January 30th, 2001

Brown-eyed Stare

Ice Fog Realizations

This morning we had a strange event here… ice fog. It rained last night, and with all the snow, and the cold still around, we had ice fog, which turned into a thick, pea soup fog a bit later. It was beautiful, and I enjoyed my drive to work this morning, even if it was hard to see the cars in front of me. It made things seem more peaceful.

I find myself thinking of a guy I met at the Winter Revel event I attended (okay, played Martha at). He’s kind and friendly, warm, and sweet, and an excellent kisser (I would have loved kissing him again, for . And we talked and talked that night…I was hoping like mad that he was attracted to me as well, but I guess he wasn’t. Damn. He’s what I’m looking for in a guy, (hells, even in a mate of either gender), with the growth, and the having walked through the fire and all that…he just didn’t see anything attractive in me, I guess. Damn.

It’s hard accepting that I am single (and alone) again. I know things will/would be different if and when I am in Seattle, and I certainly don’t want for love or friends. But I *am* getting tired of being attracted to people who either aren’t attracted to be in return, or are already committed. It really is getting a bit tiresome, and it’s not too easy on the self-esteem, either.

And yes, I know I am still running from *something* because I am relishing my work time (yeah, mostly…. all 60-70 hours each week of it). And I’ve been sleeping on the couch, with the light on, and I have started not taking care of myself again. True enough, it is the time of year that I find hardest (a painful anniversary), and I am probably running from the conscious memories of it, even though the body remembers what the mind tries so hard to forget. And none of my old escapes seem to be working, so perhaps I’ll try writing about it. I haven’t written much about being raped, or about what transpired afterward, so it’s fertile ground. And the slowness of this job has made writing a bit easier (let’s face it, sitting here waiting for the phone to ring makes for some good downtime in which I can think, and write). People here are nice, and professional, and I like it. And the 3 plants to the side of this desk give me some oxygen that I probably sorely need. I don’t know if I’ll be doing that particular bit of writing here, but perhaps the space will give it time to materialize so I can approach it later on.

Strangely enough, I feel like I’m living someone else’s life right now…. I no longer listen to my CDs, and with no phone at home right now, I don’t get on the internet much, and not at all at home. Perhaps this is my way of isolating (as it was one of few ways I had of communicating with the outside world). I don’t know. I find myself wanting to sleep a lot, and I know that’s a sign. Nevertheless, I wake dutifully at 6am every morning, get up, go to the bathroom, and fall back in bed, only to have to drag myself out again an hour later, when I really MUST get up. I know the depression is insidious, and creeps up at times like this. But IU don’t know what else to do – I got the job at Rite Aid to get me out of the house, and to force me to socialize a bit more (and yes, to earn some extra cash, which I always somehow manage to spend). But now even *it* has become a coping mechanism, and my workaholic ways are not going unnoticed (it’s just more acceptable to work too much… I don’t have a social life to speak of here, anyway…. everyone I *want* to hang out with is over 3,000 miles away. Which bites greatly.

The here person whose company I enjoy the most is also the boss I have a crush on (PrettyBlueEyes), and lately, we’ve been arguing a lot, which makes it not so fun. And my most treasured activity, outside of sleeping, is reading on my couch, or listening to music from the radio and drowsing – mostly turning my mind off and resting it (even though I haven’t been using it much lately). Perhaps this is the post-adrenaline-rush let-down from having been at the Stinking Hole; then my job at Rite Aid was a refuge, and I liked it a lot more because it *was* better. Now that the day job no longer sucketh, working that many hours is just making me tired. And with the incredible sense of guilt I carry around, I feel like I can’t leave until every last little thing is done, or I’m letting PrettyBlueEyes down (even though I’m probably not).

Well, I guess it’s time for me to go. More later; must go count pills now.