Controlling Epiphany

Sunday March 14, 2010; 3:44 pm Pacific Coast Time (daylight savings time is back, dang).

I'm usually one of those outgoing loud friendly people you randomly decide to tell your life story to. I don't know what it is about me, but something draws people toward me. I often wonder if I have a sign on my back that says 'Professional Listener--FREE Services!'

Either way, I'll let you talk if I'm in a good mood. If you want to make a strange metaphor about fish while you're trying to get me to register Republican, go ahead. If something absolutely forces you to talk about your next door neighbor, who is a writer, I suppose I can stand and listen for twenty minutes. If you see me at a gas station and I half-smile at you because we're pump neighbors, feel free to tell me how you have been stood up twice by the same guy before leaving inexplicably.

At school, I'm the girl who can't help but answer the teacher's questions. I genuinely like my teachers and my peers and, occasionally, even my classes and the material. People may have the first impression that I'm a little awkward, but they change their minds after actually talking to me. I'm likable. And I like people.

Sometimes.

Other times, I just want to be alone. Usually, there are a few days per month that I just can't stand other people. I won't laugh at my friends, I'll glare at my homework, and I am ready to burst into frustrated tears and cutting words at any moment, if prodded in the wrong direction.

Which is where yesterday and today come in.

Yesterday: The day started off well--it was sunny and bright outside, if a little windy (thank the Delta Breeze for that). I got up late as usual, ate breakfast, pet my cat, and decided to take the Rottweiler for a walk.

The walk was nice. It got me away from my family for an hour and a half, because I followed a different trail than usual. In fact, I ended up at a friend's house, then at the skate park, before turning around to head home again.

After, I sat down, opened my laptop, and prepared to empty my head onto the white screen in front of me.

I was interrupted.

The little brother was conspiring against me. As he knows, I can't write a thing with people hovering over my shoulder. Some people are pee-shy. I'm writing-shy (and pee-shy, actually, but that's not the point). I quickly grew annoyed--after two minutes, I was prepared to bash him over the head with my beloved computer.

So I stood up and headed outside to count Rollie-Pollies in the grass where my mother was planting her spring pansies next to the tulips.

I didn't get any writing done all day.

Today: I got up late, ate breakfast again, chatted with the family, and sat down to write. I'd gotten no further than four sentences before I was being yelled at to get up--family bike ride time! (Mom's idea).

Now, I must specify that I'm not a fan of bike rides, or the gym, or running. I enjoy swimming and yoga and random dancing to music on my iPod as I vacuum.

And my family bike rides? They're long. The last one I recall was 27 miles down the American River in Sacramento. My butt-bones were so sore I almost cried when I sat down in the car to drive home again.

So I was a little resistant to the suggestion. But once the parental unit decides something, there's no getting out of it. They assured me it would be a short ride down to the river--a mile there and back, no big deal. We'd be home soon.

I knew they were lying.

And yet I found myself on my bike, whining after the next five miles of not-so-smooth river terrain had passed. Hills, ruts, grass, mud, rocks, sand... And every impact absorbed by my left wrist and my poor butt. Every time I tried to take another path I knew would lead me home, the family called out to me and forced me to continue on.

I was severely... annoyed... by mile six. It was windy as hell, chilling my sweat and my skin, and I made no secret of my discontent with the situation.

By mile seven, I was ready to cry in frustration. These sadistic people must want the family argument my mother had hopefully suggested we abandon when we left the house.

By mile eight, I had begun to ignore my family by leading the way, forcing myself to go faster even though my quads were burning.

At mile nine, I fell to the back of the pack and let them ride forth, because we had finally made it back to the safe, paved streets of town. I walked over the overpass, in no mood to force my tired legs to carry us forth, and used the downward glide to get me halfway to our neighborhood, passing my family grouped around the flat tire of my brother's bike. Ha. Served them right.

I returned home at long last, and found that my legs would barely support my weight after the tenth mile, two hours of hills and grass and bugs in my face. My Yankees cap was soaked with sweat, my hair nasty and stringy, and my skin was freezing to the touch. I told my mom she was a sadistic liar, pouted at her, and hurried upstairs to spend an hour in and under hot water.

I thank my lucky stars daily for plumbing and wonderful showers.

And now, as my brother asks me for the time, I can't even be bothered to answer. No, I can't even say three small words to him. In fact, all I can do is glare at him and hope he leaves--he has.

So maybe it's not just me. Sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time it's my situation. Maybe I'm spoiled and I like things under my terms, under my control.

Most likely, it's the second guess.

I'm a perfectionist, I know this. I'm slightly OCD about eggs and the way I shave my legs and how I eat my M&Ms and how messy my room can get before I'm sorting things by color, hanging by occasion, and folding by brand. Meanwhile, when my parents bug me about how 'messy' my room is, I tell them it's totally clean and they can't see it behind my closed door anyways, so why does it bother them?

I just never realized how much I liked control.

So my lessons for today?

1. Even when I'm not in school, writing is hard to accomplish with my family home at the same time. It's a miracle I can finish any story with their constant interruptions.

2. I can't trust my family when they say it'll be a 'short' bike ride. Even when I'm going skiing tomorrow and know I probably won't be able to even stand because of today.

3. I'm a control freak. Lovely. I've always wanted to know that about myself.

Alas, here I sit with a sinus headache, sore from my hips to my heels, unable to work on a story because my annoyance is too great. So I take it out on my seldom-used blog. And feel a little better, because I'm finally alone in the house.

Now they leave.

Nice, guys, real nice.

~hyacinth

Music Rec: "Shark In The Water" by V.V. Brown