This week I am (officially) annoyed at being in a relationship. Every time I try to have alone time or space it seems to be interrupted. And lately (more than usual) I have been feeling the stinging realization that I am not single. Like really not single. Like can’t escape into your own apartment single. Like we’re on a family cell phone plane together. Like we’re moving to New York come this spring together. Like, this is it, together.
I only feel this way when I’m trying to be creative or have some me time. The juices are flowing (so to speak) and my creativity is interrupted by “cat talk” –the cat person’s version of “baby talk.” I’m trying to read my New Yorker here.
I know it doesn’t seem important to you, but I’m absorbing something that I’ve worked to enjoy. I made dinner. I cleaned the dishes. I want to read The New Yorker without having the TV turned on next to me. Hearing “Ohhhh baby girl (to the cat), you’re so sweet. You’re the sweetest. Did you know that?” I’m trying to take notes (literally) on the Lowline Project, Emily Nussbaum, and a Tennessee William’s play I want to read. The TV blaring next to me really isn’t helping my cognitive absorption. I’m having a surge of creativity and inspiration, and I want to explore it…NOW. Not tend to your questions or your own blabbering. Plus, my anxiety of being behind 10-12 New Yorkers at any given time is not helping matters.
I think I’m being stupid.
I think I’m just being reactionary.
I know I’m on my period.
I know I need to get sexed* up.
But DAMNIT are all fleeting waves of complex annoying emotions the result of uterus hemorrhaging, or are they REAL? These are the First World questions that haunt me.
Am I annoyed. Or am I Annoyed. ANNOYED is how I feel.
Yours questioning the merits of irrational annoyances,
*It’s been like three weeks. That’s just not right.