Spaghetti carbonara and searching
I was a little on edge last Wednesday afternoon after a retirement party at the office. Between being surrounded by people I didn’t know too well, the heat generated by all these bodies crammed into a room, and the constant din of conversation, I felt overstimulated and it affected my mood for the rest of the day. It was more a general “off” feeling than anything else, but I couldn’t wait to get home and try to unwind.
I ended up splurging on spaghetti carbonara at Morris East right after my laser appointment that same afternoon. It had been a little while since I had eaten out at a restaurant that wasn’t one of my usuals; I knew of the place for a while but never went before. I think it did give me a small boost, even though I still wanted to get home as soon as possible afterward; then again, that’s normal behaviour for me.
Sometimes I miss this more adventurous side of myself that will go out of my way to try a new restaurant or explore a less familiar part of the city. I’m usually not in the mood, though; sometimes it’s because I feel like I should be getting some writing done in my spare time, but a lot of the time I just don’t want to take any detours from going straight home. If I have an errand to run or crave a little break from the routine, I’ll do something else, but for the most part I want to take the most direct route home; it’s especially compounded if I’m not in the mood to socialize, or run into certain people I try to go out of my way to avoid (either due to heartache or the fact that they make my flesh crawl when I hear their voice).
I’ve been feeling a mixture of restlessness and apprehensiveness for the last little while, like I have a vague idea that there’s something missing in my life lately but I’m not ready to look for, or even define, it. The last part could be a byproduct of my people pleasing, learning to be satisfied with what I’m given even if it wasn’t what I wanted. It’s as if I don’t really know what I actually desire or dream about. It’s different than what I felt before I finally decided to transition; that was more an urgent question that I couldn’t ignore any longer.
When I worked in a call centre many years ago, I would regularly spend most of my extra money on CDs and DVDs to compensate for the pure misery I felt every day I worked there; of course a lot of that misery came from the constant exercise in emotional labour and masking that is customer service. It says a lot that I don’t really have that urge with my current job, though part of that is also the rising cost of living; as much as money is tighter in these days of greedflation and housing crises, I’m content with my work, and am still caught off-guard by how much easier this job is than so many entry-level positions where I constantly felt I needed to prove my value.
I’m still not sure what specifically will bring me joy, though, only ambiguous avenues to explore. I just haven’t felt like I’ve had enough time or energy to do that in a while.
I’ve been missing a few people intensely these days. I wonder what they’ve been up to, but something inside me just can’t ask them directly. Part of it is because most of us already share versions of our lives online, even if we omit specific details. Sometimes it’s because I feel that the relationship eroded too much over the years, or that we were never close enough to begin with. Sometimes it’s because there may be a difficult conversation involved. Most often it’s because I’ve used up all my executive function for the day and can’t get my brain to come up with a coherent sentence. It’s a strange situation where even the thought of the physical steps involved to do something ends up being too exhausting. Combine that with having rejection sensitive dysphoria and the weird way neurodivergent people process time, and I can go ages without messaging people one-on-one.
There have also been a few emotions bubbling under the surface lately; for the most part they’re under control, but when I’m stressed or moody I worry something may come out, and I don’t feel comfortable being in public dealing with it. I think I feel things too hard. I know on some level I need release, but don’t want it to happen at an inconvenient time; sometimes I’ll be writing something and stop myself because I’m not ready to deal with whatever it will make me feel. Maybe that’s why I’ve been having trouble coming up with stuff for the other blog lately.
I picked up a used copy of Luscious Jackson’s Fever In, Fever Out the other week (RIP Vivian Trimble). This song has some gutting and relatable lyrics.