Sidewalk Chalk

Sometimes I get like this:

I can't predict when it's going to happen, and I can't even really explain why - I guess at some point in my life I got used to people, whether it was a boyfriend or a best friend, being really attentive and caring and going out of their way to make sure I was happy. At some point, that stopped. It's unreasonable to expect anyone to do this for me, yet it's what I crave when I'm at my most vulnerable. I guess we're really growing up in certain ways - my brain occasionally recognizes that fact and then acts like an attention-seeking five-year-old to counteract the process.

Everyone gets this way sometimes, and we joke about it because it's such a cliche thing to worry about. But I've realized that for me, one of my greatest fears is legitimately being alone and unappreciated for the rest of my tiresome, emo little existence. (I'm still making fun of it, even while trying to be serious. Call me Chandler Bing, I guess. Or Freddie Mercury).

Someone needs to be there to reassure me that I don't suck when I write an inexcusably catastrophic excuse for a story, or say something insensitive without meaning to, or just feel like I'm not that stand-out as a human being and probably shouldn't expect anything too excellent to come out of my life. This is what my meltdown spaz brain believes I will one day look like if I don't have those things:

Yes. I will be unable to support the upper half of my body, including my ambiguously-colored flat afro. I will be forced to move to New York City, establish my reputation as "Stoop Kid," and live on a slab of dirty cement until I die of some kind of stroke from all the blood gathering in my head. That is what will happen if nobody loves me, according to my meltdown spaz brain.

My rational brain, though, (which normally makes an appearance sometime between noon and 5pm on weekdays, but not always), would probably argue differently. I can't be sure, because I haven't seen her in a while, but my rational brain might tell you that if nobody loves me, I will look something like this:

Yay, no afro! You see, in this version, I appear vaguely satisfied with myself, but not enough to appear pretentious. Since I haven't been on a date since age 18, I have found the time to earn a PhD, which makes me feel smart and successful even though it's a creative writing PhD, which doesn't really mean much in the smarts department. I have also adopted an asian baby, who in this picture appears to be depicted in an incredibly racist fashion due to my lack of computer drawing skills. But I can assure you, I love her very much and there are no racial slurs in our house. I also read her stories all the time, and none of them are about vampires at all. We do not own chopsticks, nor do we know how to use them. She gets a Happy Meal every third Tuesday of the month for her good behavior while Mommy is off at work being smart.

If I had a crystal ball, I could tell you which of these scenarios will wind up being true. But since I don't, I feel like all I can hope for is something a little bit happy. And the more I think about it, the more I think that either one of these scenarios could make me at least a little bit happy. Even the worst-case one. If I have to be Stoop Kid, I'll get to meet Arnold. And I'll be sure to stock up on the sidewalk chalk. I think that could keep me happy for months.