a touch of grey kind of suits you anyway

Today I feel pretty. That's something I sometimes almost feel ashamed to say, because I hate vanity - perhaps because I was trained to hate it - but it's still something I'm trying to reclaim. Not that I want to spend enormous portions of my life worrying or wondering or obsessing about appearance. Just that I want to be able to feel pretty without feeling guilty about feeling that way at the same time.

It's something that Shawn and I talk about a lot, because I have a hard time both with accepting his compliments, and with not getting complimented. What it means is that if he says nothing I will feel that he is saying nothing because I am unattractive to him, and if he says something nice, I will immediately feel bad for enjoying his compliment so much. So no matter what he does, he's wrong, and either way I'm struggling.

Ridiculous. I know these neuroses are small and moderately inconsequential in a world where people are unable to leave their houses or are afraid to use public washrooms, but why not try to improve the things about ourselves that need some work? Why not get healthier wherever possible?

Last weekend I sensed that C was almost pleased at how much I've changed since we used to spend all our time together, how much more neurotic I've become. Back then she was the one who was odd, who needed someone to drag her out when she was being a shut-in or insist she wash her hair. And I was carefree, brave and always filled with energy to do things. Enough energy that I had some left over to make her do things too.

I confessed to her that I dread talking to strangers now, that I sometimes feel a strange fear before calling to order a pizza that the person who answers the phone will be annoyed with me for disturbing him or her. I could tell that she liked this very much. I don't blame her for feeling that way; it's comforting to see our reflection in others. However I always saw my reflection in her, even when she was at her worst.

Sometimes I think it's more about aging than anything else, that I've already enjoyed more than a decade of uninterrupted socializing and philosophizing over pitchers of beer. I've become disenchanted. I'd rather invest my waning energy in those I already love than spend any more time seeking new people to love.

It's both neurotic and sensible, depending how it's explained and described. I know it's both, and that I will continue to swing back and forth between the two.

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