I curse my high alcohol tolerance. Seriously, of all the things to have, this one is possibly the most expensive and most deceptive. I should be in the land of fuzzy bliss right now. Instead I’m thinking about all the things that I need to do at work tomorrow and the fact that I didn’t get jack done on my thesis tonight and yeah, I worked another 10 hours straight, but whatever – it’s an office job. I shouldn’t be this tired. Not from that. I aim for fuzzy bliss because that is where the thinking stops. And I would give just about anything to get the thinking to stop. I’m not just talking about the job, but about the debts, the unpaid and unpayable bills, the 10 lbs that just won’t leave, the fact that I do not take good care of my dog, my house, or myself, my constant exhaustion, the panic attack that I had on Saturday, and the thesis. Always the thesis.
The depression is worse than I remember it being in a long time – both in intensity and duration. It exhausts me as much as anything else – more even. Every moment that I am alone is a battle of sorts. Either I distract myself or I fantasize about everything just being done. Finis. It is a very alluring fantasy, considering. And by considering I mean the fact that I simply cannot do all the things needed to live on my current schedule. Today, as I was getting home around 7:15 (I left for work about the same time – only AM and that was after walking the dog this morning – I never thought I’d be that person who gets up at 4:45 in the morning – every morning. It sucks, especially since I don’t usually fall asleep until midnight or later) my neighbor stopped me to tell me that the plastic protective undercarriage to my car was dragging… again. He offered to help me fix it, but honestly I was so tired that it just didn’t seem worth it. So what if my car falls apart. So what if I fall apart. So what. I told him I’d tie it back into place, but that next time it happens (next week) I’d get him to help me. That may have been a lie. I’m not sure.
Sunday this same neighbor parked his bike in my walkway and came to my door and introduced himself. He left his business card. I had been working at the computer and hadn’t properly dressed myself for visitors (no bra and comfy short workout shorts). This wouldn’t have been a problem if it had been JWs or some other religious affiliate – who seem to hone in on my house like a beacon. I like making them vaguely uncomfortable. But this was my neighbor. And I was wearing clothing that I would never wear outside in public. And my hair was down. I never wear my hair down anymore. I try very hard to look either like an old sour spinster or a lesbian – and sometimes both, depending on the circumstances. Sunday I looked like neither, and I realized only too late the impression I probably made. I would have considered it a negative one. I don’t know that he felt the same way. He essentially asked me out – with compliments. I’m not used to that. Nor am I comfortable with it.
He knows where I live.
Every time I have to walk to the copier or the printer at work I wish I was invisible. I am invisible in my cube. Every time somebody looks over the wall and makes accidental eye contact, there is this moment of absolute awkwardness. I wasn’t there until they looked. And they look away quickly so as to correct the error – before the space-time continuim collapses or such like. Not that I’m invisible (god, I really do wish) but that I am other. Always other. I don’t socialize. I don’t personalize. I don’t share. Which is counter to everything I am – Hello, Gemini here. It was a hard lesson to learn, but never again will my work-mates become my friends. All will remain separate. Always.
A big part of the problem is that I’m not getting enough exercise. I don’t have the time or energy to work on my thesis either. At first I thought I was just being lazy – all those weekends I’ve spent either sleeping or reading trashy comic books. Then Saturday, after another hard week (on the tail of two months of hard weeks) I interrupted my solo time to go to a party held by some of my best friends. I knew I was going to have a panic attack as I was getting ready. I was shaking by the time I walked up to the door. I knocked twice, not very loud, and then waited. The shakes got worse and worse and finally I turned to leave. Only somebody saw me from the window and they rushed out to open the door and call me back. I was into my second drink before the shaking finally stopped. And I tried so hard to keep my mouth shut. Do not talk. Do not talk. Do NOT talk.
I still talked. Too much.
The panic attacks have been worse than ever too, and they’ve kept me indoors more than ever. I don’t remember the last time I felt comfortable enough in my own skin to go out on my own. It’s been a while. Italy maybe. Which is part of why I drink. Part of why I’m looking for that warm fuzzy feeling. Hell, I’d even go for a cold buzzy feeling. Anything but this here, now, this… empty. Wish in one hand, shit in the other…
I’ll be getting up at 4:45 again tomorrow. It is the only way I get anything done during the day. Not to say that I am not productive at work – I am. Incredibly so even. But work takes up so much of my life right now that if I want clean dishes and clean clothes and a clean floor (totally bonus at this point) I have to start early. And odds are I’ll finish late. Because this? This is impossible. Doing everything to the level expected is impossible.
I’ll keep trying though.
Now I need to go fold clothes. And do today’s dishes. God, I wish I was drunk.
SecondHand Saint 