Sunday, June 1, 2014

Nothing. And cavemen.

I'm tempted to write "Rien" as today's post and leave it at that, but I do feel the need to write a proper entry, so here it is.  As uneventful as it may be.

Recently, I had noticed that my clothes were tighter, and I felt sluggish.  So, I decided to do something about it.  Truthfully, my habits had gotten so bad, that one of the goals was as simple as "stop going to fast food drive-thrus."  I could write here that I've struggled with my weight all my life, but the reality is, I've been ignoring my weight most of my life.  For a long time, that was easier.

Anyway, I'm in week 4 of this lifestyle change, and I'm starting to lose my mind.  Portions of my brain are starting to bargain and rationalize at a level usually reserved for day 10 of a kidnapping.  The problem isn't that I'm actually hungry.  The problem is that I'm restless.  My brain just doesn't want to quiet down for me.  I'm really tired, but I don't think going to bed will help.  I want to do everything, and yet I want to do nothing.  The first week of this change wasn't like this, I felt elated, like I could take anything on.  These mood swings are why I worry about my mental health.  I haven't written much about that aspect of this blog for a long time, but the concern is always there, in the background. When I'm trying to be clever or funny, I usually just thank my lucky stars that I'm not in the mood I'm in now.  It's incredibly hard to accomplish anything when I'm feeling this way.  On my way home from my parents' I went to an empty parking lot tonight so I could sit in my car and write in my journal.  There are just too many distractions at home to trust myself to do it there (and I live alone!)

So there you have it, dear readers.  When you see creeps hanging out in a parking lot, looking down at their laps, they're not all masturbating.  Most are.

Nevermind what I just said.  Stay away from people sitting in their cars in parking lots looking down at their laps.  Unless that's what you're into.

I suppose I could have gone to a coffee shop, but that would have entailed three things:

- purchasing a coffee-like beverage, which I'm trying to avoid at the moment
- dealing with other patrons/distractions
- being that girl in the coffee shop who writes in her journal.  A journal that's riddled with Radiohead/Arcade Fire lyrics.  Seriously, no one wants to be that girl.

Also this.

I'm incredibly frustrated about everything this evening.  My lot in life, how things have turned out (better than most; I do try to be grateful), how not only have I not met "the one," but I haven't even come close to that first "mistake" marriage that unstable people like me are supposed to have.  And I'm trying to lose weight, but that's no guarantee to happiness.  Great, I'll be thinner and even more socially awkward, because I might be flirted with more, but I'll be no closer to correctly identifying when its happening.

Do you ever think about how you might have fared better in a different time?  My life would be much easier if I existed before things like language and makeup were involved.  If I could just be clubbed on the head and dragged back to a cave, that might be ideal*.   Of course, knowing me, I'd probably just latch onto the nearest family and be the kindly, kooky aunt, secretly resenting my friend Lucy.  Lucy would of course have been clubbed and dragged back to a cave many years before I would.

Wipe that grin off your face, you smug slut.

This isn't to say that I'm not getting any attention, of course.  There will always be people willing to fuck anything that moves.  This is all well and good, and I don't judge anyone interested for this reason, but I imagine the conversation afterwards being more disappointing than the sex**.

I guess I'm just better off being restless.

*I apologize if I'm setting us back a few - well, million - years, ladies, but keep in mind, this would put my existence before suffrage ("which is a good thing, but it sounds horrible," as Phoebe would say) or the birth of bell hooks.
**and the sex is plenty disappointing.

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