The Mood

Andrew's nephews came to visit last night. They brought their girlfriends with them. We ordered barbeque and the girls ordered salads that they barely touched. Then we walked down to the beach. Andrew and I watched the kids throw the football around. They played a game like monkey in the middle where the boys tried to keep the ball away from the girls and the girls used all their might, to no avail, to try to get the ball from the boys. Then I lay in the sand in my giant puffy winter coat and looked at the stars. We came back to the house with a 36 pack of beer and they set up for beer pong. I just didn't have it in me. I wanted to be alone. So I went into the bedroom and went to sleep.

The girls are sweet. I guess that's how they can be described. They're nice and they're pretty and they're both thin as rails with big boobs. It's a little disheartening for me to see young girls who are sweet and nice and who don't seem to have much of an opinion about anything. The younger of the two seems like she has more in there, but if anyone contradicts her, even in the slightest, she goes back on the point she was trying to make. Maybe she'll grow out of that. She's only eighteen or so. She needs a little more confidence and with that she could be a pistol, I'll bet. Let's hope she finds the confidence she needs.

I feel badly about excusing myself. The kids probably thought it was them. I don't think they have a frame of reference for what goes on with me. I'm sure they're not able to guess that sometimes my mood just plummets irretrievably and that it has nothing to do with who's around me.

Today Andrew and I have tickets to see Avenue Q. I've been wanting to see that show for years. I should be looking forward to it, but I'm not. Still, I just want to be alone. I want some quiet.

A friend is in town this weekend, and we were supposed to see her last night but we couldn't because the boys were coming. I never made other arrangements to see her and now I might miss her, and while I feel badly that I may have hurt her feelings, I'm just not compelled to fix it and to try to see her tonight. There's a surprise birthday party tonight as well, and since we're already going to be in the city it will be easy to kill time between the show and the party to go to that as well. It's right on the west side, right on seventh avenue, so it will be easy to get to. Again, there's very little compelling me beyond obligation to attend. I don't know why this happens really, but I get into this crawl-under-a-rock and hide mood and then, eventually, I get out of the mood.

Andrew doesn't know what to do with me. He searches my face and asks, "Did something happen?" I keep trying to tell him that nothing has to happen. I happen. It just happens. He tries to figure it out like something that makes sense so he can help fix it, and he never will because there isn't anything to put your finger on. There's nothing I can say that would help him make some actionable decision. He does well with it. With me. Better than most. Better than anyone ever has, actually. I can see that it pains him, though, when I get like this. In some ways, it's probably worse for him than it is for me. He's probably wondering when I'll completely crack up and what he'll do then.

I warned him, though. I told him about this from the very beginning. Right when we began to fall in love, I told him I was crazy. He asked how and I said it's not the sort of crazy women are. I have that too. That irrational frustration that women experience that men tap dance around trying to avoid. I have that normal kind of female behavior, sure. I tried to explain to him, though, that I have a different malady. One that's much more persistent, much more present, much less tangible and much more scary than what he may be expecting. I told him that it's why I'm scared to have kids because I'm afraid I'll give it to them. Or that I won't be able to mother because I'll be too busy crying alone in the bathroom for no reason at all. I told him I'm out of my fucking bag, and that it just happens sometimes, and there won't be anything he can do, and that when it's over it just goes away as mysteriously as it arrived, and there's nothing he can do. I think he thought it would go away if he gave me enough love. I guess I thought that too.

It's funny how so few people know me. I would guess that just about no one who I come into contact with on a daily basis would guess this about me. I'm generally playful and silly, and anyone would qualify me as a happy person. As much as I hate to admit it, I think my mother is the only person who really knows this about me and isn't scared shitless of it. She just takes it as a part of who I am and doesn't really treat me any differently when it's happening.

I wish I could just be a normal partner to Andrew. He's so fucking loving and so fair and so patient. I wish I could be the sort of girl for him who didn't need to be coaxed out of the car when we go to a party. The sort of girl who will just suck it up and play beer pong with his nephews. The sort of girl who can wake up on a Saturday and not feel the need to hide away in her study to spew secrets into the blogosphere. I just can't shake it when it's on me. And I can't explain why, at this moment, I'm terrified by everything that exists beyond the door to this room.