Sunday, July 31, 2011

(Facebook "note")
I haven’t been writing notes as of late. Instead I’ve been using blogger. Perhaps it’s the lack of comments, responses, and (sometimes relatively useful) advice that brings me back to “noting” on facebook.
Perhaps it’s just the psychological exhibitionist in me.  Or maybe not. Blogger is definitely more public, and I've recently realized I'm not quite as comfortable sharing there.
Perhaps it’s just my way of using you all as my personal emotional tampon. Which Richie would rather call ET, as it seems less vulgar.

I might be hung-over. I might just be grouchy (as per usual). I may not have had enough coffee yet this morning. Maybe I’m just overtired.
Or maybe my life is facing potential cataclysmic changes.
Whatever the reasoning, I need to vent. I feel like spreading the misery like cream cheese on an onion bagel.
So, I shall have at it. 

I missed my 20 year high school reunion last night. Well, I didn't miss it, necessarily, I just didn't go.
And in looking at various pictures being posted, it seems I only missed the opportunity to hang out with all the cool kids. Which breaks my heart. (Why isn't there a format button, like bold or italics, for sarcasm?)
I do think there may have been a small handful of people I would have been remotely interested in seeing, and even fewer who I would actually liked to have seen. Like Mary P, or Dave W.
But alas, my social ineptitude (and more likely my current frame of mind) prevented me from stepping out of my comfort zone, and I instead traveled to Bucksport to hang out with people I know and love. And who like me a little. Or at least tolerate me. 

I have so much to do around the house, and yet I completely lack the motivation to do any of it. Even though it needs to be done. Some of it with a certain sense of urgency. And yet here I sit.

I have a 29 foot lawn ornament, otherwise known as a Coachmen Catalina. Purchased three months ago with the intent of good times and making memories.

A couple acquaintances of mine were married yesterday. I should be happy for them. I should feel some kind of pleasure in viewing the many photos on facebook.
Instead it just makes me sick to my stomach.
That could just be the hangover. But it’s unlikely.

I’ve been called several things in life. And not many of those times has it been something like- nice or sweet, or loving, or kind and tender, patient or selfless, thoughtful or caring.
In fact, my mothers words (as if it were helpful advice) ring in my ears- “Remember what Craig said his biggest issue was with you? That you were mean…”
Mean. Selfish. Cold. Uncaring.
I allow those kinds of things to define me. But maybe it’s not a choice, maybe it’s more admission, acceptance, recognition.  Maybe it’s inevitable. Some things are just that, inevitable. Like death and taxes. And Crista being mean.

The neighbor is screaming for her dogs, whom she frequently loses track of. She's driving me crazy.
I think Troy left his long range assault rifle in the bedroom... 

I should probably go back to bed.