I never realized until I got older how little tolerance I have for the nonsense. I don’t just have intolerant tendencies to things that most people deem a tad bit irritating or slightly butt scathing. For me, it’s the opposite. My brain cells’ (both) radar will focus in on the tiniest, most inconsequential, microscopic Thumbelina, Horton Hears a Who trivial, petty BS. And I will thrive on it and focus and dwell until everyone around me has suddenly left the building.
So I went to a movie the other day. Granted, there are some really effed up things happening around the planet. So, taking that into consideration, I’ve unintentionally pumped up the volume on my paranoia. Any time it’s just me flying solo with the kids and I go and grab my snacks, get my kids situated, realize I have to pee and then we already need to top off our planet sized plethora of popcorn, some strange phenomenon begins to happen. Suddenly every single person that walks past me and my kids to a row higher, a row parallel, next door, or down in front – is being profiled. Just in case you were wondering how the inner workings of m brain might function, the crazy profiling actually goes somewhat like this:
I notice there was this shady, sketch character sitting in the very back row, sitting there looking all serial killer and what not. No children sitting next to him in this CHILDREN’S movie. Every time I look back with my shady, scuffling, paranoid quick glance, I still only see one man, so my mental floodgates open. “Where’s your damn kid? Why wouldn’t you walk in with a kid? There’s no excuse. Why else would you be in a kids’ movie? You’re going to kill me. No kid = Ima die right here in this theatre.” I’m not the subtle type of profiler, either. I’m hella obvious. I will look back at him while I’m nonchalantly shoveling popcorn in my pie hole and every time I fake laugh, take a long sip of my soda, pretend to look to my left or right to make a fake comment about the movie to my kids, I’ll look at that single dude good and hard. I will give him the once over of his life, hoping to make him feel like less of a human. Actually, I’m not trying to make him feel like sub par pond scum, I’m simply hoping a child will turn up. I really want to enjoy the movie and for this agony to end so I can relax. I’m waiting for the mom and the youngin’ to walk in, and to look and locate their dad, neighbor, friend, cousin, uncle, or even ex co-worker with an ankle bracelet who’s on the work release program, not allowed to really be at a movie, but if he sits there in peace with his newly reunited family member, then my judging is over. Now I can enjoy the movie. Now I can relax.
But, no. Every time I look back with my shady, fin-agling, paranoid quick-step glance, I still only see one man. Sitting there looking all Freddy Kreuger and what not. No children sitting next to him in this CHILDREN’S movie. So, something has to give, or else I am going to drive myself CRAZY. I can’t relax. He’s going to grab one of my kids! He’s going to take the whole movie theater hostage! So I stand up, just like any normal person would, and I stretch, facing my backside to the movie screen, arms out wide, with a fake yawn that quickly turns into a real yawn, and I gaze a hole into him, and then my eyes jolt to the left, then to the right. Lo and effing behold. There was a damn munchkin kid nugget sitting next to him the whole time. A short, little shorty sitting there with his feet sticking straight out of the seat, right there next to his hero daddy in the back row. What an effing jerk I am.
I also have those very strong feelings when it comes to flying. Which I never do. But, the few times I did, and became overwhelmed by my panic mode induced paranoia, I had to back off. Like permanently. Back when I used to fly, which was some time in between 9-11 and Isis, I suddenly became very hostile and profiling, and just a downright filthy, judgy, low life.
So, I had to stop. I just couldn’t handle the stupidity one second longer. Every person boarding the plane, according to my pea brain, has a shiv, a way too overgrown toenail, or a honey badger on the verge of attack. Long toenails hurt like hidden thumbtacks waiting patiently in the Berber carpet. It’s real pain. But, I can sense a perp. I know that any of these people cn be a perp. And I’m not getting on this damn plane until they are all searched. And seized. If they’re given a cavity search, I’m not going to be mad. And I’m not going to be mad if all flights are declared ‘unflyworthy,’ and all passengers are given money and have to go shopping instead. Hell no. I want no part of it.
Speaking of paranoid pain – I am also the biggest hypochondriac on this leafy, green planet. I am paranoid of so many, many things. Am I going to suddenly falk? (an accidental fart whilst walking) Am I developing the hive lice? I don’t know what the F that is, but believe me, I will definitely get it first. I know Zika is coming for me. So, there’s just a little more time on this planet for me to party. Party on down. Is that a freckle? Call the coroner. My mammo appointment is next week? Dead man walking the pirate ship model platform plank. I’ll go ahead and arrange for my burial outfit. Because once again, I’ma die.
I don’t know whatever happened in my life where I constantly swing to the worst case scenario. There is no middle road. For me, it’s constantly the worst choice. For everyone else, I always know they’ll be okay. It’s a gut feeling where you just know. You can’t spew that nonsense to the other person, because nobody wants to hear that clairvoyant ghost nonsense. But, I’m getting ready to fall off of a deep cliff because I just discovered a pimple appear on my chin.
The moral of this story is: Live your damn life. You’ll be afraid a LOT. If you’re me, you’re never not afraid. There might be one waking moment in my deep REM sleep where I’m dreaming that I’m the opposite from my incomprehensible existence, and that’s when I’m the most at peace. Do what you can to keep and find the peace. And keep doing it. Then add some wine, and then laugh and laugh and laugh at your really sadistic, ironic, pitiful life and then picture me. It could be worse.