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So the confusing unexpected birthday party went pretty okay. And by 'pretty okay' I mean the room as a whole achieved a level of drunkenness that inspired everyone to share reminiscences of previous instances of drunkenness. It turns out that several of the old guard went to college together, so I got to hear tales of shit-faced shenanigans that occurred while I was still learning to walk. One of them brought his sister, with whom I had a thoughtful discussion about how tequila is a series of terrible decisions in a bottle. Helpful hint: When someone starts out their story with a trick question like, "Okay, if you were completely hammered, would you rather crawl naked into bed with [dude who is standing RIGHT THERE, participating in the conversation], or crawl naked into bed with a total stranger?" the only reasonable response is to pause thoughtfully for half a second and say, "Well, what does this total stranger look like?" I didn't get to hear the re…
Still can't wrap my head around being invited to this birthday party. There isn't technically a C-suite, as we're a non-profit and everyone answers to the board, but there are executive operating officers, and the guest of honor at the party is top one. It is beyond me why anyone would think I'd be invited to this in the first place. I find it interesting that someone coming in from the outside looked at me in situ and came to that conclusion. The rest of them are shocked when I demonstrate knowledge of something they had an entire meeting about, four feet from the reception desk where I was working, in a totally empty lobby. I literally have nothing better to do than knit and eavesdrop. Have none of them ever read a Miss Marple book?

On va voir what will happen when I actually show up to the birthday party. Mr New York Producer-Person will probably be delighted; other people might be confused. The director will probably be mildly surprised. I seem to have inserted myse…
About a week ago, I crewed a show at the studio theater for a non-profit outfit up from New York. The guys who run it are friends of our executive artistic director, and they come up two or three times a year. I like them; I dealt with them a bunch when I was at the box office, because when you're the most experienced person they have around they hand you all of the EAD's friends, and I have an unofficial standing request to work their shows even when I'm not the only crew who is both in town and not drowning in finals.

One of the guys, as it turns out, is laid up with an injury right now, so the other one had to fly solo, on top of performing in the show. I ran into him coming down the stairs as I was going up, and as soon as he saw me he just lit up like, oh, it's you! How are you are you working are you going to be my box office again! I told him I'd swapped over to doing tech and he asked if I was disappointed that I didn't get to dress up anymore.

I'm …
I am so tired.

I just did a month with no days off. That wasn't how I scheduled it, but people kept asking me for things. Please fix my dress, please feed my cats. I can't turn down things that pay money, and there's a pretty hard limit to how much I can do in one day, so it ends up spread out.

I tried doing this last summer, with the bonus of having an early (for me) call to a film set. That didn't work well either. I get erratic when I'm that tired, emotionally unstable, and lose my ability to do basic goddamn math. I've had some "free time" since then, but spent it mostly in bed, which means I'm now behind on basic life tasks like laundry and email and feeding myself.

When I have no breathing room, I get anxious about everything. Every social interaction looks like it's going wrong. Every piece of choreography feels like I've got my feet in the wrong place.

It's especially bad when I have to buy something. Fucking bath towels. I'…
I have been trying, and failing, to write more about dancing with the Eccentric. The problem I keep running into is that it's difficult to phrase everything in a way that doesn't sound either like some sort of abstract head trip, or a thinly-veiled euphemism for sex. It isn't either of those things, but it is significant. He's spent the past year pressing some interesting buttons -- kindly, and with my permission, but pressing them repeatedly nonetheless.

The Eccentric wants a high level of emotional intimacy from his dance partners. This isn't an inference I've made; this is an actual conversation I have had with him, about why he dances, and what he wants out of me. He is not kidding. I've been the FWB for people in open relationships before, but this is the first time I've run into someone who's allowed to have... uh, 'feelings-buddies'? I guess? Not even "allowed" so much as I think he just ran his life this way until he found …

Emotional Valance

I went out dancing after work a couple of weeks ago. Apparently I am a person who does that now. I try not to think about it too hard. This is my strategy for pretty much anything that involves the Eccentric.

The club our group descended upon does salsa and bachata. Bachata is notorious for making boyfriends angry. This is because it often looks like this. It doesn't have to, but you do get pretty close. A lot of the directionality and rhythm from the lead actually comes through your right knee, so you pretty much have to be in each other's pockets the whole time.

Properly executed, bachata combines two of the Eccentric's favorite things in the whole wide world: Showing off, and being used as a giant teddy bear. He is very cuddly. His friend-radius is about five inches, give or take. At one point about two weeks into our acquaintance, he was telling me all about how I'd get a chance to meet his wife when she came to the show that night, while standing practically on my…

Introspection: Day Four

I've just quit a horrible job.

It didn't start horrible. It was a seasonal gig. I re-upped for several years because it was a lot of fun, and I got to work with artsy weirdos. But I've spent the past few months having an extended conversation with them that can be summarized, from my point of view, thusly:
Me: So, you keep asking me to do things that are physically impossible, like cover the job duties for 2-3 separate positions by myself. You also keep asking me to do things that I am sincerely not comfortable with, like asking me to give additional on-the-job training and directions to my own brand-new supervisor. You would never ask this of any of my coworkers. Please quit asking me.Them: You're right, we would never ask your coworkers to do this. Because of turnover, you have been here many years longer than any of them, a situation which we have chosen not to reflect upon in the slightest. You can look forward to more of the same, indefinitely.Me: If you want me to…