So I pretty much pity anyone who has to be around me all the time.
Scratch that. Let me rephrase...I have a sneaking suspicion that it may be a challenge to try and understand all the quirky, lovely things that make me the fabulous, bright superhero that I 'em'.
There are loads of odd little rules that are difficult to track.
For example:
I don't like milk on cold cereal. Perhaps because I'm a slow and methodical eater, the crispness disappears before I can finish. And then the milk gets warm. Ew. But for hot cereal, new rule. Oatmeal should be served with loads of milk, to the point of soupy. Because the oatmeal is already wet and warm, the milk will be the same.
Complicated? Yes. But I'm your freak.
Mornings have a very special set of rules. Talk softly and sweetly. Ideally, carry me around until I wake up and don't have 'baby kitten eyes'. (you know, when kittens are so new, their eyes aren't opened yet.) Engage me in conversation, but be patient if I'm speaking softly (that's the level your voice should be, too. And don't ask any big questions or tell me really bad news. That's one way to make my life (and yours), a truly living hell.
No big or bad before coffee.
In fact, save all of these things for after lunch. Just to be safe.
Some days I get lonely. But I love my alone time. I just like to know what to expect.
But I'm your freak.
And I know you love me, but it may take a mighty long while for me to feel like everything is lovely. That's kind of a tough one that I'm working through. Really, I am.
I send loony emails asking if people are still my friends (because I've been dumped by at least one). It's my stuff, not yours - but just knowing that you care makes all the difference and helps me calm the hell down the next time my frequent-fleeting-freaky worries rear their angry head.
Because you never really know what the day will bring - I just want to know what I can expect. And that it's pretty good. But that's a bunch of crap, too - because nobody has control of any of it - and while I try to release mine, I still picture the worst-case-scenario of what could happen.
It's fuckin' sick.
And annoying.
So I work on my worry. I really do. You probably don't know the things I do to chase away the demons and coax my buddha to hug my soul and bitch-slap my internal dialogue. Sometime it works wonders (you never hear about that) and sometimes I struggle (you hear lots about that).
Thanks for loving the whole Robbye.
I'm your freak.