"All the boys get the girls in the back."

Hey baby hey baby hey--

I am so lazy. It's a little after 3:00 p.m., and I just changed out of my pj's. At least I'm on my third load of laundry, so it's not a total bust. Spoke with Tom for like half an hour or so; same with my sister. Sarah and I are trying to work it so that she can come up and visit towards the end of the summer. That would be pretty cool. I was looking up prices online, and I can only find flights from Boston to Rochester, with a stop to Baltimore in between. I didn't want her to be traumatized, going on a plane for the first time; I wanted something non-stop, but that doesn't seem to exist in August. Plus she should be at home on the 14th, since it's Tom's bday, so that rules out that part of that week. I don't feel too bad, though, because I've been to all three airports, so I could help her out if need be.

I mentioned the possibility to Jenna and Renée, and I don't feel like I'm getting a terribly great reception on that one. I feel like they're judging my sister, because she's into all this stuff that they aren't. Whatever. Sarah knows better than to do that shit with me around. I'd kick her ass.

I'm sorta bored. I should probably clean.

And the serious side continues....

I don't know what to say, except that I'm exhausted. I am home alone for the weekend, and while that should make me happy, it does not. I am lonely. When I was younger, and the family left for the weekend, it would leave me in a flurry of excitement. I could do anything I wanted to do; I was free. But right now, freedom is surely not the dominant feeling. I feel troubled. Weird and anxious. Not as bad as usual, but it's still there. And I can't shake it.

I am sad.

I don't know what to think about anything, anymore. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should do anything. And yet, I want to do something. But what? I don't know. There is nothing to do. Sit. Wait. Speak, or not speak. Sleep.

I don't know what love is, anymore. I understand want, and need, and hormones, but I don't understand love. And perhaps I don't want to at this very moment. Who the hell cares. I would like to say that the cynic is back, but any comments written under the guise of sarcasm or anger are seriously misplaced, because I could not feel any more ambivalent. And that bothers me. A lot.

Tell me something: Why do I care? Why do I care about any of this?

Just leave me in my little corner.

I don't really know what to write right now, except to say that I am thoroughly depressed. I make myself vulnerable over and over, and each time, the same results: Rejection. Humiliation. Things I cannot name because they weigh so heavily inside of me. One would think that I would have learned by now.

The problem is, I don't learn. Instead, I make the same mistakes repeatedly, and each time, I learn an extra lesson or two. To me, this isn't worth the side effects. Nausea, dizziness.

All I can do is write in vagueries, and I am sorry for that. Truly. I'm sorry for just about everything. I'm anxious. All the time. Can't sleep or eat when I'm depressed. Can rarely ever live in the moment; always eons in the past or potential futures, always restructuring scenarios in my head instead of just breathing. My entire family is on medication; I suspect that, crazy as they all are, it keeps them from being like me. As much as I try not to be like them--to do every small thing in the exact opposite manner as I have seen them do it--there is one thing that they can still do, that I cannot. They can still breath.

I've always felt that I am disconnected from everything, sort of this outsider looking in, and I miss a lot in the process. I'm hyper-aware of social ills, friends in pain, and the lyrics of every last R.E.M. song. But I do miss a lot. I see that.

It's just....

If one more person disappoints me, lets me down, breaks a promise, leaves me, disregards what I might think....

I'm an honest person--too honest, many would say. I'll put myself in the other's shoes, I'm compassionate. I try so fucking hard, too. With everything. It's that whole "nice guys finish last" deal, and I am so tired of that. Maybe I should pick up smoking again, be bad. Something to get my mind off of how ridiculous I constantly feel.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. Fuck AmeriCorps; I'll go off and join the Peace Corps instead. If I need to get out of the country to separate myself from this crap.... Or would I just be running away? Oh, the perennial question is often posed as such. And since when do I write like someone who's just stepped off the first page of an early 19th century novel? I really don't want to sound melodramatic or rash or irrational, here. Honest.

R.E.M.: "Automatic for the People," repeat-all, fourth time running. Gotta love it. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm such a loser.

Perhaps I should start taking medication for this low self-esteem/anxiety? I thought about it earlier, and came to the conclusion that I'd always sort of prided myself on the fact that every living person in my family was on mood-enhancing medication but me. And maybe that's why I'm so freakin nuts, but that's beside the point (well, not really; it's right on the mark, actually, but let's move on, shall we?). Man.

I don't have the emotional capacity for this. Some wise (ass) person once said, "What doesn't kill you, will only make you stronger." Well, obviously that person didn't consult with me before using the all-encompassing pronoun, "you," in the speech of the century. And that isn't always the case, anyway. There are catatonics a-plenty out there.

In any case, it still stands that I'm a total freak of nature. It takes me a million years to figure out what it is that I want, and once I can finally get myself to verbalize it, all chances for it are gone, and I am, as usual, demoted to the "second-best" slot. Not even so much as a consolation prize. Consolation: Something I could use right now.

Not all is lost, however. I still have love and that's worth something. But, it's never on my terms and no one ever wants to meet me half way or even just a step or two closer. I've always been a laid back person as far as decision-making goes--maybe too laid back, it might seem at times--but dammit, why can't someone agree with me on one damn stupid little thing? I'm so fucking poetic today--honestly. I don't mean to feel sorry for myself, and it upsets me when others do that.

But I feel so alone right now. I'm upset; I'm entitled. A very large part of me just wants to say "screw it," move to Boston--a city that I know better than I knew Chicago--just leave. I'm so tired, though, that I don't even know what's good for me right now.

More later, I guess.

"Please, Mr. Bus Driver: Open the door...."

Breath, 1-2-3, breath.

It's been a long time since I last wrote. I packed and moved. I ended my job with the after school program, which was kind of sad. There was an overlap when I started my new job at the Head Start Program. Things have been busy over there, but they're going well. Today is Jay's birthday; he's coming over for dinner and I'm going to cook dessert. I finally got my bed a couple of days ago--woo hoo!

And I'm exhausted--flat-out, don't-ask-me, screw-me-in-my-sleep-and-I-won't-even-notice, exhaustion. I'm also incredibly tired. And winded.

I'm in a pretty good mood, today. I had a yummy lunch, changed my address at the bank, and found a recipe for dessert. It's a beautiful day and people are being nice to me. It doesn't take much to make me happy. Honest.

The past two weeks have utterly consumed me. Between moving and preparations for the going-away party for Eva--who's about to embark to Japan to teach for a couple of years--I've barely had time to breath. We got our satellite up and working the other afternoon, and that was the highlight of the rest of my week.

I just want to sleep, and never wake up; I'm just that tired. Good night, moon.

Blog on. More later, promise.