Little Voices in My Head

My Day

For one day, every year
I am completely unreachable
in every sense of the word.

You can’t call me,
text me
Email me
or fax me.
Don’t try to visit my home,
or find me in any of my usual haunts.
I don’t wish to be found.

364 days a year
I am a completely, honestly, wonderfully, understandable,
open book.
If I can,
in any way possible,
be there for you, help you, talk to you, spend time with you, bend, twist, and mould my life for you,
I will.  
But not THIS day.

This is MY day.
My day to grieve
to howl
to cry
to laugh
to lie
to stare
to snort
to create
to skip
to jump
to play
to wallow
if I so choose
because it is my day.

I will gladly and freely give all of you
every iota of me that I have to give
364 days a year
because that is just who I am.

But this day,
I won’t.
I won’t tell you where I’m going.
I won’t tell you where I have been.
I will lie to your face if you dare to ask me.

I do promise to be safe.
But I won’t promise to be stagnant.
And I take my day alone.

One day. Just one, solitary day.
In a giant year,
is not too much to ask.
Call me selfish if you must.
Call me secretive.
Just don’t attempt to call me at all that day.
You’ll only get a dial tone.

Weird weird comments

As my family and friends will bemoaningly tell you, (should you care to ask) I have some…quirks, in my personality that make life with me…interesting. *yeah, we’ll go with interesting…yeah…* One of those little quirks is a strong propensity to telling the brutal truth. About everything. All the time. I just can’t help myself. Those little white lies people tell to make you feel better about yourself? Nope, can’t do it.
This has, at times, gotten me in some VERY hot water, but it has also saved my ass on occasion. Some friends and family think this quirk is awesome, and some think it’s my worst fault. Those that love it, love it because I can help them out. Want to know how your ass REALLY looks in those jeans? Ask Carissa. Got a ‘delicate’ problem, but need to know the honest solution? Ask Carissa. Absolutely need to know wither or not you’re just being a whiny git and need to get over it? OH for the love of all things HOLY, ASK CARISSA! Because I will tell you. I won’t be mean about it, I won’t condescend to you, and I will NEVER tell another living soul about it if you don’t want me to, but I will also, never never lie to you.
This also extends to myself. I refuse to ever lie to myself, about anything.
So when I tell you what I’m about to relate next, please understand that I am not being modest, self-depreciating, fishing for compliments, or even setting myself up for a joke. *for once, I’m NOT going for a gag* I’m just being as honest with myself as I would be with any of you. So here goes.

I’m not physically beautiful. I know this. I accepted it years ago, and actually, I’m really glad I’m not. It takes a load of pressure off of me, and has allowed me to develop my personality and character rather than my hair flipping technique. Honestly, pick 20 random women my age off the street, put them in a room with me, and have 100 random men rank us in order of appearance. NO way in hell I’m going to be in the top 5 on any of those men’s lists. Now, ask those same women to list their character traits, personality quirks, hobbies, interests, intelligence, etc. on a piece of paper, and have those same men pick who they want to date? OH, I am SOOO in the top five of that list. Every time. Maybe even the top ONE on several of them. I’m just that damn cool to date. Just ask my boyfriend.
That is why I’m so comfortable meeting men online, or through other friends.Because in those forums, my personality matters most. My brain power. Not the power of my boobs. *which are awesome as well, but hey, it’s not like I had any control over that*
A 6 year old called me pretty. Out of the frigging blue. It really got me thinking. It wasn’t just the 6yr old, because he was just one of many anomalous comments and events about my looks lately. Not one, but TWO men asked me out IRL. Then, just today at work, I got a phone call from an old friend, who just HAD to tell me about another friend of his who happened to see pictures of me online and wanted to know if I would be available for a date. And why I didn’t divorce “El Douche-bag” sooner and marry HIM! *I’m thinking that last bit was an exaggerated joke, but still, this is me with the shock* I’m busy looking around for the Candid Camera crew. This is SO not my life.
Granted, I’ve lost over 70 pounds in the last 9 months, but I’ve been much skinnier than this before, and have not had this kind of response from men. So I’m really confused. My mom posed the theory that maybe men, and the random 6 year old, are just picking up on how happy I am. I think this could be true. I mean, if Confidence is sexy, maybe Happy is pretty? Whatever is causing it, I like it, and I think I’m going to just roll with it. But if you see me look like a monkey doing a math problem after talking to a guy, just do me a favor, and slap me upside the head and tell me it’s going to be ok, there are no cameras. Breathe Carissa, BREATHE.
I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to take the word of a 6year old any day, because they are the most honest people on the planet. I’m pretty dammit, and I’m rocking it!