It's hard
Andy's gone again, gallivanting around on a boat for the next five weeks. He's had some amazing opportunities in the last few years. Who knew that paleontology afforded such chances for international travel? But it's hard for me.
I don't have any friends here, so I'm a total shut-in when he's not here (and, actually, when he is, if I have anything to say about it). I get out to walk the dog three times a day, occasionally I go to the women's meetup group I found, but that's more than usual. Back in Madison, I didn't even have a dog to get me out the door.
We sometimes hang out with some of Andy's friends from the department and their SOs, but honestly I don't like most of them, and I always have to be very aware of my face. Apparently I can either sound sincere or look sincere, but not both.
Today I decided I'm going to write something (this doesn't count, but I remembered I should log on and keep my account active). I was going through our filing cabinet last week and I found a bunch of old things I'd written. That, and the book I'm reading is from the POV of an author, and she talks about the difficulties of writing. I'm not captivated with the book yet, but the writing sections made me nod in understanding.
My job is also about to come to an end. I don't have many job prospects, certainly not any that I'm terribly excited about. I want to get out of childcare so Andy and I can start trying for kids this summer, if we keep to the arbitrary date I picked. There's a receptionist job just down the street from our place, but I haven't heard anything back. Most places are pretty slow to get anything back, even a form "Thanks but no thanks" email.
I do have plans for tomorrow, though. I saw a craigslist ad earlier in the week for someone in our town looking for a running partner. I emailed her back saying that I was thinking of starting, and she said she'd be fine with doing some run/walking with me. I'm excited about it, but nervous too. I hope this is the thing that gets me to stick with fitness. There's a 5K in April that I might sign up for, too. But probably not.
See, there I go again. It's so easy to negative-talk to myself. I can go back over my journal entries over the year, and again and again, there are posts about how "this time" I'm going to stick with it. But the truth is, even though I'm not regimented at working out and my drive comes and goes, I have been working out over the course of several years since I started back in '05, I think it was. I really have nothing to be nervous about tomorrow, anyway. She knows I've never done this before, and I can always tell her I need to stop and go home if it comes to that. I guess I'm also nervous about meeting someone I don't know. (I'm pretty sure I see her out with her dog when I'm out with Brisco sometimes, but we've never talked more than, 'Hello'.)
I'm such a complainer. Part of the reason that I don't keep in better touch with my friends is because I'm self-conscious about that. All I ever have to say is how we don't have enough money, our stupid dog is on expensive anti-anxiety pills (love you, boy!) my job is more frustrating every day but I can't find anything else, etc., etc. I'm not doing anything interesting, nothing to better myself, absolutely nothing new to say that anyone would want to hear. How's that for setting myself up to write something?
I don't have any friends here, so I'm a total shut-in when he's not here (and, actually, when he is, if I have anything to say about it). I get out to walk the dog three times a day, occasionally I go to the women's meetup group I found, but that's more than usual. Back in Madison, I didn't even have a dog to get me out the door.
We sometimes hang out with some of Andy's friends from the department and their SOs, but honestly I don't like most of them, and I always have to be very aware of my face. Apparently I can either sound sincere or look sincere, but not both.
Today I decided I'm going to write something (this doesn't count, but I remembered I should log on and keep my account active). I was going through our filing cabinet last week and I found a bunch of old things I'd written. That, and the book I'm reading is from the POV of an author, and she talks about the difficulties of writing. I'm not captivated with the book yet, but the writing sections made me nod in understanding.
My job is also about to come to an end. I don't have many job prospects, certainly not any that I'm terribly excited about. I want to get out of childcare so Andy and I can start trying for kids this summer, if we keep to the arbitrary date I picked. There's a receptionist job just down the street from our place, but I haven't heard anything back. Most places are pretty slow to get anything back, even a form "Thanks but no thanks" email.
I do have plans for tomorrow, though. I saw a craigslist ad earlier in the week for someone in our town looking for a running partner. I emailed her back saying that I was thinking of starting, and she said she'd be fine with doing some run/walking with me. I'm excited about it, but nervous too. I hope this is the thing that gets me to stick with fitness. There's a 5K in April that I might sign up for, too. But probably not.
See, there I go again. It's so easy to negative-talk to myself. I can go back over my journal entries over the year, and again and again, there are posts about how "this time" I'm going to stick with it. But the truth is, even though I'm not regimented at working out and my drive comes and goes, I have been working out over the course of several years since I started back in '05, I think it was. I really have nothing to be nervous about tomorrow, anyway. She knows I've never done this before, and I can always tell her I need to stop and go home if it comes to that. I guess I'm also nervous about meeting someone I don't know. (I'm pretty sure I see her out with her dog when I'm out with Brisco sometimes, but we've never talked more than, 'Hello'.)
I'm such a complainer. Part of the reason that I don't keep in better touch with my friends is because I'm self-conscious about that. All I ever have to say is how we don't have enough money, our stupid dog is on expensive anti-anxiety pills (love you, boy!) my job is more frustrating every day but I can't find anything else, etc., etc. I'm not doing anything interesting, nothing to better myself, absolutely nothing new to say that anyone would want to hear. How's that for setting myself up to write something?