Hopita (hopita) wrote,
Hopita
hopita

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A late night update before bed

Just got home from Quiet Storm. It was a big night there. Three bands, plus a dance party afterward, and everyone performing was a regular, or someone who works there, or someone who just otherwise looks really fucking familiar. The place was packed, and the beer was flowing. Not that I partook; I've never been a big beer person.

There were signs everywhere relating to the Solstice party last month. There's someone from that night that I need to call, and the last sign came tonight, by way of the person she was at the party with showing up and chatting with me.

There's more to this story than what I'm telling, I fear. I can't get into specifics for any number of reasons, but here's the gist: I keep score. I keep score, and it's not working for me. Who knows where I learned it from, or when, but I'm constantly comparing my relationships to others', and taking my sense of self worth from the comparison. This is fucked for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is that I generally come out with the fuzzy end of the lollipop in the comparison. I got crazy this past fall over someone's comment about a love interest of mine that it didn't seem legit because we didn't see each other often enough. This should have set off alarm bells, but, unfortunately, it did not.

So there I sat, tonight, feeling like half a person because this random stranger knew like two things about a third party that I did not, and it struck me that this was bullshit, that just hours before I'd been happy, thinking about the third party, because of an interesting emailed conversation we'd been having. Yet here I was, keeping score again, and once again, I was the team that was losing.



The other story:

Yesterday was the anniversary of the day my parents got me. I sent my mother an email to wish her a happy anniversary. She sent me an email in reply that said it was the happiest day of her life, which really touched me. We talked on the phone and, since she can't tell me the story of the day I was born, she instead told me the story of the day we met ... that I arrived by taxicab, swaddled in blue, carried by the Russian social worker ... that I was all pink like a little rosebud, and that I slept through the night.

My Mother says I was the only good thing that ever happened in January.
Tags: adoption, anniversaries, dad, h.w.s.r.n., mom, parents, quiet storm, ramon
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