I'M NOT ADRIFT | Eminem

What Did You Do?

My hand slipped along the page of my cheap ruled notebook paper.
Something about it is nostalgic...
That sad-happy way of looking back at the past...
Oh well.
Today is a good day for me.
Today I feel the elated sense of happiness that gives no rhyme or reason.
I don't necessarily know how to describe it... It's like being lost in a pool of comfort.
I don't know how I ended up in the pool, but I'm happy to tread through the water.
I feel entranced with the rhythm of pumping out idea after unplanned idea.
They flow like the contents of a can turned upside down.
My head bounces to the calm beat of The Strokes. Completely off tone for conceptualizing any rap music, it strangely works well.
"Rap Boy.... Red... green... black... obnoxious colors" whispering to myself, my empty hand takes its liberties, fingers tapping against each other.

I know once Marshall walks through the door at the session today, the air will be tense.
It'll be hard to talk to him, I'm sure he'll want answers...
I can picture Dre's confused face as me and Marshall steal glances at one another.
His will be of curiosity, mine of knowledge that he's dying inside to ask me millions of questions.
I don't feel any fear or discomfort.
I welcome the silent game.
I welcome the quiet tension that everyone can feel but doesn't know how to caption it.
Will it be tension?
Maybe more like thick and strong wonder.

Things don't happen this way...
I hear a door knob rattle. My door knob.
I look up and press pause on my (obviously) Beats headphones.
I like them... I love them.
I listen to music most of the day.
Something is perfectly submersible about the experience with them...
oh well, I focus on small, minuscule things.
My hands come to the muffs, slipping them down to rest on my collar bone.
Dre raises an uncomfortable eyebrows at me, staring with lost and profound confusion.
His mouth is ajar and I smile up at him curiously.
Part of me knows why he's burst into my office with a face searching for answers.

"Yo, what did you do to him?"
What did I do to him? I don't really know.
I kind of essentially told him to back off from trying to learn about me...
If you could even call it that..?
I was nice...
I left him with questions and mind numbing inquiries.
I always do that though...
I didn't expect Marshall to just instantly go to Dre about this.
Huh... guess they're closer than I thought...
Though if I wanted answers on someone, I'd go to someone who seems to know the most about them.

"Excuse me?"
My face is unfazed, giving him a presentable smile and wide eyed simplicity.
He sighs before sitting on the edge of my desk, picking up the notepad without permission. Not that I care.
I'm close enough with him.

"He came in this morning goin, 'where is she?' 'What's up with her?' 'Why is she so strange?' An' he kept asking questions about you. What's your secret? What are you hiding or whatever? He's in the studio pacin' around like I ain't never seen before. Jeez Nisha!"
He gives me a look that signifies that I can't beat around the bush.
I've got to tell him what happened.
I need to spill the truth.
What has made the stone-cold, no women Eminem, a perplexed mess?
What has caused him to pace endlessly, drowning in depraved confusion.
I don't really know.

"Not my fault the dude is obsessed with me" I shrug, letting out a dejected sigh when Andre narrows his eyes at me. Spill.
"He asked me out for dinner to do more conceptualizing. I didn't have shit to do so I was like, 'fine alright' but we worked on ideas for about twenty minutes. Then he started gettin' all personal. He was getting touchy and asking shit like 'why does Dre think you're so amazing? What makes you special? He went seeking. I told him that I didn't want him knowing things about me-"

"The Schizo stuff? You ain't gotta tell him that to be personal"

"Dre, my whole life is dictated by it... besides, he kept asking why 'I am the the way I am'... how the fuck would I describe that without the most fucking critical part!
Besides, I didn't even know what he was talking about!
I never indicated to him that I was anything special. I was acting normal... painfully normal around him, except for when I was hallucinating... but that just made me come across as aloof, not special... Andre, he's freaked out?
I'm fucking freaked out! He just kept pushing. Any time I tried to say something as an excuse to why 'I'm special' he told me to stop and tell the truth! How the fuck do I respond to that?
I told him I didn't want to get into real reasons with him. I barely know the guy!"
I get off the rails for a second.
I rant and raise my voice.
My voice pitches up frantically and I make stupid gestures with my hands.
I'm reminding myself of my dad...
No.
Fuck.

"He's strange with women, especially when he's searching for some shit he thinks he sees. Now whatever you said to him, made it ten times worse. You've got him falling apart in there! You clearly didn't say anything normal! Not to have him hung up like that."
He leans in to convey the weight of his words.
I fucked with Marshall's head, which isn't good if we're supposed to work together.
I apologize.
I apologize to any horrible God in the world, if it exists.
I apologize for attracting people unwillingly.

"I may have been a bit poetic..."
That was probably bad.
A normal person would have gone, 'sorry but my personal life is a bit messy and private... I'm not in the mood to talk about it'.
So I guess that screwed me over...

"Awh fuck... Sometimes I think you shouldn't be allowed to talk... shit, you're like a goddamn magnet"
He covers his face with his hands, sulking over his two employees in a weird courting situation.
Oooh, I feel like I'm in one of those old romance novels where men had to actually work for the women they were interested in ... instead I'm not really interested in requiting his feelings.
He's attractive and nice or whatever, but he's pushy.
I don't like that.
"Alright, well I don't want to be put in the middle of y'all's shit. Marsh is gonna involve me regardless because he wants me to give up information, but I ain't saying shit just so you know. You tell him if you want to... but please figure out how you're going to work with him without him falling in love with you or somethin' crazy."
Ok, falling in love is a stretch... that or I don't know Marshall all that well and he's a hopeless romantic who catches feelings painfully easy.
Oh that's scary... I don't want anyone falling in love with me... I've got to shut this down fast!
No way Mister, you ain't fucking falling in love with me.
Well, I'm clearly in a lighter mood...

"I need to talk to him!" The realization hits me in an obscure way.
I need to stop him from pursuing me.
I just need to tell him to stop.
He'll listen. If I flat out tell him to stop... any rational persons would!

"Yeah, and please be normal about it... sorry, that's rude... uhm... be conventional?"
People who know about my Schizophrenia tends to avoid words like normal or crazy.
They work around them so I don't feel ostracized or different.
Today is one of those days where I don't care.

"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing!"
I did in fact, not know what I was doing.