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oh, Stormy…

I was very Stormy the other day.

Stormy is one of my alters that I haven’t quite figured out. Well, most of them I haven’t figured out yet.

Stormy seems to be a mix of things; part tomboy, part ska beach girl, part free spirit. She has a littler body than most of us. When Stormy has taken over, I can tell, because my body feels like it’s shorter than normal. I suddenly have a junior high sized body, and a different walk. She’s a little more slouchy than most, and walks like Meg Ryan in Prelude to a Kiss. Or maybe that’s how Meg walks all the time, I don’t know for sure. The tomboy aspect comes out in how she does her hair, what shoes she wears, what clothes she puts on. She is spunky, quirky, and has a definite viewpoint that I haven’t figured out. I’m not sure yet what propels her, but she has a mind of her own and plays by her own set of rules. She is uninhibited, sporty and free, which is not really how I have spent most of my life up ’till now. At least, not in the way she does it.

Stormy will dance in the middle of the street if she hears a song on someone’s radio she likes. She won’t worry about what the drivers or people around her will think, she’ll just turn to her sister or friend and say “ooo, I LOVE this song!” smile a huge smile and start swinging her hips. Stormy will walk confidently into any room and not even consider what other people are thinking about her, go about her business, and leave. She can tell when a boy thinks she’s cute, and she might smile at them or wink, but she is so involved in the moment that she just LIVES it and doesn’t worry about any of that other stuff.

That’s not been me. A lot of my adult life – or a lot of the life I can remember – has been spent observing people, trying to gauge their reactions to me so that I can change my behavior if I sense danger or disapproval. If I’m too hyper, I can calm down. If I’m too loud, I can alter my voice. I need to be in tune with the situations around me in order to shift myself – either my personality or my characteristics – to stay safe; to blend in. Stormy isn’t like that. She just is what she is.

I reconnected with a friend of mine from my past, and he told me he was madly in love with me when we were young. I thought he had a thing for my sister, but no, it was me he was crazy about. He described a time we were in the back of someone’s truck, driving along on a summer night, and I was singing a song by the Eagles, or Styx. He said I was the most beautiful thing ever. I thought to myself, “Stormy”.

Stormy isn’t afraid of life.

She IS life.

She runs and loves and feels openly.

She embraces trees and people and ideas openly.

She is the essence of vitality, and what people dream of finding at the bottom of the fountain of youth.

And I have her in me…

I just have to figure out how to let her out…

 

Friendly Chatty People – Beware

 

So today is one of those days. A day where I am moody, grumpy, foul and sinister. Or, well potentially sinister. It’s all in your head, really, but my head is grumpy.
Why do friendly people pounce on you on days like today? I mean, I’m happy enough. I’m a happy type of person. It’s not like every day is a party or a praise fest, but I’m a happy enough person. I’m a complete romantic, I’m totally idealistic and naive in a great many ways. I try to love my fellow man, and I’ve been told I have a tender heart a number of times.

Still, I’m a surly little cur on a fairly regular basis.

Why can’t happy annoying people pick this up and leave you alone when you are like this?

I’m not good with small talk. I like good conversations, about real stuff. I don’t want to hear about how you cooked your dinner last night or how many times your daughter spit up on you. Well, it’s not that I DON’T want to hear these things. I don’t actually mind what the topic of conversation is, but I hate little chit chat in the office. Let me do my fucking work. I mean, I don’t mind talking here and there, but non-stop girly chatter makes me crazy.

Now, if you were talking about comic books, or Spike TV, or action figures, maybe I wouldn’t mind as much. But no, there are just days when I don’t feel like being grossly social like most gabby chatty women are supposed to be. Why can’t women understand that I am not like them?

Ok, and even if they can’t figure out that I am not like them, because they didn’t happen to notice that I wear cat ears I bought at Hot Topic, or they didn’t notice that I dress like a tomboy half the time, or they didn’t notice that I never go to any of the social activities they arrange where everyone’s family can meet everyone else’s family, can’t they at least tell from my face that I am not sociable on certain days?

I’m fairly certain that my cross, grumpy, sour face today should have made it plain to anyone with eyeballs that you don’t want to talk to me today. What is the deal?

I think I’m going to have to create my own beauty pageant banner to wear, that says “Leave Her the Fuck Alone”. Maybe that will get the hint across.

(addendum: some people are ok to approach me. the people i really like. the rest of everybody should note the banner. approach with caution if you are not a lover or bestest friend)