So it's January...
Well I haven't written in awhile, and since I was updating my other blogs today, I thought, "What the hell!". This my daily routine lately: go to work before the sun rises, come home around 1 or 2, play Mahjong, watch a movie, make dinner, go to bed. It's not that exciting, but I kind of enjoy it. My days off are similar, except there's coffee and a crossword puzzle instead of work.
The boy I used to be in love with is married now. It's okay. I was surprised at how upset I was, but really I'm fine now. Sort of. I saw his new wife in my store the other day and had to convince myself that it wouldn't be worth it to take out my box cutter and slice her throat. He works overnight now, so it doesn't matter anymore. I don't have to see him, and it makes things a lot better. I have a new distraction now anyway. I probably shouldn't get into it on my public journal in case it falls into the wrong hands, but then I did just admit that I considered homicide for a moment. (Please, like I would actually risk my job for it...also, I had PMS.)
Anyway, nothing makes you forget a douche bag like a new prospect. He's nothing like the other one. He's not a tool. He doesn't gel his hair. He's adorable. And....he's nineteen. To be fair, I didn't know this at first. But there's nothing for it, I'm attached. Unfortunately I'm having all the same problems I always have with straight men - I have a panic attack if he so much as acknowledges my presence, so now he must think I don't like him. He hasn't greeted me in quite awhile, and he used to. Men give up when I give them nothing back.
I contacted a lady from the Hour Exchange last week. She's a counselor of sorts that knows how to deal with my kind of anxiety. I'm going to see her tomorrow. I only have three time dollars, so that'll only get me three sessions. I hope that's enough. Might not be. Dr. Fred tried for seven years and he couldn't fix me. Still, I'm longing for male companionship. It would be nice to have a warm body in this cold weather. And I feel like I can't reach my goals unless someone tells me I can. I imagine how great my life would be if I was myself all the time. Work would be an absolute blast. I'd love to be able to break out into song like everyone else seems to.
So it looks like this journal has become my non-adventures in social phobia. Well, that's my life. It's not gloomy or all that depressing. I just get lonely sometimes. Not enough to bother anyone about it, though. I hate to be so serious in this thing, but as the comic relief character in my own life, I don't really get a chance to otherwise. It's nice.
The boy I used to be in love with is married now. It's okay. I was surprised at how upset I was, but really I'm fine now. Sort of. I saw his new wife in my store the other day and had to convince myself that it wouldn't be worth it to take out my box cutter and slice her throat. He works overnight now, so it doesn't matter anymore. I don't have to see him, and it makes things a lot better. I have a new distraction now anyway. I probably shouldn't get into it on my public journal in case it falls into the wrong hands, but then I did just admit that I considered homicide for a moment. (Please, like I would actually risk my job for it...also, I had PMS.)
Anyway, nothing makes you forget a douche bag like a new prospect. He's nothing like the other one. He's not a tool. He doesn't gel his hair. He's adorable. And....he's nineteen. To be fair, I didn't know this at first. But there's nothing for it, I'm attached. Unfortunately I'm having all the same problems I always have with straight men - I have a panic attack if he so much as acknowledges my presence, so now he must think I don't like him. He hasn't greeted me in quite awhile, and he used to. Men give up when I give them nothing back.
I contacted a lady from the Hour Exchange last week. She's a counselor of sorts that knows how to deal with my kind of anxiety. I'm going to see her tomorrow. I only have three time dollars, so that'll only get me three sessions. I hope that's enough. Might not be. Dr. Fred tried for seven years and he couldn't fix me. Still, I'm longing for male companionship. It would be nice to have a warm body in this cold weather. And I feel like I can't reach my goals unless someone tells me I can. I imagine how great my life would be if I was myself all the time. Work would be an absolute blast. I'd love to be able to break out into song like everyone else seems to.
So it looks like this journal has become my non-adventures in social phobia. Well, that's my life. It's not gloomy or all that depressing. I just get lonely sometimes. Not enough to bother anyone about it, though. I hate to be so serious in this thing, but as the comic relief character in my own life, I don't really get a chance to otherwise. It's nice.