Work is kind of sucking but my lack of anonymity does not allow me to digress further. Which also sort of sucks - sometimes I regret not cloaking myself behind a big black mask and cape, which would give me the latitude to rant on about work and sex and that really mean thing so and so said to me, the bitch. Alas, though, because I have never, ever been any good at keeping my own secrets (other peoples, I can keep for years, but my own are an open book) I never even stepped fully into the closet but instead let it all hang out. So everybody knows who I am and where I live and where I work and so I must be discreet.
Bah. Sometimes I don't want to be discreet. Sometimes I want to cathartically holler about how underappreciated I am and how tired I am of being celibate and how sick I am of the fact that every single guy I'm attracted to is never attracted to me back, no, the only guys who are interested in me are hopeless substance abusing psychotic short fat greasy creeps (okay this actually is only a description of like the one guy who has come on to me at a bar recently but I must say, dude, he was the ONLY ONE so you see how it could get a girl down) and how all around me there are ugly crazy women with great boyfriends while I, who am not ugly and not all that damn crazy really cannot get even a stupid date to save my life, and also how I've been placed in a professionally untenable situation and how much, goddamn it, I really, really want to stop being responsible and go off on at least one crazed sex, drugs and rock and roll rampage just one more time before I have to be hauled off to the ice floe. You know. Stuff like that.
Also, I started smoking again. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. My son is calling me a failure and he has a point. I'm going to quit again though, I promise. I swear. I just don't know exactly when, but I did get a prescription for some kind of nifty new wonder drug that makes you not crave nicotine or get fat or any of the other miserable shit that happens when you quit. On the bright side of all this, though, is the simple fact that added nicotine will make me far less likely to take to the tower with a shotgun next Wednesday, and we should all be glad about that.
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3 comments:
Wow, I missed something. I thought there was some romance brewing recently. What happened to that? Call or email me.
If I may be so bold to break the fourth wall and speak about fliss in the third person, that brewing romance is - hopefully, possibly, potentially - me.
I owe her a pretty lengthy email which I've been working on and slacking on, and have been otherwise just thinking too much about and I really should just finish what I have and send it off and stop thinking about it so much.
But meanwhile I'm 2,600 miles away and broke and using just about all of my dirt-techno-hippy-punk skills to figure out just how to get there and ask a certain someone out on a date - which while I'm nearly certain she'd say 'Yes!' and I *know* I'd be totally honored, it doesn't make me any less nervous - and I'm wondering if I should just get on my bike and start riding.
Hrm, 50 miles a day or so is an easy estimate which is, oh, *cough* just about 52 days and I'll probably start breaking 100 miles a day after a few days of riding so it'll be less days than that and holy crap that's a lot of oats and water to carry, not to mention tires and patches and tubes and camping gear and I'll probably get there all skinny and more than a little crazy but better to bike in the cold and rain than in the heat of the Southern and Southwestern summers. (Alliterative assonance, assuredly.)
Which is to say 'hang in there', fliss. You're not a failure. Just do your best. With any luck your son will never know what it is like to try to quit smoking, much less quitting while trying to remain functional. Hang in there.
Loquacious is a sweetie-pie! Wow.
I, too, often wish my gd name wasn't on my bloggie and my parents and two former boyfriends and my sisters and other random people, like my daughter's K teacher, weren't reading my bloggie. But they are so I can't bitch (too much) and I kind of have to keep it PG-13.
Maybe we should start an anonymous "bitch of the day" blog?
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