Next time we’re drunk and you start spouting this bullshit at me, I will find the wherewithal to tell you that just because I hate myself doesn’t mean I need your validation.

Honestly, at this point it’s old and it’s boring.  And also, my mind is not going to change suddenly after all these years.  Even though I complain of loneliness sometimes I am actually perfectly content by myself.  I am too selfish to have other people in my life.

ALSO, I am under no obligation to justify my feelings.  (Not that I was asked to but now I am getting defensive and that is making me doubly angry.  Which is my own fault, I admit.)

Whatever.  This post is crazy at this point.  But at least I’m meeting my deadline and getting (some of) what’s been bothering me out into the ether. 

It always bothered me how little I can handle compared to other people.  I know every one is different and blah blah blah, but still.

Like, other people can work and have social lives and have hobbies and take classes and they’re fine.  I tried to do that over the weekend and I got so sick yesterday I had to leave work after like 15 minutes.  (I also got my period last night which combined with the lack of sleep and taking care of myself the past few days could be part of the problem.  But is this also something I’m going to have to deal with with my period now?  I’ve never been someone who was completely incapacitated by cramps or anything like that but I also know these things change.)  Anyway, I’m just embarrassed that I pushed myself too hard and after sleeping pretty much all of yesterday and straight through the night I feel a lot better and I hope that it isn’t a “thing” at work.  Because whenever something embarrassing happens to me I am always worried it will be a “thing.”   

This will teach me to ever try being more than a shut it ever again.

The guy I was working with tonight told me his girlfriend was talking about having kids and it creeped him out a little.  We started talking about having kids and I mentioned how I never really felt the need to have kids (I think the closest I have ever gotten is picking out baby names which, to be honest, have basically become character names for me).  I said I felt like I was too selfish to have children and he said that surprised him.

I think it’s interesting that because I’m generally very nice to people I don’t know all that well they assume I’m a nice, nurturing person.  And, I do think I am nice and nurturing, but that doesn’t mean I am prepared for that kind of responsibility.

I am too young to say I’m too old for anything, but at twenty three I am officially too old for shitty friends.

I have always selected I would rather have one good friend than a ton of acquaintances on personality tests, but that is becoming my reality.  And I’m totally on board.

I’ve been thinking a lot about moms this week.  I have had tons of mother figures in my life, and almost no father figures (which, if you want to get Freudian, probably explains a lot about me).  So, I thought I would write about the two most important moms in my life and how wonderful they are.

Today felt like a summer day.  It was humid, and occasionally sunny, occasionally drizzly, and there was thunder. And I didn’t have anything I absolutely had to do today. And I got froyo with my best friend and I wore shorts around the house and I didn’t freeze.

And I realized this summer will be unlike all of my previous summers.  I’m done school so I won’t have off this summer.  I’ll just be working all summer.  If I’m really lucky I’ll be able to take a weekend or two off and spend some time down the shore or something.  Maybe I’ll finally get a better job and have my weekends off all the time.  (That’s wishful thinking though.) I won’t be reading anymore than I already am.  It will be the same as my last three months, just sweatier.

Honestly, I had a post planned, but I have a headache and tomorrow I will have worked for seven days in a row and I meant to order a text book for my summer online class but instead I accidentally ordered the online access code so now I have to order the book too and hopefully be able to return the code if I don’t need it.

So, instead I’d rather eat junk food and drink bourbon and watch TV for the next couple of hours.

I walked home from work last night.  I don’t get to do this a lot because everyone I work with is convinced I will be axe-murdered.  I live less than a twenty minute walk from work, and while I’m not so naive as to think I couldn’t possibly harmed on my way home from work, I’m also aware that the odds are relatively low.  People I work with have actually asked me if I “know the area.”  Yes, I do.  It’s the suburbs.  Please stop treating me like I am six.  I am allowed to walk home if I so choose.  I am aware of the risks.  Someone also told me I was skinny enough.  Like I was walking to lose weight.  Which, no, I am not.  But also, just because I weigh what I way does not mean I don’t need to exercise. 

Anyway, I don’t get to walk home from work a lot but sometimes if I don’t have a ride and no one’s leaving at the same time as me I can slip away.  

It was gorgeous out.  A little on the chilly side but no where near cold.  The sky was clear and I could actually see the stars which doesn’t happen as much as it should.  I kept cycling through different smells, even though I was walking in a straight line.  Fire, which makes sense because it was so nice out and everyone around here has a fire pit in their back yard.  The other smell was a laundry mat.  Not my own clean clothes, but the actual smell of a laundry mat.  The exhaust and fumes of detergent and dryer sheets and that slight dampness of the clothes.  (I’d like to clarify that I did not walk by any laundry mats and that is why I paid so much attention to this smell.)  I love both of these smells (because I am a weirdo? Possibly.) and it was nice to be able to enjoy them out of nowhere like that.

There’s not much of a point to this post except that I had a nice, enjoyable, relaxing walk home at night.  And I have really got to start paying attention to enjoying little things like that more often.

Here’s the thing, I am not scared of physically being alone.

I was raised by a single mother who has worked overnight most of my life. From birth to about age twelve my nana would babysit me at her house on nights my mom worked.  Around twelve and thirteen my older cousin or one of my aunts would watch me at home.  And from high school on I am home alone at night when my mom works.  

My friends and their parents have always been confused by this.  I remember a friend’s mom assuming I wasn’t having Thanksgiving dinner because my mom worked that night (my family has always had holiday dinners more at lunch or very early dinner time.  I think originally because my grandmother worked second shift before she retired).  And other parents just inviting me over for dinner even in recent years.  Which, don’t get me wrong, is incredibly sweet.  But please don’t assume my mother is letting me starve because she works nights.  We tend to eat dinner at four or five instead of six or seven, is all. (And in recent months sometimes at two or three because I’m going into work at four.  Which I realize is 100% lunch and not even close to dinner.  And we both eat our dinners at work and sometimes I eat again when I get home. What I’m getting at is I still try to cook more days a week than eating out, even if it’s just throwing together spaghetti and salad.)  And, honestly, if one of us is going to end up not eating because the other is not home, it’s her.  I am the cook.  So just because my mother is at work doesn’t mean I’m not eating.  Obviously this is the case now, but it was true in high school too.

I have a friend who in high school or college spent the weekend home alone and she was scared and I did not get it at all.  I love my mom but I love being off on nights when she works because I feel like I have free reign.  I can shower without seeing if she needs to get in the bathroom.  I can clean the kitchen without worrying I’ll interrupt her in the living room.  Sure, I might get spooked a little easier than if she was home, but nothing too bad.

Anyway, I’m not afraid of living on my own at all.  I do most of the keeping house stuff here as it is.  I know how to cook.  I know how to do my own laundry.  I know how to clean.  (I’m not saying I’m good at it, or I do it as much as I should.  But I know.)  I’m scared of fucking up.  I’m scared of not getting a job and not moving out.  Or moving out and moving back.  

I know I should be sticking to my schedule and updating but all I want to do is read so fuck it.

This post counts though.