Moon Change

I had one of those crying fits today that I used to have all the time.  The kind where I have to turn on my brain and tell myself to breathe because I'm crying so hard I start to hyperventilate.  I was in the shower at the gym and got shampoo in my mouth and my eyes.

I was listening to Caroline or Change  (which I do often--all of the songs on my 'most played list of my iPod, except for "Bad Romance," are from Caroline or Change or Passing Strange), but I don't usually listen at the gym, and all of the sudden I realized I envied Caroline, which of course is the most ridiculous thing.  I have so much privilege, such an easier life.  I don't have to deal with constant racism and I don't have to work as a maid for a condescending white family.  Only a white girl who hasn't dealt with all that could overlook all that.

But Caroline has people that care about her.  When the show came out in 2004, I was at probably the worst point in my life since being a teenager.  And when Dotty sings:

Once you were quick
And once you were bright
Now it seems you've come to some confusion
You're losing courage
You're losing light
Lost your shine.
Lost Caroline.

I just wanted one person in my life to notice that I'd lost my light at that point.  Someone to care enough to notice.  Somehow or other, I've managed to get back some of that light.  But my best friend, my Dotty, the only person that notices little things in my life, is leaving for 2 years, and lets be honest, she may not come back.

I haven't spoken to my dad for nearly a month, and he hasn't even noticed.  And honestly, if I died tomorrow, there aren't that many people that would care.  My cats.  My mom.  That's about it.  I mean, sure, my neighbors would notice.  And they'd use it as a good lesson for their kids about death.  It would be a good lesson because the kids wouldn't actually care.

I think of my emotions as being very on the surface.  I expect someone at the gym realized I was crying in the shower.  Maybe.  And maybe people were just being nice and giving me my space.  One time, last year, I was on the bus and just lost it about John and started sobbing, but completely quietly, but racking sobs, with my whole body shaking, and I was trapped--I couldn't get off the bus. And almost no one noticed.  And then a nice lady brought me a tissue.  She gave me my space, but gave me a tissue.  It was actually nicer than a tissue--like a nice, thick, high-quality disposable napkin--the kind rich people put in their bathrooms for their guests.  I kept it for months, because it was one of the nicest things someone had done for me in months.  Isn't that pathetic?

But while I feel my emotions are very on the surface, I think they aren't.  Aside from this blog, I'm pretty self-contained.  I don't know what to make of the dichotomy.  I desperately want someone that I could share that part of me, and also romantically.  But maybe that is just asking for too much.