(no subject)
Writing about feeling lonely is a self-defeating exercise, but it is something to do at this hour, and it keeps my mind busy.
I just left an even-toned, almost rehearsed-sounding message on my psychiatrist's answering machine. It said:
"Good morning, Doctor. This is Seth Pollack. I realize we spoke not long ago, but I realized that I did not mention how I have not been feeling. I don't know when this began, but I can't feel anything: Infatuation with a beautiful girl, excitement over college, or any other emotion I know should be present. This is very troubling and I would very much appreciate speaking with you at your soonest convenience."
Not exactly, but just about.
I have not thought about my own death in a long time. That is because I have been very busy with work, which is a boring thing and if you'd like to skip ahead I don't blame you. I have been working 40 hours a week, in 8-hour shifts. I have not had a day off since Wednesday and won't again until Thursday.
This is very disappointing. I have been a model employee. I warned the managers when a co-worker told me she wasn't coming back to work her next shift, or ever again. I scored above perfect on the store's secret evaluation. I am not being paid any more than before, but I am doing much more difficult work. That is not right.
Nothing has changed at home, except that I see less of it. I haven't spent an afternoon with Scott in too long and I know that is unfair to him. I get home roughly midnight from work, so everyone is already asleep. It probably doesn't make my loneliness any better.
I saw the Bodies exhibit with Paul and his very lovely girlfriend Lisa. We enjoyed it immensely. That was the last time I felt happy. Paul drove Lisa home, and I was so happy to be anywhere else, I rolled around on the dewy lawn. I don't know why it made me happy. I was somewhere new, and I was with friends, and we enjoyed a pleasant night out. Maybe it's that simple.
I registered for classes at Queens College. It is the practical thing to do. I am beginning to regret my decision. I regretted it before I made it. I did not go to prom. I did see pictures of lots of proms, though. Sharon showed me hers, with a few old friends dressed beautifully for the event. I don't regret not going. I regret not being able to enjoy things like that. I don't know when I decided to be unhappy, but that is what bothers me.
I am going to shower and go for a jog in the dark.
I just left an even-toned, almost rehearsed-sounding message on my psychiatrist's answering machine. It said:
"Good morning, Doctor. This is Seth Pollack. I realize we spoke not long ago, but I realized that I did not mention how I have not been feeling. I don't know when this began, but I can't feel anything: Infatuation with a beautiful girl, excitement over college, or any other emotion I know should be present. This is very troubling and I would very much appreciate speaking with you at your soonest convenience."
Not exactly, but just about.
I have not thought about my own death in a long time. That is because I have been very busy with work, which is a boring thing and if you'd like to skip ahead I don't blame you. I have been working 40 hours a week, in 8-hour shifts. I have not had a day off since Wednesday and won't again until Thursday.
This is very disappointing. I have been a model employee. I warned the managers when a co-worker told me she wasn't coming back to work her next shift, or ever again. I scored above perfect on the store's secret evaluation. I am not being paid any more than before, but I am doing much more difficult work. That is not right.
Nothing has changed at home, except that I see less of it. I haven't spent an afternoon with Scott in too long and I know that is unfair to him. I get home roughly midnight from work, so everyone is already asleep. It probably doesn't make my loneliness any better.
I saw the Bodies exhibit with Paul and his very lovely girlfriend Lisa. We enjoyed it immensely. That was the last time I felt happy. Paul drove Lisa home, and I was so happy to be anywhere else, I rolled around on the dewy lawn. I don't know why it made me happy. I was somewhere new, and I was with friends, and we enjoyed a pleasant night out. Maybe it's that simple.
I registered for classes at Queens College. It is the practical thing to do. I am beginning to regret my decision. I regretted it before I made it. I did not go to prom. I did see pictures of lots of proms, though. Sharon showed me hers, with a few old friends dressed beautifully for the event. I don't regret not going. I regret not being able to enjoy things like that. I don't know when I decided to be unhappy, but that is what bothers me.
I am going to shower and go for a jog in the dark.