them- if I were them, I too would ask, what is she thinking, this fool who can barely get herself to work with her shoes tied, taking on such madness?

It's odd the things I worry about. I worry about moving away and not knowing anyone and having to start again in a place that will be nowhere near as dear to me as San Francisco. But I only worry about that a little, barely really. Most of my worries have to do with self-doubt, and falling on my face, and kidding myself. I remember reading some short story by Bharati Mukherjee (it should be noted that I'm generally not a fan) where characters were described as not-quite's. And that is me. I am not quite- not quite that smart, or that driven, or that empathetic, or that generous, or that charming, or that pretty.

But, W sent me a poem the other day, and I've mangled it out of context and applied it to the exact opposite of what he wanted me to. I'm full of mischief like that. But this, after all, when you get right down to it, has always been my hope:

We never know how high we are
Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
Our statures touch the skies-

This would be the point where AL would probably chime in, and say, "In other words- don't be such a pussy." I suppose there is poetry in everything, if you look closely enough.