It's sort of about San Francisco, but then I start rambling and making less and less sense. It's no
Shouldn't I be wearing out my grandparents instead of the other way around?
We did a lot of tourist things today like walk around Fisherman's Wharf and ride cable cars. It was the first time that I've been in San Francisco since we moved out here, even though I had thought that BART rides into the city would become practically a daily occurrence.
The brake man on one of the cable cars was awfully friendly with me, and, at first, I thought it was because he had made me hang on to the outside of the trolly and then could tell that I wasn't happy about it. (In the end, I was really glad I did it, because going down the hill felt a little like flying--even if we were only going 10 mph.)
He tried to make small talk with me, as he did with other passengers. He asked where I was visiting from, and I was too embarrassed to admit that even though I walked, talked, and acted like just another clueless tourist, I was actually from across the bay. So I told him I was from Missouri. That's not a lie, I suppose.
Anyway, when I got to my stop, he reached for my hand so I started to shake his. But then he kind of held my hand and looked into my eyes in a way that communicated more of a I-wanna-make-sweet-love-to-you feeling than a thank-you-for-your-support-of-public-transportation feeling. It was weird.
I just talked to Leon on the phone and it reminded me of how much I need some sort of calm preparation period before I start work on Monday. I'd like to get my hair cut and my nails done (although that's infinitely less important). I want to decide what I'll wear and walk around the apartment wearing a face mask, so I'll be confident that my skin will look halfway decent. I want some time to myself.
In an ideal world, I'd give in to all of my high-maintenance whims. Or they wouldn't exist. But starting a new life when I don't like the way that I look or feel makes this much harder.
God, have I gotten whiny lately? I start writing about my day and before long, it's all about doubts and I could keep going and going. It's so ridiculous to question myself as much as I do. And still I'm wishing to set aside some time tomorrow so that I can do nothing but obsess about all of this.
I think that I need to face my anxiety head on if I can, but I know that I'll sure as hell be popping a Klonopin or two when Monday roles around.
We did a lot of tourist things today like walk around Fisherman's Wharf and ride cable cars. It was the first time that I've been in San Francisco since we moved out here, even though I had thought that BART rides into the city would become practically a daily occurrence.
The brake man on one of the cable cars was awfully friendly with me, and, at first, I thought it was because he had made me hang on to the outside of the trolly and then could tell that I wasn't happy about it. (In the end, I was really glad I did it, because going down the hill felt a little like flying--even if we were only going 10 mph.)
He tried to make small talk with me, as he did with other passengers. He asked where I was visiting from, and I was too embarrassed to admit that even though I walked, talked, and acted like just another clueless tourist, I was actually from across the bay. So I told him I was from Missouri. That's not a lie, I suppose.
Anyway, when I got to my stop, he reached for my hand so I started to shake his. But then he kind of held my hand and looked into my eyes in a way that communicated more of a I-wanna-make-sweet-love-to-you feeling than a thank-you-for-your-support-of-public-transportation feeling. It was weird.
I just talked to Leon on the phone and it reminded me of how much I need some sort of calm preparation period before I start work on Monday. I'd like to get my hair cut and my nails done (although that's infinitely less important). I want to decide what I'll wear and walk around the apartment wearing a face mask, so I'll be confident that my skin will look halfway decent. I want some time to myself.
In an ideal world, I'd give in to all of my high-maintenance whims. Or they wouldn't exist. But starting a new life when I don't like the way that I look or feel makes this much harder.
God, have I gotten whiny lately? I start writing about my day and before long, it's all about doubts and I could keep going and going. It's so ridiculous to question myself as much as I do. And still I'm wishing to set aside some time tomorrow so that I can do nothing but obsess about all of this.
I think that I need to face my anxiety head on if I can, but I know that I'll sure as hell be popping a Klonopin or two when Monday roles around.