The Seduction Of Me

1 Jul

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Overcompensation is a large part of why people like me, become people like me. 

…I happen to be spending a great deal of time seducing myself lately, for instance. 

I don’t know why I do this.  I almost always sleep with me, end-of-the-night, regardless of whether any wining or dining has taken place to blur my better judgement. 

…As with nearly every habit I have accrued over the years, it must have happened slowly…bit by bit…like a time-release drug. I certainly don’t recall making a conscious-choice decision about it.  I’m not even sure how the entire routine even came together.  All I know is that one night, not many nights ago, I paused mid-sequence and realized I was having the most intense deja vu  imaginable.  It hit so hard, I actually paused mid-pour of alcohol, to really commune with the moment.

Now, the thing is…before her trip to CA, The BFF and I had just been talking about deja vu’s and what it is that they signify.  I don’t happen to believe in past-lives  (if I did, I was two generations older…and Jewish)…but still have always had an inkling that “time” must have something to do with it.  Maybe a burp in space, or a stutter in the plot sequence the Universe likes to watch…like a royally large and intricate soap opera on reality TV.  But BFF thinks it’s more a “linear existence colliding” kind of thing.  You know, multiple worlds wherein we live our lives unbeknownst to the fact that we are living the same exact existence,  one world over, simultaneously. Only in this one, the chair is green, and in that one: the chair is red.  Times infinity.

…Either way, you can’t deny the strangeness of the sensation when you’re having one.  A deja vu, I mean.  A little like the feeling of someone walking on your grave.  Privy to things you shouldn’t be.

…Well, I was standing there, pouring out a glass of Pinot Noir, when I realized that eery sensation of having lived that exact moment before.  So I stopped.  And with the previous BFF conversation in my head, gave it my full attention to soak up every aspect and clue that I could.

Turns out, on reflection, the deja vu, was considerably less intriguing than I originally thought.  Mostly because as I tried to trace its roots back to an original source, I realized it only reached to yesterday. 

…Or maybe the day before that.

…Or the day before…

…Or…

…Well, shit.

To the best I could compute while standing there with the wine bottle hovering over the glass, (and math has never been a strong suit, so it’s understandable that it took me a while to put it all together)…either I was living all the linear existences of The BFF’s theory (with the only change being the make of alcohol I was pouring out), OR I had to face the fact that I had formed an intricate habitual sequence whose end-game was to get me to bed every night, with a contented smile on my face.

…It goes deeper than that, but ultimately this is the hard fact.

Here is what I found out, using my best Sherlockian cross-examinations:

I’ve taken to routinely coming home from a long day at work, dropping my drawers soon as I pass the threshold in favor of something “more comfortable,” and proceeding to the kitchen to “gourmet” myself something sinful. Fetish viewing of garlics and butters and various meats searing in a pan, having the kind of slow-cooked-sex they put on HBO (usually featuring Vampires), then follows.  And as the smells of warm, caramelized deliciousness fills the apartment and  dusk falls…I begin the lighting of dozens of candles strewn about. Once the whole place looks like the bowels of the Paris Opera house during the Phantom’s reign, I move to the bar and pour out a glass of something that marries well with my dinner’s post-coitus rest from the pots and pans, set some music on  shuffle, and settle in for a candlelit dinner, for one.

…What is so unusual about this deal is that I am not one to cook foods “over time,” and let the meat and veg indulge in brine and sauce saunas.  Usually, the end-of-the-day signifies total exhaustion, where just scrambling an egg and throwing it in a tortilla is about all I can muster.  And usually, in these gray and rainy days of epic Seattle-proportions, I want LIGHT, LIGHT, LIGHT…in blinding wattage, from every outlet orifice.  And usually, I am merely a “social drinker”…certainly imbibing from time-to-time, solo, but nothing like what calculated to quite the bottle slaughter of late.

Naturally, this got me to thinking. 

Why?

How?

What does it all mean?

…Which brought me ultimately to: “Overcompensation.”

It’s why I do almost everything that is eccentric or bad for me. Either it is to compensate loss of power, loss of control, depression, angst, jealousy, worry or lust.  When you think about it, I suppose this is not outside of the norm.  If you feel shitty: you wanna fix it.  If you lose control: you wanna reclaim it.  If you have a highly stressful job, and no money: you wanna forget about it.  If your emotions tell you its time to start shopping for a significant other again, but  you really just don’t wanna deal with all the crap that goes with it: you wanna reaffirm that you are fantastic catch who needs NO ONE to wine and dine you and complement your ass.

…This is the conclusion that I have come to.

I am spending every evening courting myself into believing that having a crap job, being poor, worrying about waiting for the next shoe to drop, and that I am prob’ly going to die alone as a re-formed virgin because my junk wasn’t used so long it resealed itself up like a skin graft, isn’t my true reality.

…And I am doing this because my entire life is spinning out of my control, on a trajectory promising gross amounts of changes.  And soon. And I Fucking. Hate. Change.

I am doing this, because if you can’t have exactly what you want in this life, you go out and get the best compensation package that you can.

The ONE good realization in all of this, I suppose, is the fact that I now know at least three new things about myself:

1. I can cook. If I really want to.
2. Lessening alcohol units to “one” will save lots on the house bar tab. And my head the next morning.
3. I am a good date.  In case anyone wondered.

~D

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