Unemployment, Day Seven
Can't remember if I mentioned that my bank account was flat cleared due to a fraud issue, but it was and it's looking as though the money's not coming back anytime soon.
Went to my parent's place for a couple of days, got a tiny bit of writing work done and weirdly amidst that was a poem that I didn't realize was about someone until I was done. Oh, brain, you wacky thing.
My mom had to pump about a pound of valium in me when I first arrived as I immediately began panicking about leaving the confines of my home, but once she did things were lovely. Spending time with my puppy, in particular, does great things for my head.
I'm honestly pretty deep in the dark place right now, but I'm basically just forcing myself not to think about it no matter what, as I know the potential cost to sanity.
I also still have no idea what's up with the boy. He's been in contact, which is great, but no clue if I'll be seeing him again this week. I DO know that I'm not okay with the only times we see each other being when we run into each other at Temple (a bar) and then go home together. That's just a bit...tawdry, I guess, for my taste. Maybe if I liked him less.
Tonight I was going to stay in, clean, and feel sorry for myself, but my lovely friend Bender found out what happened last week and has insisted on taking me for Big Girl Beers (tm) and Big Buck Hunter at the Sloop, and his (fun) wish is my command. It actually helps a lot just knowing that that's someone's reaction, to insist on doing *something* to make this a little less hellish. It's so hard for me to admit to people that anything is wrong, let alone that everything is and that I need support, so when I finally did tell people what's happened, to have that reaction from a friend makes me feel...I don't know, loved, as stupid as that sounds.
And of course, I've told you LJ folks, but mainly as I don't think anyone but Scott reads this anymore, and Scott knows everything anyway.
The Sloop is a bar frequented by old sailors, and I'm going to get Bender to plug $20 in the jukebox and play Margaritaville 10 times in a row, switch to Copacabana for the `11th go, and then back to Margaritaville. I'm going to be murdered by a grizzled sailor, but it's going to be worth it.
Went to my parent's place for a couple of days, got a tiny bit of writing work done and weirdly amidst that was a poem that I didn't realize was about someone until I was done. Oh, brain, you wacky thing.
My mom had to pump about a pound of valium in me when I first arrived as I immediately began panicking about leaving the confines of my home, but once she did things were lovely. Spending time with my puppy, in particular, does great things for my head.
I'm honestly pretty deep in the dark place right now, but I'm basically just forcing myself not to think about it no matter what, as I know the potential cost to sanity.
I also still have no idea what's up with the boy. He's been in contact, which is great, but no clue if I'll be seeing him again this week. I DO know that I'm not okay with the only times we see each other being when we run into each other at Temple (a bar) and then go home together. That's just a bit...tawdry, I guess, for my taste. Maybe if I liked him less.
Tonight I was going to stay in, clean, and feel sorry for myself, but my lovely friend Bender found out what happened last week and has insisted on taking me for Big Girl Beers (tm) and Big Buck Hunter at the Sloop, and his (fun) wish is my command. It actually helps a lot just knowing that that's someone's reaction, to insist on doing *something* to make this a little less hellish. It's so hard for me to admit to people that anything is wrong, let alone that everything is and that I need support, so when I finally did tell people what's happened, to have that reaction from a friend makes me feel...I don't know, loved, as stupid as that sounds.
And of course, I've told you LJ folks, but mainly as I don't think anyone but Scott reads this anymore, and Scott knows everything anyway.
The Sloop is a bar frequented by old sailors, and I'm going to get Bender to plug $20 in the jukebox and play Margaritaville 10 times in a row, switch to Copacabana for the `11th go, and then back to Margaritaville. I'm going to be murdered by a grizzled sailor, but it's going to be worth it.