I have always been the nostalgic friend. The one who sends texts starting “Remember that time we…,” who sends pictures I found while cleaning out my closet, who relieves months, and seasons, and years through blog posts and other mementos.
I have always been the friend who tries too hard. Who bugs you to hang out until you’re sick of me. Who knows you’re busy but still can’t help getting angry when plans fall through. Who knows “Definitely!” is, at best, a hard maybe.
The conflict of hating your job as much as I do is, even though you’re desperate for hours, you’re not that disappointed to have an extra day away from that place.
And even though you really don’t want to you might have to get some other in-between job, because you really are desperate for the hours, and, because the end goal, or even entering the path toward the end goal, seems farther away than ever.
I will never get used to spending less and less time with my friends as the years pass.
I will never get used to deciding to stay in because I worked earlier in the night and I’m sure everyone is already drunk anyway and then not hanging out the next day we’re both free for whatever reason.
I will never get used to everyone being at completely different places when we all started at the same.
I am all about being so close with someone that you don’t have to see each other every day and text messages and links to Hunger Games posters are enough to sustain your relationship. But I will never be used to it.
On the one hand, I feel like it wouldn’t be that hard to just send a text that says something like we only talk when we’re shithoused and that is scary to me, and also I’m scared of everything, and also I hate myself too much to assume that anything will end positively for me.
On the other hand, I am scared of everything, including and to a large extent, sending text messages like that.
One of the positives to feeling like you can’t talk to anyone about anything is, apparently, you end up writing a lot. Even if most of it is nonsense.
I have learned, am learning, and continue to learn that having the attitude of and even sometimes directly telling people, “I’m an asshole. You don’t want to waste your time with me,” only serves to prove your point. You aren’t doing anyone any favors. In fact, you are only really taking agency away from others, and trying to turn yourself into some hero or martyr. People can decide for themselves if you are an asshole or not. If you don’t want certain people in your life that’s completely fine, but don’t shut people out because you think you’re saving them.
I wrote some ramblings earlier today and I was going to post it here, but it felt too personal even for this tiny blog that basically no one and (as far as I know) no one I know in real life reads. (People I know in real life are you reading this? I won’t bite you I promise.)
I also just wrote a (garbage) poem too so, hey. That’s something, because last time I really wrote anything was in July.
Anyway, I feel like I’m getting into a bad place, but I also know I am supposed to get my period by the end of the week, and that shit will never cease to make me furious and confused and more upset. Whenever bad moods correlate with my period I end up completely dismissing them because I don’t want to be a stereotype. But also, what are the chance that out of those 12 weeks of the year I will just be in a worse mood than usual? Whatever this is turning into nonsense.
The weird thing about being really good with birthdays is you’ll remember people you wish you wouldn’t at least once a year.
Who wants to move to Philly with me (because lord knows I can’t even afford an apartment there on my own)?
Follow up question, who wants to get me a job editing virtually anywhere in Philly?
I never saw myself as a city dweller. Even as a kid I liked taking day trips into the city to go to the museums or the zoo or whatever, but I liked where I was at. About an hour from the beach, twenty minutes from the city and anywhere from 10 minutes to three hours from a variety of rural locations. But the more I think about it the more I feel like I would be at home in a city. Not New York necessarily, but Philadelphia or Chicago. I can see myself in those places.
Now if only I could find a job in one of those places.