Happy Halloween Everybody.

Or something less than the casual understatement of the year. Or potentially a better usage of that line because I’m pretty sure I did it unjust.

It’s all too much. – sips soup – sigh.

Where do I begin.

So I spent the majority of my day at work today watching reruns of old Disney classics. I found out promptly – was enraged, to be sure – that Pocahontas II was absolutely absurd. I don’t need a history lesson, Disney. I want pure, fat, slickly laid on romance. I went back to Sleeping Beauty and all the equally absurd, but gently so, storylines of impossible true love. Sometimes we just need a little pick me up. At least I’m not doing drugs.

Well I tell myself that. I’d imagine anybody who is going to sanely spend their afternoon reading up on all the history – here’s my lesson – of each Disney production and then thereafter the macabre grotesque origin of each formally known fairy tale has some sort of an addiction issue. Least to say I was quite absorbed.

Before we go further I’d just like to defend my position at the work place – I do not in fact work with children. Or animation. Or television of any sort. This is just a legitimate anecdote from a 21st century hard hitting 8-5 worker. That, plus the fact that my boss did not bother coming to visit us all day, so, the case has been closed.

In regards to all these irrelevant confessions it all kind of starts unravels when you get rejected. You know, by that impossible true love. Scratch the true though, that’s really not true. And replace the love with mostly just lust, not to take away from the deed of it, I think…Though I figured as I go down the memory lane of my childhood favorites that I’ve been repeating this eerie pattern since I had my first legitimate boyfriend in high school. As if we didn’t all already know that Disney has been a large part to blame for this. Rally up ladies !

Nevertheless, it still comes quite as a shock, especially when you see a repeating pattern where each time you feel afterwards like you have been shaken from your rose colored glasses and everything goes back into proper perspectives. Sometimes, a lot of the things that you have overlooked or permitted in those obscure moments you simply can’t take back. It’s almost as if I like feeling inferior and readily available. There’s not much of a regret, if nothing more than a slight tang of reminisce and a sort of genuine bewilderment of self. How did I get here again?

Or something of that nature. It’s all entirely too philosophical for this babbling Duck.

I was recently told that a truly grateful heart does not hold remorse nor sinful thoughts. It does not simultaneously give thanks in honor of grace to the people it holds dear and admires while permitting ideas of self-hatred and promiscuous self-exploitation. If so, you do not feel grateful, but are simply recognizing and noting the idea of gratefulness. More than that, it is a simply selfish and cowardly thing to ponder over. That got me thinking of a number of things. Over the last 6, no, 7 years now, I have been so self-indulgent to the point of craving my arms at one point, sleeping with people though I morally did not want to, but lustfully argued that it should not matter nowadays. I have been almost adulterous in the sense of tempting older gentlemen on multiple occasions – I have begun to put together the dots that these voids now replace my previous cravings –  but always to be put aside as ‘sweet’, and ‘kind’, and ‘mature’, maybe even ‘sexy’, but it’s just a treat. I wonder if that had ever affected my self-image, because I never really paid attention to it consciously. Emotional stoicism is almost a thing now.

I thought to myself, what do I really want. Who do I really want to be up to the point of meeting that fanciful prince charming – because I sort of buy into that stuff. I mean, I might slam the door to your hired team of quartets, but I might also secretly accept an invitation by letter. Those silver linings you know? So I ask myself in reflection at which point had I gone too far this time – each time? When did admiration, affection, attractiveness, turn into this freakish nature of infatuation? When did the spiral speed up into a vortex and I would far too quickly disintegrate into this needy, desperate and low-self imaged nobody until the guy finally cuts it short and says ‘it’s been a nice ride’. In historical terms, it’s like accompanying a gentleman to the doorsteps of his home and falling rapidly in love from one end at the front entrance of your hotel room to the steps of his home. The wife is waiting patiently.

Of course, I’ve never actually engaged in anything actually adulterous as that, but I would say 14 years apart this time was definitely something. I felt flattered and pampered and childish all at once. No, it wouldn’t have lasted, but it was nice riding with you too. Now, to remake myself upon the people I truly wish to ride with for a life time – namingly that person in the mirror – she’s a tough one.