In Which I Consider Getting Help

I'm considering help for my occasional anxiety. I probably won't do it. Not because of the stigma, but I don't like the idea of something being very wrong with me that's not somewhat charming. Other people can have problems. I can't.

I keep hoping that this is the PMS talking, and not the brain. I've been anxious and irritable all week. Usually from the moment I wake up until sometime after I get off work. Monday and Tuesday my excuse was the heat, it was humid and sweltering and I have never been able to take either one of those things very well. Wednesday's anxiety partially came from the internet and my computer not working right, but if we're being completely honest, that's how I woke up. Tuesday night I had a dream and while I couldn't recall all the details, I do recall that it involved Matt leaving me for a lady friend of his (yup, the same one you're thinking of). It left me uneasy, and caused me to question a lot of aspects of our relationship, even though it was a dream I can't remember. I worried it was a sign, or a premonition that something was going to go wrong. I think it comes from a place of not wanting to be emotionally stranded, and above all else, not wanting to be wrong.

Because if I go through all this (this = anxiety on several levels, potential familial alienation, personal compromise) and it turns out poorly, I will feel utterly destroyed (we've discussed my worthiness issues before). The more I think about it, the more I realize I'm sacrificing/investing a lot for the sake of this relationship. And there's nothing wrong with that, every relationship is going to possess those qualities. But I think that's part of the reason why I'm gunning for this engagement so hard. It's because I need proof and reassurance that this is a grown up relationship, and not just somewhere two people are biding their time. However, I'm not forcing anybody into anything. If he can't arrive at the conclusion that I am someone he wants to share his life with on a permanent basis (particularly after nearly three years), then what's the point?

Forgive me for wigging out like that. The magnitude of what I need to do to make this happen just hit me, and that only magnifies the anxiety. I cried a lot on Tuesday. I'm trying not to cry now. The already magnified anxiety is compounded by looking at apartments on craigslist.

But let's continue on with this irratability tangent. I love that I'm fabulous and a double D drag diva, but shit, bitches need to chill. First, there was the flower thing, which didn't turn out as bad as I thought it was going to, but still ever so slightly annoying when it comes up. Now there's the wig thing. Its no secret that 1. I'm lazy , 2. I'm sassy, and 3. I'm a drag queen with ovaries. I have a collection of wigs that I wear frequently (much to the cahgrin of my hairline). Katy's mom works at a beauty supply store and always gives me the hook up on wigs (its like fucking Kryptonite). Lately, Katy has been getting into wigs as well, with a fledgling collection of three. Its fine, but she has this awful habit of telling people when she is wearing them. I feel like I'm old money looking down my nose at the nouveau riche, but lord almighty, that's tacky. But if you want to tell people, your shit is fake, by all means, I am not going to stop you. I, on the other hand, take pains to not have my fake hair look blatantly fake (ie. investing in lace front wigs, which are the most natural looking). If someone can tell anyway, and they ask, fine, I'll cop to it, but I'm not going to run around telling people unprompted. Last night, at Name That Tune, she up and takes her wig off in the bar (in Livonia, aka,whiteywhitetown. She explains to everyone that it ws a wig, and that her mom works at a beauty supply, etc. And then this bitch proceeds to throw me under the wig bus as well. Absolutely mortifying. I'm so irritated.

I guess I can't hold it aginst her if she has no wig ettiquite, but still, how do you do that to someone? Even more so, how do you sit them down and tell them how uncool it is? I wasn't really aware that this was a cultural difference, but apparently it is. Cultural Difference (n.): Something that is common sense to the member of one culture, that doesn't even occur to a member of another culture.

In other news, I think I'm slowly morphing into not-me. I think some of it stems from insecurity and dissatisfaction with my life. Do I need to expound? I don't feel like it. At Katy's Mom's beauty supply, I just found out that they sell colored contacts. I'm equal parts excited and sketched out. I've got a weave consult tomorrow, partially about the wedding and partially about getting my shit together for the summer. I'll get one to try it out, and then from there decide if this is a process I want to continue with.

Also, totally obsessed with Fitz and The Tantrums right now. Makes me want to start a hipster neo funk/soul revival band real bad. We all know I can play a mean tambourine. They'll be here in a couple weeks. I was planning on using that weekend to apartment hunt, but that may have to wait.