February 22nd, 2002


Why I'm not myself (but whom else could I be?)

Woke up with my head feeling like it was full of wet cement. I stayed home from work. Slept. I'll have to do some writing for work at home this weekend.

I'm unhappy with my current job situation. I won't get into the details, but it's a source of much distress for me lately.

I have two packages that are already so late in getting out of my home and into friends hands that I'm completely embarrassed for myself. They're still not done, and I don't know if I'll be able to finish them tonight and get them out tomorrow. I'm pretty sure I won't.

My apartment is a wreck. I don't feel as though I have the energy to tackle any of it right now.

I'm supposed to go out with friends tonight. I had been looking forward to it. It ain't gonna happen.

I'm skimming my friends pages, even those writers whose nourishing, thought-provoking posts I await with breathless anticipation. I'm not commenting on anything, even though many of the 100 posts I skimmed/read spoke to me.

I'm usually genuinely quite happy. More well-adjusted than a younger version of myself ever thought I could be. Finally accepting that adjectives like: smart, talented, responsible, adventurous, loved and loving, could actually apply to me.

But not today.

Today, I feel so alone. I just want someone to wrap me in a warm blanket, bring my some cocoa, and tell me everything's going to be OK. And maybe bring me some kleenex; I seem to be crying for some reason.

I just want to go home. And I don't know where that is.
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    crushed crushed