Monday, July 30, 2007

boring, boring, depressed, boring.

General glum-i-tude has taken over from crying and swearing repeatedly.

Since my poor mom heard me say the F-word while sobbing, she's had to have been held back to not drive down here, slap some people around, fetch me and bring me home to eat her Italian mama diet of comfort food to pad the ego and the ass.

I almost wanted her to. I almost wanted to give the world the finger and go be taken care of immediately, but I suppose that's adulthood. Adulthood minus the fact that you might have to borrow money from your parents if your sorry depressed ass can't (or won't) find a job.

In all seriousness, if I could sit on the couch in ill-fitting sweatpants until October, I would.

Which is pathetic and stupid, because I have a pretty good shot at getting a new job at my workplace I think, and I have heard people say nice things about me. I have people high and low sending me jobs, being encouraging, and generally helping me land on my feet. There are jobs for me I could find.

Everyone is hugging, emailing, texting, calling and preventing me from being a slug in ill-fitting sweat pants.

And I'm grateful for them.

But a small, nagging part of me just wants to see me fail.

Part of me wants to get hit by a bus, so I had an excuse to just lay in a bed somewhere. You know, I don't have a woe-is-me-death wish or anything, I just sort of morbidly daydream about some minor broken bones and my jaw wired shut so in 3 months I could emerge shiny and new. Skinny. Ready.

Not this.

So that small, nagging, bullshit part of me is fleeing to the beach to crash my parent's vacation for a few days. To clear my dramatic bullshit head and have it patted by my mom and dad because I can't handle things here myself.

And get a little tanner, since my OWN vacation lo these TWO WEEKS AGO.

I just need to get away from the drama that keeps us glued to coming to work and talking with each other like we were prisoners of war. So I stop beating down on my nice boyfriend because he won't give me enough pity (every hour on the hour, if you please, and louder, with more head patting). So I stop putting off working on my resume. So I stop ruining my own fun.

So my mother can fix me a plate and lie and say I look skinny and good. And my dad can just be adorably geeky and I'll feel like he needs me to survive a bit better because I am the oldest kid and he finally sees me as something of an adult so don't whine, and moan and be dramatic when you could be, you know, DOING SOMETHING?

Because if it were up to me, sitting here right now, I might not.

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