Into the void...

2003-05-29

4:50 p.m.

For anyone who might have been wondering, I didn’t get the job. They gave the job to someone who had about twenty years of experience. And to think they could’ve had my three years of experience PLUS all those months spent at Old Navy! They don’t know what they’re missing. I respect their decision, but I know their new hire couldn’t possibly do a better job than I could.

And that’s enough about that.

I can’t seem to think of anything to say. I’ve spent the entirety of my mid-teen to current adult life sitting down in front of blank pages, and I’ve never had trouble coming up with something to say. And I happen to know that the reason I have nothing to say has an awful lot to do with the fact that I am sitting at work after exhausting every possible free sample that can be found online, every survey site online, and every aspect of the internet that I have ever found intriguing.

I’m done with the internet.

Ordinarily, I would just turn to working on my book, but I’m stuck in between section three and section four (out of five sections) because I have to do the research before I can return to writing. While there are many things I will do at work, I have to say I would feel pretty guilty pulling a book out while at work. I do it at the front desk when I have to watch the phones, but that’s because there’s no internet to keep me busy up there.

Of course, I also think I’m procrastinating a bit from the research because my head feels awfully funny. I woke up today feeling insanely dizzy, and I only barely saved myself from falling into the bathtub again. Since then, I noticed that I could not walk in a straight line to save my life on my walk from the T to my office this morning, although that’s not always too uncommon seeing as how I usually fall asleep on the bus. On top of that, though, the back of my neck and the inside of my throat once again feel really, really uncomfortable.

My complaints are becoming more and more repetitive.

I’m very bored. There, I said it. I’ve sworn to myself a billion times that I would never say that I was bored since life has so many things to do, and my writing has always been enough to keep me busy anyway. Well, fuck it. I am bored. I am bored in life because I’ve settled into the very routine that I can’t stand and yet can’t live without. Without routine, I can’t function normally. I get so worked up into a giant Krista-pretzel of anxiety that it takes me forever to untwist. With routine, I can function at a level that, to most people in the world, probably seems pretty normal.

But I hate it.

I hate being boring. I’m boring because I don’t have enough money to go out and do shit. Rob takes me out all the time, and I definitely appreciate those opportunities, but he doesn’t like to do a lot of the things that I like to do. In fact, he so dislikes those things that I’m sure he would only agree to going if I were to pay for it, which I would gladly do, except that I’m still paying off the thousands of dollars in prescription medication and car debt that I racked up while in Georgia. If I start spending money on going out to places I’d like to go all the time, I’d have no money left for credit cards bills.

And the downward spiral would continue.

I’m also boring because even if I did have the money to do the shit I want to do, I don’t know if I would do it. Usually, fun to me means drinking, and drinking has not been kind to me lately. I’m on too many drugs and I have too many brain issues to enjoy drinking now. Not to mention that I’m also, for the first time in my life, really concerned about the weight I put on when I drink. It’s absolutely unreal. This past weekend, I had a few beers, enjoyed a few snacks, and wound up feeling like I’d put on ten pounds by Tuesday. I feel a lot better now that I’m back to eating what I usually eat and drinking only water. Even soda makes me feel like I’m piling on weight.

It’s amazing how much my concerns have changed. I mean, I guess, being a girl, I’ve always been concerned about my weight, but I’ve never really had any major problems with it, either. Even when I’m a few pounds overweight, I just get curvier, not flat-out fat. But now that I’m exercising regularly, I’m pissed to all hell if I put on a pound or two because dammit I HATE exercising and I’ll be damned if I’m going to gain weight despite the effort I put into working out. So, now that I’m concerned about working out and keeping my body in shape, I don’t care so much about wearing make-up.

As I mentioned that, it occurred to me that I’m not just worried about my weight. I’m worried about a lot of other completely superficial things, too. I’m worried that my skin isn’t clear enough even though I have better skin than most people. I’m worried that my face is showing age. I’m worried that my hands are showing age. And get this - I’m worried that my hair is falling out. All of a sudden, I feel ridiculously unattractive, and I’ve never thought of myself as all THAT attractive to begin with. Sigh. . . .

So that’s what I get for writing until I see what’s really on my mind.

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