sorry, have we met?
I introduced Ayan to Crazy tonight. By Crazy, I mean that unfortunate persona I reveal when particularly insecure and/or stressed. Since this week brought out both those emotions (among others), Crazy descended with a vengeance. It started lightly, like the drizzle from a gray sky.
"I don't think I have any style."
"You've said that before," he answered, not really listening, just responding. "Why?"
"I just think I don't have a particular style. I'm always so ... 'blah.'"
"Whatever."
Crazy decided to try a little harder. There would be a formal introduction tonight, she had already decided. She picked up the copy of US Weekly, which featured a center spread on celebrities who decided to "get healthy this year." Identical pictures of Jessica Simpson smiled back.
"I want to look like her," Crazy said, pointing to Jessica's airbrushed thighs. Pointed conversation ensued, and Crazy dropped the subject, sensing untimely defeat.
On the way to the gym, however, she tried again.
"I don't want to run," she sighed. "I don't care anymore."
"You just said all that about wanting to be fit," he said. "You have to run to be fit."
"Eh....," she answered.
"So the whole point of all this is to bitch about how you have no style, you think you're frumpy, you want to be fit." He listed Crazy's points one by one, like a lawyer presenting a case. "But not to do anything about it."
"Well, yeah." If Crazy is anything at all, she's honest. Lazy, whiny, embarassingly pathetic. But honest.
"Well, I'm not listening to it anymore. If you want to run, run. If not, not."
Crazy stared back, speechless, after years of being coddled. She got out of the car and walked into the gym, while I got on the treadmill and ran the three miles my training schedule called for. (Crazy gets no credit for that.) On the way home I thought about the battle Crazy and Campbell have been waging for years. So many people have decided not to give Crazy the attention she craves. My mother. My old therapist. And now Ayan. All have decided that Crazy serves just one purpose: to capitalize on my moments of insecurity by reminding me of all I don't have, clouding my sight of everything I do have. Just like that gray sky.
Two of the most important people in my life have decided that Crazy needs to take her cue and exit. When will I?
"I don't think I have any style."
"You've said that before," he answered, not really listening, just responding. "Why?"
"I just think I don't have a particular style. I'm always so ... 'blah.'"
"Whatever."
Crazy decided to try a little harder. There would be a formal introduction tonight, she had already decided. She picked up the copy of US Weekly, which featured a center spread on celebrities who decided to "get healthy this year." Identical pictures of Jessica Simpson smiled back.
"I want to look like her," Crazy said, pointing to Jessica's airbrushed thighs. Pointed conversation ensued, and Crazy dropped the subject, sensing untimely defeat.
On the way to the gym, however, she tried again.
"I don't want to run," she sighed. "I don't care anymore."
"You just said all that about wanting to be fit," he said. "You have to run to be fit."
"Eh....," she answered.
"So the whole point of all this is to bitch about how you have no style, you think you're frumpy, you want to be fit." He listed Crazy's points one by one, like a lawyer presenting a case. "But not to do anything about it."
"Well, yeah." If Crazy is anything at all, she's honest. Lazy, whiny, embarassingly pathetic. But honest.
"Well, I'm not listening to it anymore. If you want to run, run. If not, not."
Crazy stared back, speechless, after years of being coddled. She got out of the car and walked into the gym, while I got on the treadmill and ran the three miles my training schedule called for. (Crazy gets no credit for that.) On the way home I thought about the battle Crazy and Campbell have been waging for years. So many people have decided not to give Crazy the attention she craves. My mother. My old therapist. And now Ayan. All have decided that Crazy serves just one purpose: to capitalize on my moments of insecurity by reminding me of all I don't have, clouding my sight of everything I do have. Just like that gray sky.
Two of the most important people in my life have decided that Crazy needs to take her cue and exit. When will I?