– from Exploding Dog
+ It was another great weekend – Sailfest weekend, actually. For as long as I can remember (seriously) I have been going downtown to enjoy Sailfest. Sometimes by myself, sometimes with friends, sometimes with Elise – but this year I didn’t go. I had no wing-men, Alisha had invited me to her house, so I just went there instead. We ate summer food with her family in the backyard and watched the fireworks from her living room window, then drank more Mojitos until the wee hours of the morning, again. It was like any other day, but with fireworks. I didn’t miss the hustle and bustle and commotion of the streetfair, I didn’t miss getting fall down drunk with hundreds of people who aren’t really my friends, I didn’t miss throwing up gallons of beer at the end of the night like I usually do when I finally stumble home from the last downtown bar at 2:30 in the morning. Maybe I’m growing up. Maybe I’m just growing into myself, and letting myself admit that this girl I keep writing about really is probably the best friend I’ve ever had and I’d rather do anything with her than anything without her, and that includes things that I once thought were the most fun ever.
+ You see, I spend a lot of time by myself. Five nights a week, the nights I have Elise, after she goes to bed I am alone unless someone comes to visit me. This makes my time without her, the time I can spend doing “grown-up” things, or at least childless things, that much more special. I’ve had an increasingly hard time lately pretending to give a shit for people, and I am not sure what to do about that. I am not a confrontational person by nature, so I can’t see myself sending an email or text message saying: “I know you think we’re friends, but we’re not. Let’s just stop pretending, ok?’ But lately I’ve gotten more and more unsolicited invitations from people who I don’t really want anything to do with – but because these people are friends with my friends, it makes it uncomfortable to just say no. How do you tactfully tell someone to leave you alone when you are 28 years old and your group of friends more closely resembles a street gang than kumbaya?
+ I need mental help. It’s something that I’ve talked to Alisha about extensively and she’s given me all of the resources that I never sought out for myself – who to call, and what to say to get the help I need. But I haven’t done it yet. I don’t know why, exactly. Is it laziness that keeps me from making a simple phone call? Certainly one hour of my life per week talking to a therapist would be well spent, and not an inconvenience. So, it’s apathy I suppose, and isn’t that a sign of depression? I’m not a sad person, for the most part. I’m anxious. I’m afraid of things that aren’t real, things that don’t exist. My fear stems from the impossible, the improbable. I guess I just keep telling myself that whatever it is, it’s not that bad. People are way worse off than me. But is it normal to constantly have terrifying things running through my mind? Do normal people hear a truck coming down their road and freeze up with terror that it will just come crashing through the front of the house and kill them? Do they? These are things I think a therapist would be able to tell me, and then maybe help me relax.
+ Online dating sucks. I talked to a few guys, but then went a few days without responding to any of them (because I was, you know, living life OFFLINE) and now none of them seem to want to talk or have any interest anymore. We’ll see what comes of this, but I am at a loss. It is my personal belief that for some people, there is only one fish in the sea, and mine has already swum away.
+ I wrote a letter to my friend Steph last night, and put it in the mailbox today. In the letter, I wrote her secrets that I can never tell anyone out loud, and I worry that the six page letter I sent will become a burden for her, and not a bridge to reconnection. Yes, I told her secrets because she lives so far away, because she isn’t friends with my friends, because she can keep them, if she is so inclined. But also, because she was the one who always held my secrets like stars, when we were children and then seemed to mean more. Sometimes I wonder if I miss her for her, or if I miss the relationship that we used to have. Regardless, missing is a feeling that I’m feeling fiercely for her.