I took some time off after Christmas and returned to work today to find my job as grating as I left it. (I’m trying to plan an actual vacation and god forbid anybody I work with volunteering to give me coverage I must get before getting any time off approved. I do a lot of shit that nobody else does so I’m integral, as I keep reminding myself someone said once, but being integral means apparently that I’m the only person who can do any aspect of my job description, ever.) But blahblahblah I help people for a living and isn’t that just so rewarding and fun. Whatever.

I don’t really know what I’m doing with this space anymore. You missed me at Christmas, I was really very jolly. I was focused on the stuff that matters – friends, family – and I got a piece of furniture I needed and cash money so that was pretty sweet. I was pretty content.

So of course 12/27 I went and had sex with someone who doesn’t care about me. And that’s no real bummer on its own, sex with someone who doesn’t care, but this person I care about and the onesidedness coupled with my absolute refusal to learn from history made for a great day of shame 12/29.

I am starting therapy again. It’s been a long time and I need to figure out primarily how to take better care of myself. I’m just not doing it on my own despite my stubborn belief that I HAS ALL THE INSIGHT*. I don’t know what really triggers all of my sadness/insecurity/anxiety, that is, what makes it worse some times than others. Lately, let’s say since I last wrote if not longer, I have been raw. Just walking around like an exposed nerve. I hate the idea that anyone else, especially at work, could pick up on me not being…together/confident/normal/happy. I hate the idea that it could have made me a less effective worker for my clients. So, therapy.

Seriously, for the better part of a week I really thought I nailed this seasonal joy thing. Maybe next year I will get it right.**


* My favorite new insight into myself is that I undermine most things I do or any accomplishment I might have with this nagging, irrational belief that it just doesn’t really count because I’m not the best. I’m not a genius. Everything could be better, so who cares if I do well. Except I care so hard that failing or making a mistake is essentially THE WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN.

** See, I made a bad choice and it led to me being sad after Christmas so I failed at Christmas/winter/life.