Sometimes, a situation seems so detrimental that life beyond the present, living, breathing, pulsating, sensual life seems as impossible as locating two matching socks.
I can always recall moments like these, although their severity fades in memory. Because life always goes on, the morning always comes, and there you lie, alive, awake, musing at a painting that you wanted to tear off the wall and put your foot through six hours earlier.
I am a detective. I am also a slight masochist. Not a sitcom masochist, all trussed up in leather and chains, but a mundane, everyday pain-chaser. You know how they say the truth hurts? Well I like to find out the truth. I like it very much.
Being on the hunt for the truth means you become a devious snoop. Sometimes I hear the theme for the Pink Panther whirling in my head as his phone sits unguarded, three feet away from my itching fingers, accusing. Then begins the internal battle.
Angel/Chill Girl: Don't be a nutjob, don't be a nutjob. Walk away from your impending snoopery and go watch TV.
Demon/Crazed and Convinced: UM HELLO?! GIRL YOU'VE GOT LIKE FIVE MINUTES. START DIGGING.
It is interesting that while in plight for the true intention of unanswered phone calls and cloying love texts that one begins to stretch meaning out of a message like "Loves" or "I like hotdogs." Suddenly the everyday communications of coed friendships become chapters in their love story. They met up at a place called Loves! It's probably a sex store! They had kinky, better sex! She likes his hotdog!
And while I am in heated, feverish pursuit of what he means I overlook the log in my own text inbox. They say things like "I love you" and "I miss you," but the words don't mean as much when they are said to me. I am more interested in what is being said to others.
And here's where the irony of "the truth" knocks the wind out of me. I have cast aside the potential happiness for my own happy kid story because I am way too into my spidey sense for foul play. When somebody says to you "I love you," you should not be thinking "Yes me, but who else?" You should be thinking I love you as well. You're perfect. Isn't this fun? Aren't we lucky and fun?
I have decided to lay my expectation of the truth in the present moment. I want to feel the love I know is there all the way to my snoopy little toes. It's possible, because I am willing to put down the fingerprint kit and extend an undusted hand of trust.
I have to put She-lock to rest. Girl is getting out of control.
On the other hand, if She-lock ends up knee deep in the shit she originally sniffed out, I wouldn't want to be around. In fact, I'd take myself, my painting, and my most comfortable leather shoes and start running.