I don't think I ever told you about my box theory...
Talking with a friend this past weekend about our nomadic lifestyles and our eagerness to leave, my concept of the Box Theory has continued to develop. I often have this amazing sense of disconnection. While others are haunted by past deeds, lovers, friends, my brain just tends to forget. We make associations with inanimate objects that will forever be connected to the people in our lives, and slowly, working away from those time periods, the associations fail. I could eat Buncha Crunch again, when I couldn't for six months. I could smell patchouli. I could listen to Nickelback.
It's often been said that my sense of disassociation is what makes me a good therapist, to be able to put a client's issues in a box, analyze it, and be able to come home whole. While there were some stories which would haunt me for a few hours, in general, I can put it aside and not focus on it.
I need to be able to put this in a box and just forget. My two-month attention span has been in effect since January of 1998, and it hasn't failed me save for one actual relationship. Usually, if things aren't going my way or if I could see potential for continuance, I end whatever is going on by the time the two-month mark hits. This has only been faulted twice, the first where I decided to take my relationship to the next level with my partner and the other which I still don't have an explanation for.
In any case, this isn't going to shake me. I swore that the Starship wouldn't kill my spirit this year, and I doubt this will either. I'll forget. And if I get a message three months down the line, I'll chuckle, show my friends, and not respond.
All I ask if for the dreams to stop. I've lost the muscle memory, which I am oh-so-thankful for. But the dreams and my memory/imagination are currently haunting me. The games are starting to tire me; this is no longer fun. I thought an arrangement had been reached and apparently, I was wrong.
Part of me is trying to be logical and state it's because of the overtime. Forget about what happened and what hasn't been happening; it's the overtime. I've worked the hours before, so I can intimately understand what is going on versus other people.
The other part of me is going all chick-flick and trying to undermine my status in this heterosexual role I've been playing at for the past year.
I'm done with threatening, snide innuendos, and lost glances. I'll keep my head and not look down the hallway. I won't put myself in situations with you. I'll keep to my clients and forget about you. You'll become a story, one of the many I have to entertain my friends. You'll be remember fondly, but forgotten as the next shiny object comes my way.
Homegirl told me today that I've lost weight, and it raised my self-confidence for a bit. I strutted around a bit, even danced for a hot second. Then I had a conversation and I sufficiently rolled my eyes to the point they wouldn't focus anymore because they were tired.
So, this is your box. It's smaller than the others, but you weren't around long. It has chocolate Dutch Master wrappers taped to it. A bluish tinge over the entirety to mimic Onyx's stereo. The smell of vanilla soap. Pictures of Notorious B.I.G. and a few of his CDs. Your green toothbrush. The Superbowl logo. Pictures of the snowpocalypse. The rustle of trash bags. A Winnie the Pooh washcloth. My 70's-ish shirt, and your red and blue striped one. There's even a plunger shoved into the tiny space.
I'll put it away in the closet marked, "Maryland," letting it join the dozen or so that I've started collecting. It's out of my eye sight, so I won't actively remember...
... but you could find it if you looked for it.
It's often been said that my sense of disassociation is what makes me a good therapist, to be able to put a client's issues in a box, analyze it, and be able to come home whole. While there were some stories which would haunt me for a few hours, in general, I can put it aside and not focus on it.
I need to be able to put this in a box and just forget. My two-month attention span has been in effect since January of 1998, and it hasn't failed me save for one actual relationship. Usually, if things aren't going my way or if I could see potential for continuance, I end whatever is going on by the time the two-month mark hits. This has only been faulted twice, the first where I decided to take my relationship to the next level with my partner and the other which I still don't have an explanation for.
In any case, this isn't going to shake me. I swore that the Starship wouldn't kill my spirit this year, and I doubt this will either. I'll forget. And if I get a message three months down the line, I'll chuckle, show my friends, and not respond.
All I ask if for the dreams to stop. I've lost the muscle memory, which I am oh-so-thankful for. But the dreams and my memory/imagination are currently haunting me. The games are starting to tire me; this is no longer fun. I thought an arrangement had been reached and apparently, I was wrong.
Part of me is trying to be logical and state it's because of the overtime. Forget about what happened and what hasn't been happening; it's the overtime. I've worked the hours before, so I can intimately understand what is going on versus other people.
The other part of me is going all chick-flick and trying to undermine my status in this heterosexual role I've been playing at for the past year.
I'm done with threatening, snide innuendos, and lost glances. I'll keep my head and not look down the hallway. I won't put myself in situations with you. I'll keep to my clients and forget about you. You'll become a story, one of the many I have to entertain my friends. You'll be remember fondly, but forgotten as the next shiny object comes my way.
Homegirl told me today that I've lost weight, and it raised my self-confidence for a bit. I strutted around a bit, even danced for a hot second. Then I had a conversation and I sufficiently rolled my eyes to the point they wouldn't focus anymore because they were tired.
So, this is your box. It's smaller than the others, but you weren't around long. It has chocolate Dutch Master wrappers taped to it. A bluish tinge over the entirety to mimic Onyx's stereo. The smell of vanilla soap. Pictures of Notorious B.I.G. and a few of his CDs. Your green toothbrush. The Superbowl logo. Pictures of the snowpocalypse. The rustle of trash bags. A Winnie the Pooh washcloth. My 70's-ish shirt, and your red and blue striped one. There's even a plunger shoved into the tiny space.
I'll put it away in the closet marked, "Maryland," letting it join the dozen or so that I've started collecting. It's out of my eye sight, so I won't actively remember...
... but you could find it if you looked for it.