2003-07-15
Attention
So my good friend Lobsterchick and I have these daily conversations about validation and approval.
This username I've chosen seems to be exceptionally appropriate. On one hand, I fill this blog with my verbal diarrhea just for fun. My kind of fun. Stupid ass loser fun that amuses me and my friends. Conversely, I love when people read my diary and leave me a comment somewhere (anywhere, please!) saying they liked what they read.
I asked myself, "Where and when did the prostitution of my thoughts and actions for a pittance of attention begin?"
And I did, indeed, find the answer.
When I was a very young child, probably no more than two, I could read. And sing. And dance. Now this was in the pre-JonBenet Ramsay era, so instead of parading around in public like a miniature whore, I was an endless source of entertainment for my incredibly tight-knit family. Every Sunday at dinner, I would stand on the dining table and perform "Just a Gigolo" and "Daddy's Little Girl" for my grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles. They would coo and laugh and applaud and I was hooked. Attention, yep, that's for me.
My grandparents lived in the flat below us and I was the apple of my grandpa's eye. We would sit for hours with a tape recorder on the floor before us; he requested improvised songs and I was only too happy to oblige. I absconded with those tapes one night when we were reminiscing at my grandma's table one evening. I don't know if anyone in my family would appreciate them the way I do. Not just because they are the chronicle of a shared experience, but because I didn't get to go to my grandpa's funeral. I placed him on the kitchen floor and watched him take in his last breath some Novembers ago, but I wasn't granted complete closure when he passed. Instead the mask of anaesthesia was being placed over my face for the first time.
I danced most of my life. Tap was my most prodigious talent and is to this day. Painfully shy in the dressing room (I remember we weren't allowed to wear underwear during recitals, and I costumed myself nearly pressed in the corner of the shower room of the high school where we performed.), I was a complete exhibitionist on stage. I relished the "woowoo" yelling that was appropriate and expected from sequin-clad dancers and felt like I won the lottery when I graduated from plain black tights to fishnet stockings. Ironically, my mom practically had to DRAG me to my lessons each week.
Gymnastics, though it provided less of an opportunity for stagey me to emerge, was just show-offy enough to keep me satisfied. Floorwork, bars, horse, balance beam. I could exhibit my prowess in all areas proudly. Watch me flip! Watch me swing! It's a miracle I didn't end up in the fricking circus. The love affair with gymnastics ended in my preteen years when I decided it was unnecessary for me to wear a bra to practice. My classmates didn't, so why should I? My shirt flew up during a handspring and out popped my chest. The instructor made a comment to me that literally made me BURST into tears. I ran to the locker room, refused to hear his apology, left and never went back. Isn't it amazing how hurtful words spoken by a trusted adult can stick with a child for life?
In high school, my attention seeking ways were halted somewhat as I became increasingly insecure about myself. I was terrified of boys at the time and protected myself with a wicked sense of humor. Cute, funny Marie. That was my M.O. I was a fairly talented flutist and regularly played solos in chamber and pit orchestra. A few attempts at plagiarized stand-up comedy in front of people I knew would laugh even if I bombed.
My insecure days ended during my senior year, when, after my first audition ever, I landed the lead role in the school musical. Oh. My. God. This was HEROIN to me. I thought I knew what praise and attention felt like before this, but I was wrong. I was a superstar in my own mind. Holy crap, did I love myself.
A few plays and films (no, not FILMS, gutter minds) and MANY years later, the person who craved attention and approval began to settle down. I started thinking more of my role in the lives of others. I desperately desired motherhood. Don't get me wrong, I still pull out all the stops when that fricking karaoke machine makes its appearance, and I look at my stats here on diaryland about a million times a day.
But really, I'm tired of being so selfish. As vain and conceited as I appear to be (and I am to a degree), I really do want to give part of myself to someone else. Someone tiny and soft. Someone who will have the world before her to seek the attention of others or give freely of herself to enrich the lives of others.
Until then, I'll let it be all about me and I'll enjoy every fricking minute of it.
joeparadox at 5:08 p.m.