A Little At A Time

Where to start.

I’m honestly feeling pretty demoralized today. I feel pretty demoralized most days that I’m off. This week I had two days off work in a row. And you know what I’ve done with them? Next to nothing. The things I want to do when I have time free, the thing I want to do to be productive, is to write and to work out. Well yesterday I sat down to try and write but I just didn’t feel it. I never do when I actually want to do it. And I spend so much time thinking about what I want to write and what I want to say that I make little notes for myself about topics to discuss and then NEVER touch those notes again. Right now there’s a notepad document on my computer filled with years worth of blog topic suggestions for myself that I’ve never perused again.

My life has changed a lot since around late last year. I was working at Starbucks at the time (the very same Starbucks I’m currently sitting in, actually) and I got really sick from food poisoning. I ate eggs that I brought home from Starbucks which had gone bad and which I should have known better than to eat anyway, and I became horribly sick for about two weeks. The first few days were the worst, I could barely move at all during that time, eating was impossible. Then a few months later I got hired on to a full time job which I still have, but I got sick twice right around the time I got hired. The first was a cold, then I developed pneumonia and I didn’t miss a lot of work but I did spend a lot of time in bed absolutely unable to move, forcing myself to get some toast or fruit down my throat.

I met a really nice person during that time, a guy on Tinder I’d had a little date with at the bookstore. My mom had moved out and I was in the house all alone (except for my brother, but he’s not exactly much help), and this guy came to see me multiple times while I was sick. He even made me soup and brought it to me. I didn’t eat it because I was too sick to eat and I hated the smell of food, but it was such a kind thing to do. When I was alone and afraid, he came to help me. I wanted to go out and drive around because that’s what helps me feel better, but I was too weak to drive, so I sat in his passenger seat, sometimes sleeping, sometimes talking, often just riding along, and we drove around for hours every day. Once I got better, we visited the mountains in Asheville.

I experienced something that’s happened to me many times before. I started to have feelings for him even though I knew I didn’t really have a connection with him, and though I didn’t admit, we were dating one another, we were pre-boyfriends. We were spending every day together, we were sleeping over at each other’s houses, we were having sex, and when I was sick he went with me to the doctor’s office, and while we were alone waiting for the doctor to come in I started to shake with fear, and he rushed over and put his arms around me and involuntarily, without realizing I was doing it, I whispered “I love you.” And I meant it too. It felt good to say it. A little embarrassing. It was kind of like I’d just busted a nut in front of him without meaning to. But it felt good.

Eventually we had to have “the talk.” The one where we figure out what the hell WE ARE. And we weren’t boyfriends, but we could be. He wanted to be. A part of me wanted to be. But I didn’t feel that it was right, and when that happens, I have to be the bad guy, I have to break someone else’s heart, and my own, and end it. We’re still friends, but it was hard at first. A couple of days after we talked, I started to have a panic attack alone at my house at night, and I needed more than anything in the world to see him. He let me come over and I sat on the floor in his living room and just cried. It was all so sad.

I still don’t know what will happen with our friendship. He left for about a month to go on trips to see friends, and since he’s got back he’s been secluding himself. He’s dealing with his own issues, he’s going to therapy (something I need to do). I’ve not seen him much.

I’ve just been working. Working so much. In early May, I left town for the weekend and went to Washington DC to see Imogen Heap live with my best friend Jake (the one who lived with me for a couple of months last year). It was wonderful to see him again. I felt a little bad because he was so excited to see me, instantly pulling me into bed to have sex, and I was being distant. I didn’t mean to be, nor do I know why I was being distant. Probably I still had my earlier friend on my mind. The concert was wonderful, Imogen Heap was great, and her Frou Frou bandmate Guy Sigsworth was there, participating in about half of the songs.

There was one particularly memorable moment when, during a question and answer segment (Imogen took questions in between each song; I never got to ask my question, which was the very obvious and appropriate “will there be another Frou Frou album?”) someone asked Imogen to use her Mi.Mu gloves to play Angry Angel, and she said she could try but she didn’t remember what key it was in. Jake leaned over to me and whispered “A Minor.” She did some explanation about the gloves and she said “I’ll try to play a bit of Angry Angel but I don’t remember what key it’s in” and I shouted “A MINOR!” Imogen’s head popped up quizically and she said “Eh? What?” and Jake and I both shouted “A MINOR!” in unison, which received a laugh and then a roaring round of applause from the audience and Imogen shouted “Thank you!” We were both so excited, we had our little moment with Imogen.

When I got back from my trip, one of our employees no-call-no-showed and then quit the following day. Later the same week, another employee was promoted to district manager of another store and moved, leaving only my manager and myself to run the store. I had to work a LOT of hours. I was working nearly double my scheduled time because there was simply no one else to help take care of the store. I got MAYBE a day off in a week, never two. In a month, I had three days off. Then my boss had to leave for a vacation which was planned months ahead of time and I was the acting store manager in his absence. It was pretty stressful, I had help from other stores but not much of it, usually one person from another store to help me during the day, if anyone at all.

We finally hired a third person who I’ve helped train, and he’s actually really cool, I like him a lot. We think very similarly and we have long, intense conversations and make each other laugh, which is wonderful. He’s exactly the kind of friend I want to have in my life. I thought to myself at some point “If only I could meet a guy like him, he’d be the perfect boyfriend.” Weirdly, I did NOT develop a crush on my co-worker, which is odd because I usually crush on every male who I befriend.

So then, an important thing happened. I turned twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine years old. A big moment for me. Because it’s the moment I finally started to realize that I’m about to be leaving my twenties and I’m going to be thirty. And being thirty… that means having your life together in some way, knowing who you are, what you want to do. It means starting to look your age. It means I’m running out of time to be a young, cute Instagram model. I’m kidding. Well, I’m half-kidding. I’m probably not kidding at all.

I’ve got a list of all these things I wanted to write about on my blog, but I just can’t right now. My brain is stuck. And for these two days in which I’ve been off work, I’d had nothing to do, and no one to do anything with.

So last night, I decided if I couldn’t find anything to occupy my brain the least I could do was occupy my body. And not by jerking off, like usual. Although there was some of that. I went back to my beginner’s yoga video, which is about ten minutes long and which I’ve been using since around 2012 whenever I want to try to getting into Yoga. It’s a series of five videos on YouTube, but I usually only ever use the first one. I felt incredible. I know I’m an atheist or whatever now, but it felt like all my chakras were opening up and chi was flowing through my body, my body actually felt alive and aware of itself. I kept up my momentum by going to the gym.

Today will be day two of going to the gym. It’s where I’m going after I finish this post. There’s so much I want to talk about but… I just can’t right now. My brain is all scattered. What was it I was thinking last night?

Writing is a little bit like working out or being fit. You can go for a long time without doing it, and you just have to start again. You won’t do very well at first, you’ll only be able to do a little at a time, and you won’t have much endurance, but with time you’ll get better at it and see better results. I guess I can be proud that I wrote anything at all today.

Part of the reason I’ve not posted in so long (despite the fact that no one reads this so I’m really only writing to a potential future audience of people going back through old posts to read them for whatever reason) is that I started trying to keep a private journal, one I don’t share with anyone, where I can talk about things I don’t want to share publicly. That’s still a good idea, but the problem is the things I’m really upset about, the things I don’t want to talk about publicly, they’re not things that writing about in a journal will fix. They need a therapist to hear them and help

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