i was going to make a list of all the big things i'd done in the 2010s

...until New Year's Eve happened, and I had four shots of tequila on an almost empty stomach because I'm stupid, and the person to whom I had something important to tell had to half-carry my stupid ass into an Uber, deal with me opening the car door so I could throw up, half-carry my idiotic ass into my apartment building and take care of me for ten minutes before he could go back out and enjoy the rest of his night.

No midnight kiss (that I remember...?), no hot and/or romantic-ish NYE sex, nothin'. Zip. My fuckin' stupid idiotic ass.

I'm gonna laugh and shake my head about it now but let's dissect this a little bit, and I'm not gonna wax poetic about this shit--

• Did he not warn me they were planning on getting trashed at Tequila Tuesday?
• He did give me fair warning.
• Should I have eaten more throughout the day?
• Yes, absolutely. Drinking 101.
• Should I have apologized to him for having to take me home and take care of me?
• Absolutely--even if you care for someone, it is annoying on some level.
• Have I fallen from grace?
• ...oh. Here we go.

Only a few times in my life--I can probably count the number of times on one hand--have I been so drunk that someone has had to mom me and make sure I was in bed and drinking water and "Can you keep your head up? For me? Can you make it do the door for me please? Theeeerrre you go." Only one of those times was I drunk enough to puke. 

Now, I have not made this a habit. But I am notoriously lightweight when it comes to drinking. Two hard ciders or fancy sweet cocktails in and I am 100% better at flirting, 50% better at karaoke, possibly seducing, and positively radiant, dahling. So I should have known by shot #3 that I should've paced myself, and maybe asked to tap out for the midnight shot. 

Also, I have been eating terribly since I moved out here, and by that I mean not only have I been too poor or too busy or too lazy to eat most of my daily meals, but also that when I do get around to eating, I'm too busy or too lazy or too tired to cook or make anything for myself, so the food I do eat has been mostly garbage food (okay not all garbage--this city has the best teriyaki and I have done my level best to sample as much of it as possible). This day was no exception, as I'd decided to shower on my lunch instead of eat, and then went shopping after work instead of eating (although the dress I found...I mean damn, I looked fine that evening), and when I finally got home, I finally ate a PB&J SANDWICH so I could spend the rest of that time getting ready. I even had the option to eat at the bar and did not...feel like it...??!

So, it was a recipe for disaster, sure. I will probably never live it down, at least not in my mind. I'm not in college anymore, for crissake.

But it's interesting, now, the mental fallout I had afterwards. I'd felt so guilty that he'd felt the need to take me home and make sure I was okay, and also humiliated that he'd seen me so wasted that I threw up out an Uber driver's car door and that he had to tip the driver well for dealing with me.

Do I still have a weird feeling it's changed how he sees me? Kind of, yeah. But here's the real point I want to arrive at:

I love and hate when people take care of me--at the same time. 

I often feel like I don't deserve a lot of the positive attention--and even, god, care--that I receive from the people in my life. Maybe that's because I'm wary of being put on a pedestal, which two of my ex-partners have done to me. Or maybe it's because sometimes I don't feel as though I can reciprocate that attention and affection.

But when I do, it feels good. It feels rare. It feels like bonds are strengthened.

Or maybe I feel like I don't deserve a lot of positive attention and care because growing up, I felt I had to do something to earn it. Respect and affection and care were two-way streets that I had to drive one way down with, sometimes, no one driving the opposite way in the opposite lane. A lonely road, as it were.

And so, when someone offers to lend me or gift me money, or when someone offers to pay for dinner or drinks when it's not clear it's a date or a gift, or when someone gets in an Uber with me and lets me lean on them the whole way home and mumble incoherently while lolling my head back and forth...I start to ask myself, "Why are they being so nice to me?" "What did I ever do to deserve this kindness?" "Do I even deserve their friendship?" And I'm pretty sure I asked him why he was being so nice to me no less than three times on the way back to my building and up to my apartment, to which he surprisingly answered (repeatedly, no doubt), "Because you're a good friend." (And also "Because you like The National.")

Aside: Am I potentially crossed off the fuckable list now? Maybe. But hey, at least I'm a good platonic friend and my taste in music is unmatchable (mostly. I did just remember all the words to an Anberlin song tonight. Oops.). 

I have identified a lot of flaws and insecurities and anxieties in myself since moving out of the house I shared with my ex-partner of five years and moving into a small apartment, in the city, almost six months ago. I have had a lot of time alone with myself and my thoughts, which leads to alone time with my voice, which I'm sure my neighbors are concerned about at this point. This thing, me not thinking I'm deserving of the love and care I receive from those I love and care about without earning it, which coincidentally has led me to bending over backwards for people in the past in order to feel like I've earned it, is just one of many of those anxious little ghosts that has found corporeal visage on the breath of my mumbling voice. I live in an apartment with myself and all these hauntings, and I am haunted and therefore I haunt. (Okay, maybe I had to wax a little poetic.)

So here's to the first of many beginnings of many crossings over. May 2020 be the year that I make the conscious decision to actually work through these flaws and insecurities and anxieties--by which I mean I make myself GO GET A THERAPIST or better yet a PSYCHOLOGIST YA IDIOTIC FUCK. I know I deserve at least some of this love that comes back my way, but I want to feel like I deserve it, for once.

Cheers.

P.S. The resulting hangover combined with the heavy guilt and embarrassment made January 1st the worst and most reclusive New Year's Day I've ever experienced. However, I'm now resolved to put a one drink limit on myself whenever I go out until the end of January, or until I can balance my eating habits again--whichever happens first.

P.P.S. What better way to celebrate the new decade by being broke and spending money on a tattoo deposit because what the hell, I know I've wanted this tattoo for a while now, and fuck balance--the right arm will come soon enough. But next week, it's all about Santa Clara, baby. (Yesssssssssss)