I've found Procrastination isn't just relegated to work. It starts seeping into areas that affect your quality of life. Procrastinating on telling that guy you just really want to be friends until he actually thinks you're an item. Procrastinating on figuring out who fucked up your vacation until you have to cancel a trip. Procrastinating on changing your vaccum bag so then you begin to co-habitate with some very large, very scary dust bunnies. Procrastinating on buying fresh fruit and vegetables until tasteless canned pineapple becomes your only source of vitamins. Procrastinating on calling your friends and sister long distance until you're not even sure if they would call you back any more.
Anyways, you get the gist. Procrastination is taking over my life, and I'm taking it back. It probably means some major spring cleaning while chatting on the phone. Seems so simple written out, but so much more complicated when you're thinking about it.
Writing here is my first step in telling procrastination to step off (it's been a while). So here are three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. One of my office mates provided me with illegal files of the oscar up and comers. Great activity for a sunday afternoon with some wine and popcorn.
2. I finally finally finally got my letter of reference from my prof and was able to send off my application for Ryerson. My fingers are crossed so tight, they're purple.
3. I spoke to our admin assistant today re: vacation and phone. Hopefully my non- procrastination streak leads to some positive results.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
dear lauren?
I think that's your name, and I think that's how you'd spell it. It should be burned into my memory, but I was so entranced with your eyes when you spoke to me, that I'm not really sure anymore. But even with only that one brief encounter several months ago, I still have a major crush. I don't think I've had a crush since High School.
It was a hot August day, and my bestie and I had just left market collective in search of a sunny patio and a cold beer. Settling ourselves into a sunny spot on the rooftop patio, a woman in a bright blue parrot dress caught my eye. The dress was several sizes too small and looked a little like a shrunken sausage casing. It was the female version of a hawaiian shirt, and her rooted, crimped bleach blond hair and blue eyeshadow exemplified a female mulleted '80's Rod Stewart look-alike. She was sitting with three young men, easily decades younger than her. The look of amusement on their face was tinged with fear as she went back to the bar to retrieve another round of shots. Using a tray was obviously foreign to her, and she resembled a whale walking a tightrope while trying to bring the shots back to the, now obviously terrified, group of guys.
We observed in amusement, on the edge of our seats to see which patron she might spill the tray on. Looking over at the guys, one of them returned our inquiring looks with a wide eyed look and mouthed 'help me'. Laughing at the spectacle before us, I noticed Lauren in the corner, looking not terrified, but simply amused by what had befallen him that day.
When the tipsy cougar took a bathroom break, HE came over to talk to us. I was distracted by his laid back demeanor, not to mention the fact that he looked like a homeless Jake Gyllenhaal. Just when I thought we were making progress, parrot lady came back, my bestie's husband showed up and the boys decided that they needed a nap before round two that evening. Why didn't I man up and tell him to text me later, giving him my number? My mouth was glued together. I swear. Now I regret it.
There have since been sightings. Outside of the Yardhouse one friday around 4 pm, but I didn't approach him- didn't feel I was looking 'hot' enough. I followed him down the street after seeing him walk by the Ship with some girlfriends one night, but then chickened out. My bestie saw him by her work at a gas station. I just hope this city is small enough that I see him again soon. Because then, I hope. I won't chicken out, and I'll just bite the bullet.....
To conclude, three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. The surpise coffee date with a friend on Monday. That 3 pm slump was easily avoided.
2. The assurance from the department head that I might still get into Ryerson after sending a desperate email.
3. It's only one day until the weekend. Thank God.
It was a hot August day, and my bestie and I had just left market collective in search of a sunny patio and a cold beer. Settling ourselves into a sunny spot on the rooftop patio, a woman in a bright blue parrot dress caught my eye. The dress was several sizes too small and looked a little like a shrunken sausage casing. It was the female version of a hawaiian shirt, and her rooted, crimped bleach blond hair and blue eyeshadow exemplified a female mulleted '80's Rod Stewart look-alike. She was sitting with three young men, easily decades younger than her. The look of amusement on their face was tinged with fear as she went back to the bar to retrieve another round of shots. Using a tray was obviously foreign to her, and she resembled a whale walking a tightrope while trying to bring the shots back to the, now obviously terrified, group of guys.
We observed in amusement, on the edge of our seats to see which patron she might spill the tray on. Looking over at the guys, one of them returned our inquiring looks with a wide eyed look and mouthed 'help me'. Laughing at the spectacle before us, I noticed Lauren in the corner, looking not terrified, but simply amused by what had befallen him that day.
When the tipsy cougar took a bathroom break, HE came over to talk to us. I was distracted by his laid back demeanor, not to mention the fact that he looked like a homeless Jake Gyllenhaal. Just when I thought we were making progress, parrot lady came back, my bestie's husband showed up and the boys decided that they needed a nap before round two that evening. Why didn't I man up and tell him to text me later, giving him my number? My mouth was glued together. I swear. Now I regret it.
There have since been sightings. Outside of the Yardhouse one friday around 4 pm, but I didn't approach him- didn't feel I was looking 'hot' enough. I followed him down the street after seeing him walk by the Ship with some girlfriends one night, but then chickened out. My bestie saw him by her work at a gas station. I just hope this city is small enough that I see him again soon. Because then, I hope. I won't chicken out, and I'll just bite the bullet.....
To conclude, three things I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. The surpise coffee date with a friend on Monday. That 3 pm slump was easily avoided.
2. The assurance from the department head that I might still get into Ryerson after sending a desperate email.
3. It's only one day until the weekend. Thank God.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
let's skip the small talk
I don't think I'm built for dating. Maybe there are people who just don't date. Maybe I'm more the short fling/long-suffering relationship type. I mean, my last two relationships/flings were with guys I met at bars and then proceeded to fall head over something for them.
It must be the small talk factor. I mean I like to know that you like cream in your coffee and that you love love love half french vanilla, half coffee at Timmy's, but not usually until I actually care about you at all. And when we first meet, to be honest, I want to know who last broke your heart. How it injured your psyche, permanently. How you view life out of clear, instead of rose colored colored glasses now, making you slightly cynical, meaning you will understand my brand of humour- a little off-centre. Maybe later down the road, when we've just woken up and had some snuggles and decide to hit up a Timmy's for some bagels and coffee (but preferably a cute little café) will I really take notice of how you like your coffee, because by then, I might acutally care.
So maybe I do skip the dating thing. Straight into the intense with the details later, seems to be more my style. So if you're wondering about the blind date this weekend, consider the above some type of rationale for the sad show that ended up with us considering why our friends thought us so pathetic to need some 'help' in the love area. If ever I need some 'help' in the love area, it's staying away from the broke, artistic, unstable types. This corresponds perfectly with my non-dating dating style. So, if you're out there, and you hate small talk as much as I do, perhaps we'll meet some day and head straight into the rollercoaster ride that avoids small talk and heads straight into the life-altering/psyche-scarring stuff.
Three things that I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Red wine
2. Sunshine and great weather while riding Sunshine this weekend
3. Red wine, my fireplace and Hunter S. = enough down time to assuage/enhance my slight depression over my failure as a dater/small talker.
It must be the small talk factor. I mean I like to know that you like cream in your coffee and that you love love love half french vanilla, half coffee at Timmy's, but not usually until I actually care about you at all. And when we first meet, to be honest, I want to know who last broke your heart. How it injured your psyche, permanently. How you view life out of clear, instead of rose colored colored glasses now, making you slightly cynical, meaning you will understand my brand of humour- a little off-centre. Maybe later down the road, when we've just woken up and had some snuggles and decide to hit up a Timmy's for some bagels and coffee (but preferably a cute little café) will I really take notice of how you like your coffee, because by then, I might acutally care.
So maybe I do skip the dating thing. Straight into the intense with the details later, seems to be more my style. So if you're wondering about the blind date this weekend, consider the above some type of rationale for the sad show that ended up with us considering why our friends thought us so pathetic to need some 'help' in the love area. If ever I need some 'help' in the love area, it's staying away from the broke, artistic, unstable types. This corresponds perfectly with my non-dating dating style. So, if you're out there, and you hate small talk as much as I do, perhaps we'll meet some day and head straight into the rollercoaster ride that avoids small talk and heads straight into the life-altering/psyche-scarring stuff.
Three things that I'm grateful for since my last post:
1. Red wine
2. Sunshine and great weather while riding Sunshine this weekend
3. Red wine, my fireplace and Hunter S. = enough down time to assuage/enhance my slight depression over my failure as a dater/small talker.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
pink cadillac
So shiny on the lot. You can see yourself riding down the highway with the sartorially correct long hair so it can blow through the wind. The envious looks all the guys give you when you pull up in front of the corner store to pick up (again sartorially correct) a pack of smokes. But do they know that you have to stick your hand out of the window to signal left? Or that you have to let your passenger in first so they can let you in, or crawl across the passenger side to get to the drivers seat?
Do you really know what you're getting into?
It could be criminal to compare humans to cars, some type of cruel guy-speak cliché, but I'm going on a blind date on Saturday, and I'm worried. He just seems, well, so nice. I'm worried if he really knows what he's getting into. I mean my shock seemed to be accurately concealed when he told me he'd never really passed out drunk. And he's not boring-nice (from what I gathered in our lengthy conversation last night), which is good.
Because boring-nice is the worst of the worst- usually ending up as the other half of a suburban couple, who's big thrill of the month is going out to a movie (probably a Will Smith tearjerker) and maybe a drink after, but most likely before, so they can lightly pet each other during the show and pretend they're still teenagers and that was, of course, one of the most rebellious things they've done. They still live in the same town they grew up in and have no intention of leaving. "A vacation to Mexico? That's dangerous. We might get killed or, even worse, contract Hepatitis C from an ice cube."
I digress. Already, i'm foreshadowing way too far into what might be exactly like my last blind date: A 40 minute snooze fest, where not even booze could distract me from the 'Jaws'- like soundtrack racing through my mind, and the sense of impending doom that if I stuck around any longer I might be inadvertantly lead down the path to suburban hell.
So, I shall tune up the pink caddie for Saturday and be on my best behavior.
And now, three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. "Blame it on the scotch?" "Yeah that nectar d'or sure leads you astray." Aaaaand closure.
2. Coconut Records is making me happy today. Thanks tips.
3. That 'family friend' is such a broad and ambiguous word.
Do you really know what you're getting into?
It could be criminal to compare humans to cars, some type of cruel guy-speak cliché, but I'm going on a blind date on Saturday, and I'm worried. He just seems, well, so nice. I'm worried if he really knows what he's getting into. I mean my shock seemed to be accurately concealed when he told me he'd never really passed out drunk. And he's not boring-nice (from what I gathered in our lengthy conversation last night), which is good.
Because boring-nice is the worst of the worst- usually ending up as the other half of a suburban couple, who's big thrill of the month is going out to a movie (probably a Will Smith tearjerker) and maybe a drink after, but most likely before, so they can lightly pet each other during the show and pretend they're still teenagers and that was, of course, one of the most rebellious things they've done. They still live in the same town they grew up in and have no intention of leaving. "A vacation to Mexico? That's dangerous. We might get killed or, even worse, contract Hepatitis C from an ice cube."
I digress. Already, i'm foreshadowing way too far into what might be exactly like my last blind date: A 40 minute snooze fest, where not even booze could distract me from the 'Jaws'- like soundtrack racing through my mind, and the sense of impending doom that if I stuck around any longer I might be inadvertantly lead down the path to suburban hell.
So, I shall tune up the pink caddie for Saturday and be on my best behavior.
And now, three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. "Blame it on the scotch?" "Yeah that nectar d'or sure leads you astray." Aaaaand closure.
2. Coconut Records is making me happy today. Thanks tips.
3. That 'family friend' is such a broad and ambiguous word.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
thanks for the memory
"So, what happened with you and that guy after I left?"
"What guy?"
"The guy you were making out with."
"Making out with? Where?"
"At the Drum, after I left."
"With who?"
"That guy of those two guys we met at the Hop 'n Brew."
And so on.
Seriously, not sure about you, but this happens to me every so often. Okay....alot. Sometimes it's; 'remember that guy you threw a beer at'. Or; 'remember that bar we got kicked out of because you decided to dance on a table'. Or; ' remember how i bought you a shot of tequila and then you fell on the floor?'.
Those nights blur in to a manic slide show of live bands, lucky beer, dirty shoes and end when I wake up magically in my own bed, by myself. Either I have a horseshoe up my ass, or I have one of the most amazing autopilots known to woman kind. I believe it's the latter, I've seriously ditched out on a group when i know I'm too drunk to be in public. I mean, you would think I would be too drunk to know, but amazingly, I know when I'm on the verge of making a regrettably forgetful mistake.
Unfortunatley, as many of my girlfriends have commented, I go from 'no' to 'yo' in about half a pint. One minute I'm as sober as your local mechanic, who was forced into rehab 3 years ago and hates every minute that he has to sit around with his buddies sipping on a coke; and the next I'm that girl who you wonder how she got so drunk at 9pm and who's swaying, not dancing or standing, and speaking what is not even disernable english anymore. I'm convinced it's some kind of blood disorder.
But, you think. Who, in their right mind would write as if they're proud of this behavior and flippant about the consequences? I would say, I've learned to learn. Perhaps it hasn't surfaced yet, but I'm sure eventually I will be sick of the guilt spiral and learning nothing new anymore. But for the time being, I'm trying to learn. I've learned lots so far. For example, If I drink the same drink option all night- ie. Gin- I can make it through. So, my education continues.
Thanks for the memory from Saturday night. Here are three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. My middle finger is still attached and fully functional. It serves me well when several ass holes don't know how to use a signal light. (And the 'several' characterization just serves to exemplify the state of affairs of drivers in this city).
2. My sister gave me major kudos on the thing I like to do the most. Thanks boobie!
3. My boss was totally cool when I basically told her I want to get the fuck out and have applied for school. Very supportive.
"What guy?"
"The guy you were making out with."
"Making out with? Where?"
"At the Drum, after I left."
"With who?"
"That guy of those two guys we met at the Hop 'n Brew."
And so on.
Seriously, not sure about you, but this happens to me every so often. Okay....alot. Sometimes it's; 'remember that guy you threw a beer at'. Or; 'remember that bar we got kicked out of because you decided to dance on a table'. Or; ' remember how i bought you a shot of tequila and then you fell on the floor?'.
Those nights blur in to a manic slide show of live bands, lucky beer, dirty shoes and end when I wake up magically in my own bed, by myself. Either I have a horseshoe up my ass, or I have one of the most amazing autopilots known to woman kind. I believe it's the latter, I've seriously ditched out on a group when i know I'm too drunk to be in public. I mean, you would think I would be too drunk to know, but amazingly, I know when I'm on the verge of making a regrettably forgetful mistake.
Unfortunatley, as many of my girlfriends have commented, I go from 'no' to 'yo' in about half a pint. One minute I'm as sober as your local mechanic, who was forced into rehab 3 years ago and hates every minute that he has to sit around with his buddies sipping on a coke; and the next I'm that girl who you wonder how she got so drunk at 9pm and who's swaying, not dancing or standing, and speaking what is not even disernable english anymore. I'm convinced it's some kind of blood disorder.
But, you think. Who, in their right mind would write as if they're proud of this behavior and flippant about the consequences? I would say, I've learned to learn. Perhaps it hasn't surfaced yet, but I'm sure eventually I will be sick of the guilt spiral and learning nothing new anymore. But for the time being, I'm trying to learn. I've learned lots so far. For example, If I drink the same drink option all night- ie. Gin- I can make it through. So, my education continues.
Thanks for the memory from Saturday night. Here are three things I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours:
1. My middle finger is still attached and fully functional. It serves me well when several ass holes don't know how to use a signal light. (And the 'several' characterization just serves to exemplify the state of affairs of drivers in this city).
2. My sister gave me major kudos on the thing I like to do the most. Thanks boobie!
3. My boss was totally cool when I basically told her I want to get the fuck out and have applied for school. Very supportive.
Monday, January 12, 2009
the guilt spiral
Usually on sunday, after a long weekend of sinning, the guilt spiral comes calling. Visual snatchets of bad behavior while intoxicated, or messy hookups are rampant in my thoughts, and I can't stop feeling bad about it. This weekend however, the guilt spiral has moved to today. Because I woke up drunk this morning, and now I can relive what I did last night. Basically there was cards, scotch, a good friend and a surprise ending. And the surprise ending wasn't actually a surprise, because I could see it coming, like a raging freight train, and naively thought I could stop it. No matter, the eventuality has happened, and now, I'm sure the guilt spiral will slowly subside as my body slowly reverts to sobriety.
There is one guilt sprial that has been weighing on me for over a year. 'Ronnie' was my manager at a previous job, and our connection was undeniable. He was several decades older than me and was blessed with premature balding and a short stature, but was punctuated by lively green eyes and a seriously cheerful disposition. Like a happy little elf. His bad days never really showed, but I knew they were becoming more of a habit. We could talk forever, about everything, and most important, about those things you think about but never say. I loved him and he loved me and we told each other. Then one night, I went over to his place after being out with some friends. I was quite tipsy, but I thought I knew what kind of situation I was walking in to. I mean I was aware that he wanted to be with me, but he knew that I didn't ever want to be with him in that way. There was drugs and music and dancing and things happened that shocked me, and I don't ever speak about it (until I wrote about it today). Ronnie has since gone to AA and has been sober for a while. But it was a dark night for both of us, and I lost a friend that I loved. I have a hard time even speaking to him on the phone. I know it's not his fault- it's both of ours- but I just don't want to think about what happened, and speaking to him brings back a lot of memories.
Guilt spirals can be short lived or enduring, but what would life be without them. Boring.
So, to slightly alieve some spiral action today, three things I am grateful for this weekend:
1. Good talks with good friends.
2. A really good sweat session Saturday- probably needed.
3. Beating the pants off of my friend last night in crib.
There is one guilt sprial that has been weighing on me for over a year. 'Ronnie' was my manager at a previous job, and our connection was undeniable. He was several decades older than me and was blessed with premature balding and a short stature, but was punctuated by lively green eyes and a seriously cheerful disposition. Like a happy little elf. His bad days never really showed, but I knew they were becoming more of a habit. We could talk forever, about everything, and most important, about those things you think about but never say. I loved him and he loved me and we told each other. Then one night, I went over to his place after being out with some friends. I was quite tipsy, but I thought I knew what kind of situation I was walking in to. I mean I was aware that he wanted to be with me, but he knew that I didn't ever want to be with him in that way. There was drugs and music and dancing and things happened that shocked me, and I don't ever speak about it (until I wrote about it today). Ronnie has since gone to AA and has been sober for a while. But it was a dark night for both of us, and I lost a friend that I loved. I have a hard time even speaking to him on the phone. I know it's not his fault- it's both of ours- but I just don't want to think about what happened, and speaking to him brings back a lot of memories.
Guilt spirals can be short lived or enduring, but what would life be without them. Boring.
So, to slightly alieve some spiral action today, three things I am grateful for this weekend:
1. Good talks with good friends.
2. A really good sweat session Saturday- probably needed.
3. Beating the pants off of my friend last night in crib.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
the piscean roller coaster
Pisces are known to adapt to many different situations. They're also known to be emotional/moody. Seriously this blog can probably serve to document my apparent bi-polarness. Because tomorrow is friday. And I feel a lot more hopeful than I did on tuesday. Perhaps it's because I actually did some things at work today. Then again, maybe I just woke up on the righter side of bed.
I've been making an effort to call friends in Vancouver this week, and so far I think I've done quite well. It's wierd, I have this aversion to long phone conversations, but as soon as I'm done speaking with one of my friends, I always feel better. Perhaps this is simply a symptom of the texting generation- the more succinct, the better. But I've never had a real emotional text conversation really- except one incident where an ex told me he was hurting just as badly for another girl as I was for him, so he 'sympathized' with me. It's too hard when you can't hear the intonation and the tone of voice the person is speaking in. I mean, how was I to know if the 'sympathy' was sarcastic or sincere? Nonetheless, I think my age group is on the cusp, but I think this is what younger generations are turning to for those intense emotional moments. Isn't it easier to break up with someone remotely than to their face? It creates a disconnection and I think, more willingness to play games with people's emotions. You can't really suffer the reprocussions of your actions if you don't see a person's reaction and are affected by it.
I digress, but connecting with people is something I'd like to improve on, and perhaps that's why my week is looking up- I have several rendezvous with a few friends I haven't seen in a while this weekend.
So three things that I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours are as follows:
1. A colleague at work transferred all of my music from my ipod onto my computer (now I won't have to worry if my zombie, back from the dead ipod finally dies).
2. A professor I was worried about getting a recommendation for grad school from emailed me back within an hour of my request!
3. Haven't seen a movie in a long time, and last night saw 'The Reader' with my mom. Was a great film, really made you think. (and cry....)
I've been making an effort to call friends in Vancouver this week, and so far I think I've done quite well. It's wierd, I have this aversion to long phone conversations, but as soon as I'm done speaking with one of my friends, I always feel better. Perhaps this is simply a symptom of the texting generation- the more succinct, the better. But I've never had a real emotional text conversation really- except one incident where an ex told me he was hurting just as badly for another girl as I was for him, so he 'sympathized' with me. It's too hard when you can't hear the intonation and the tone of voice the person is speaking in. I mean, how was I to know if the 'sympathy' was sarcastic or sincere? Nonetheless, I think my age group is on the cusp, but I think this is what younger generations are turning to for those intense emotional moments. Isn't it easier to break up with someone remotely than to their face? It creates a disconnection and I think, more willingness to play games with people's emotions. You can't really suffer the reprocussions of your actions if you don't see a person's reaction and are affected by it.
I digress, but connecting with people is something I'd like to improve on, and perhaps that's why my week is looking up- I have several rendezvous with a few friends I haven't seen in a while this weekend.
So three things that I'm grateful for in the last 24 hours are as follows:
1. A colleague at work transferred all of my music from my ipod onto my computer (now I won't have to worry if my zombie, back from the dead ipod finally dies).
2. A professor I was worried about getting a recommendation for grad school from emailed me back within an hour of my request!
3. Haven't seen a movie in a long time, and last night saw 'The Reader' with my mom. Was a great film, really made you think. (and cry....)
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
get me outta here
So, if you haven't noticed, I really hate my job. I feel so numb and stupid and frustrated with people today that I applied for two grad schools. I don't care if I'll be in debt till I'm 90 at this point, I just think my tolerance for stupidity has completely disappeared.
So today, even though it's really hard, I'm gonna take at stab at the three things that made me happy in the last 24 hours:
1. The prospect of being able to quit this 'profession' in less than 9 months. Like gestating a secret baby that no one knows about but when it shoots out they'll be shocked because they didn't even know you were pregnant.
2. Going home last night and hibernating. Doing relatively nada (of course making sure everything was put away from my trip because I'm a little bit of a crazy anal retentive person) by myself, and finishing off by curling up with a book in bed.
3. Having time this morning to have a healthy breakfast and read my paper. It was beautiful. *tear
Dickens had it right:
"Eccentricities of genius." Let's hope.
So today, even though it's really hard, I'm gonna take at stab at the three things that made me happy in the last 24 hours:
1. The prospect of being able to quit this 'profession' in less than 9 months. Like gestating a secret baby that no one knows about but when it shoots out they'll be shocked because they didn't even know you were pregnant.
2. Going home last night and hibernating. Doing relatively nada (of course making sure everything was put away from my trip because I'm a little bit of a crazy anal retentive person) by myself, and finishing off by curling up with a book in bed.
3. Having time this morning to have a healthy breakfast and read my paper. It was beautiful. *tear
Dickens had it right:
"Eccentricities of genius." Let's hope.
Monday, January 5, 2009
new year?
Does it feel like a new year to you? Because it doesn't feel like one to me. Change is constant. And as I just returned from a trip to visit family in Saskatchewan (did you even know it could reach -53 degrees celsius?) I observed some changes that I'm proud of (which I will cover in my top three today) while visiting with family there.
I wanted to discuss coming out of the closet. The blog closet, I mean. Not one person reads my blog presently, which means it is essentialy a diary- i'm writing to myself- or no one. I'm a closeted blogger because;
a) I don't really feel comfortable with anyone reading my daily musings; which may or may not be inconsequential but most likely are, and
b) why should anyone care what I think; it feels quite vain to expect anyone to care.
So for now, I remain in the closet. Should my writing miraculously improve or my self worth skyrocket suddenly, that may change, but for now, I'm writing for me to prolong that hour before the breakdown.
So to conclude, three changes I'm proud of this year:
1. I no longer feel the need to contribute to every conversation. Meaning, I'm okay just listening and evaluating without that anxious, itchy feeling that the group must must must know what I think about the subject as well.
2. I no longer feel lonely being alone, or feel like a loser if I'm not with friends every day of the week. I relish alone time with my book.
3. (Now this one I'm not so sure if I'm proud of, but it sure makes my life easier) I can last a whole day doing only one or two things at work and it doesn't feel like an eternity. (Otherwise my life would be hell, because my job is the converse of intellectually stimulating and doesn't expect a large or high output, unfortunatley).
I've coasted into complacency- which needless to say is the same as coasting into the suburban mickey d's drive through in your mini van with your two munchkins, on the way to soccer practice thinking about what kind of curtains you really want in your dining room and if the kids will just pull them down after two minutes and if you have enough time to do those 15 cupcakes before the school event tomorrow. All while wearing your Northern Getaway tummy stretch panel jeans and the 'funky' bejewelled t shirt in burgundy and that frosted pink lipstick the lady at lancome told you looked 'young'.
Quelle horreur. Seriously, you might as well take me out to the pasture and shoot me.
Happy 2009!
I wanted to discuss coming out of the closet. The blog closet, I mean. Not one person reads my blog presently, which means it is essentialy a diary- i'm writing to myself- or no one. I'm a closeted blogger because;
a) I don't really feel comfortable with anyone reading my daily musings; which may or may not be inconsequential but most likely are, and
b) why should anyone care what I think; it feels quite vain to expect anyone to care.
So for now, I remain in the closet. Should my writing miraculously improve or my self worth skyrocket suddenly, that may change, but for now, I'm writing for me to prolong that hour before the breakdown.
So to conclude, three changes I'm proud of this year:
1. I no longer feel the need to contribute to every conversation. Meaning, I'm okay just listening and evaluating without that anxious, itchy feeling that the group must must must know what I think about the subject as well.
2. I no longer feel lonely being alone, or feel like a loser if I'm not with friends every day of the week. I relish alone time with my book.
3. (Now this one I'm not so sure if I'm proud of, but it sure makes my life easier) I can last a whole day doing only one or two things at work and it doesn't feel like an eternity. (Otherwise my life would be hell, because my job is the converse of intellectually stimulating and doesn't expect a large or high output, unfortunatley).
I've coasted into complacency- which needless to say is the same as coasting into the suburban mickey d's drive through in your mini van with your two munchkins, on the way to soccer practice thinking about what kind of curtains you really want in your dining room and if the kids will just pull them down after two minutes and if you have enough time to do those 15 cupcakes before the school event tomorrow. All while wearing your Northern Getaway tummy stretch panel jeans and the 'funky' bejewelled t shirt in burgundy and that frosted pink lipstick the lady at lancome told you looked 'young'.
Quelle horreur. Seriously, you might as well take me out to the pasture and shoot me.
Happy 2009!
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