Life or a car accident?

I like to stalk. Find out information about people. We all call it "stalking" but is it really when all of the information is publicly displayed for all to see on forums like facebook and blogsites? Maybe not, but I do [whatever it is] pretty regularly. I'd call it a hobby. It's pretty harmless. I'll dig up information about pregnancies, marriages, job changes, the yooj. Usually I just blindly search, bouncing from page to page storing up useless knowledge to bust out the next time I have a real, face-to-face encounter with someone who will care when I start the conversation with "ooOooO did you see on facebook..." Every now and then I stalk with a purpose; to find out what the ex's are up to, or the hopelessly ignorant-to-life girl from my previous place of employment, or even the perfect girl from college, desperately hoping she's not perfect anymore, although there will always be the memory of her perfection, so even if she's fat and hunch-backed, I'll remember the perfection. And I find that the ex's are still there (moving on or holding on, it doesn't matter) Ms. Ignorance is still blissfully ignorant, and the perfection lives on despite years of drinking and partying post college (how.does.she.do.it?)

Sometimes though, when I'm not actively looking, I find something. Some nugget that is too good to be true. Something that I was desperately searching for on those purposeful escapades through cyberspace. Except this time, this moment when I'm happy and content and not crazed, (which is rare. Those moments are oh-so-rare) I don't want it. I don't want to keep reading, but it's a car accident. Gruesome, torturous, setting me up for a number of sleepless nights to come and yet, I can't turn away. I can't close the window and stop reading, because even if I did, it'd still be there. It's too late, I've already seen the flashing lights and heard the sirens, and the brake lights on the cars ahead are just an indication that I'll HAVE to look as I roll past. Slowly. Taking in every gory detail.

There were so many nights when all I wanted to do was find something, anything, to prove that I'd beaten the system. That I had the upper hand. That I was the smarter one, the more insightful one. And I'd search the same topics, on the same sites with no luck, all the better really, because what's that saying, "ignorance is bliss"? I think I get it now. I don't want to care. I don't want to know. I don't need to win. Because if this is what it feels like to win, then I'd rather go back to blindly searching, reaching in the dark. If I knew 5 minutes ago what I know now, I'd stop. But I'm my own worst enemy, in every regard. I need to know, need to be in the inner circle.

Maybe this time I'll have learned my lesson. But then again, like with the car accident, it's startling and unexpected. It comes out of nowhere and blind sides you. Would I feel like this on the nights that I was actively searching? Probably not. I would have seen the headlights and made sure that my seat belt was on, and I was wearing a helmet and was ready for the force of the airbags. All guards would have been up, instead of, well non-existent. So, instead, I'll try my best to take a step back and breathe. Just breathe. Slowly, in and out. I'll remind myself, in an almost repetitive exercise form, of everything that got me to the happy/content/not crazed moment that I just saw floating around here. The one I saw at 5:30 this morning when the alarm sounded through the early morning darkness and he rolled over to say "It's so early honey." and I reminded him that I had to iron before work to which he said "That's so silly. You look great. All of the time. That's so silly." And I kissed his forehead wishing him sweet dreams until he'd have to do the same dance of the alarm clock in a little while. The one I saw follow me all the way from central Jersey, down the turnpike, off exit 4 into South Jersey, then over the Ben Franklin into West Philadelphia. The one that marched up the front steps to the museum this morning, with the feeling of pride that I get to walk through those doors everyday. The one that happily renamed files so that I can have, at least, the appearance of being organized when my intern arrives in 2 weeks. The one that, at 12:00 on the dot, had me marching down to the cafeteria to purchase a lunch that'd be sooner landing in the bottom of the garbage, than my own stomach. I will find that moment. I need that moment. Those are the moments, the breaths that make the harder ones, the right now ones, bearable. I always come back to them. I do. But I want to get there this time, with less destruction than I have in the past. Progress. I'm making progress, and I think in the wake of the nausea and chills, the rapid heart beating, the cold and clammy hands, and the fighting back tears I'm learning; learning about the one thing that I always thought I knew, and am realizing I know nothing about. I'm learning about me.