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Just one of those days.
Sun, Dec. 14th, 2008 17:49It's inaccurate to say "I wish I were dead." For one thing, I'm not suicidal: I'm just at an emotional low, enhanced by biochemistry and seasonal stress.
"This, too, shall pass," I keep reminding myself, and "I hate angst, and this is angst."
I am less lonely when driving alone in the car than I am with two fully functional adult men in the car. They can converse with each other, but something about being in a motor vehicle (or at a restaurant table) makes it very difficult for them to interact with me. Even on short trips about town.
They have each gone on trips cross-country and to Europe. If I want to go outside of the half-a-day-driving radius, I have to plan and organize it myself. They have the perfect defense: they simply don't make any effort toward a trip that would include me, unless and until I have a loud fit about it. I think, however, if I start saving every penny I can get after the end-of-year season -- no buying things to enhance our common areas, no buying myself books or boots or the apple ginger brew, no gaming group snack contributions, no gas usage unless there's a veterinary emergency -- I should be able to afford to buy myself a trip somewhere around the end of next year. Definitely a case of "if I want it that much, I shouldn't be expecting someone else to provide it for me". I hear there're prepaid credit cards now available on the common market; I should see if I can get one of those, after we move our accounts to a less fee-mad bank.
"Identify a problem and solve it, don't identify a problem and sulk about it," I tell myself as firmly as I can. Whiners deserve no happiness.
I can't seem to express a negative opinion about something without getting this reaction that I might's well have stabbed one of them right in the ego. Can't I have an issue about a thing without it being co-opted into his issues about the perpetual fear of inadequacy? I swear, it's like trying to have a serious conversation with my mom.
PMS: When everything's a burden and nothing's incidental.
Two days, it'll be better in two days. A month, tops. I'll stop wanting to always sleep, I'll have an easier time caring, I won't get so stressed out about the unfixable bits of life. The angst will go away, I won't sound like a frickin' teenager in my own head, I'll be able to meditate.
"This, too, shall pass," I keep reminding myself, and "I hate angst, and this is angst."
I am less lonely when driving alone in the car than I am with two fully functional adult men in the car. They can converse with each other, but something about being in a motor vehicle (or at a restaurant table) makes it very difficult for them to interact with me. Even on short trips about town.
They have each gone on trips cross-country and to Europe. If I want to go outside of the half-a-day-driving radius, I have to plan and organize it myself. They have the perfect defense: they simply don't make any effort toward a trip that would include me, unless and until I have a loud fit about it. I think, however, if I start saving every penny I can get after the end-of-year season -- no buying things to enhance our common areas, no buying myself books or boots or the apple ginger brew, no gaming group snack contributions, no gas usage unless there's a veterinary emergency -- I should be able to afford to buy myself a trip somewhere around the end of next year. Definitely a case of "if I want it that much, I shouldn't be expecting someone else to provide it for me". I hear there're prepaid credit cards now available on the common market; I should see if I can get one of those, after we move our accounts to a less fee-mad bank.
"Identify a problem and solve it, don't identify a problem and sulk about it," I tell myself as firmly as I can. Whiners deserve no happiness.
I can't seem to express a negative opinion about something without getting this reaction that I might's well have stabbed one of them right in the ego. Can't I have an issue about a thing without it being co-opted into his issues about the perpetual fear of inadequacy? I swear, it's like trying to have a serious conversation with my mom.
PMS: When everything's a burden and nothing's incidental.
Two days, it'll be better in two days. A month, tops. I'll stop wanting to always sleep, I'll have an easier time caring, I won't get so stressed out about the unfixable bits of life. The angst will go away, I won't sound like a frickin' teenager in my own head, I'll be able to meditate.
