Losing My Identities

I just had a 12 minute conversation. In which I fully participated.

And I have no idea what we talked about.

I know it started with work…

It’s possible I had another meltdown Wednesday.

Tuesday is my assigned weekly meltdown day.

This week I held it off until Wednesday.

It’s just…

We’re living in such confusing and tumultuous times.

I ran into my dad yesterday.

And he dropped a revelation on me that disrupted the very core of my identity.

My mom’s not Mexican…

I know.

Y’all.

My whole life has been a lie.

He said he’d always suspected. Because he found her in Martinsville, IN. Which is really not where you go to, as he put it, “find a hot Mexican chick.”

And he’s never heard her speak “Mexican.”

Those are obviously red flags.

But his suspicions were confirmed yesterday. When he said he wanted guacamole.

And she told him he’d need avocados for that. And he felt good that she knew that much.

But then she asked what he wanted to eat the guacamole on? And immediately suggested hamburgers.

And his suspicions were once again raised. Because that didn’t feel like the Mexican answer to that question.

And then she said, “Fine. So chips?”

“Yes. Chips. Obviously.”

“What kind of chips? Ruffles?”

Ruffles…

For guacamole…

And that is the moment. When his suspicions were confirmed. And I learned. That my entire life. Has been a lie.

And then the realization. That I’ve suddenly become obsessed with Ruffles new Queso flavor. And it’s like my body knew before I did. And was trying to tell me.

And now I kinda wanna see how they taste with…guacamole…

The shame.

I told y’all. Tumultuous.

So when GJB started bullying me about Chaos pub run last night. And I realized that I have no beer left in my fridge. I figured I may as well. Drive an hour. To run for beer.

Better to be out exhausting my legs on the small mountain two days before the Runaround. Than sitting at home contemplating my new identity without any alcohol to process with.

And since Finn’s Dad is also doing the Runaround Saturday, he suggested we just do the easy 3 mile route. Nice and flat. Slow. Don’t stress our legs.

But then Puppet Master GJB finally showed up and…fine.

The full route.

“Let’s go for sub 50.”

I’m definitely going for above 50.

“Fine.”

And Finn’s Dad kept talking about turning around a mile in.

And that sounded like something I wanted to do.

But he never did.

So I never did.

And my legs felt like sandbags that I was dragging up that mountain.

And Finn’s Dad made a comment about not feeling very much like a runner at that point.

And fuck. He was right.

Am I even really a runner anymore?

But Finn’s Dad and GJB never left me.

Even at the end. Running through the dark. Along the stretch where GJ loves to hit 7 minute miles. And I definitely wasn’t doing that.

And Finn’s Dad started talking about the wings the food truck makes.

And so obviously I spent the last mile fantasizing about that.

And when we finally got there.

There was no food in the food truck.

Why, though.

Why would you park a food truck at a brewery. That’s in the middle of no-fucking-where. With no other food options nearby. And not put fucking food in it???

Fuck.

Fine.

So I had my beer. While we discussed podcast guests and body pains.

And then left. In search of food.

Which I got.

From my mom.

Who had made the best Spanish rice and beans I’ve ever tasted.

And now I just…like, what does that even mean?

I had just found this infographic

And was fully prepared to use my newfound identity to ask for a raise.

And now I don’t even know what’s real anymore.

I don’t even know who I am.

I can’t even claim cat lady status anymore. Because I admitted to Rogue and Fall Risk. That when my cats try to lay on me. I push them off. While saying, “Get the fuck off of me.”

Because I don’t have patience for cuddling in 2020.

Dammit.

And I can only assume that this is why I woke up with pain shooting through my right eye.

That my brain is cracking under the pressure of reestablishing a new identity.

It can’t handle it.

It’s just all too much.

So, if you need me. I’ll be hiding under a blanket. Trying to figure out what’s real. And frantically searching tik tok for a new identity to claim.

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