Return

I would sincerely apologize for a lack of updated-ness if I were somehow convinced that anyone came here on a regular basis anyway. A majority of the hits I can track show that they're basically random links from other blogger.com sites or search engine results for odd requests - I won't list which ones as I don't want to perpetuate the accidental linkage.

I'll get it out of the way right now, I'm pretty sad and lonely here. I ran out of Wellbutrin over a month and a half ago, and now I'm swimming in a sea of my own depression while waiting for my doctor to return my call and prescribe an afforable generic alternative (BuPROPion HCl). In the meantime, I've been going out on dates and enjoying myself as much as I can without a job or money.

I have an offer standing for a temporary full-time job doing IT work for a friend's boss' company, which I'm wavering between wanting to take and fearing my inability to fulfill the requirements of the position. I also have an interview being arranged for me by Force One with a talent management agency in Manhattan, which would be an interesting position (though I'd imagine it would pay considerably less).

I've been trying to write more, developing the idea for the television show I pitched in my producing class when I was at NYU and jotting down some ideas for features and such.

All the while, I'm still struggling to get the train back on the tracks after breaking up with JJ. As illogical as this sentence might seem, I'm having trouble moving forward on my own because of the fear I have of what life will be like once I've moved forward on my own (and he, the same).

I'm amazed at how in love he is (or seems to be) with his new boyfriend; for no reason moreso than that it just seems it should take longer to become so invested after ending such a long and deep relationship. The amazement turns to fear once I realize that one possible reason is because our relationship wasn't as deep as I had felt it to be. Or perhaps I simply don't fit in line with most human beings in everyone's apparent belief that "there are other fish in the sea." I feel like the fisherman who caught the Great Catfish, the creature of myth that was nigh uncatchable - after catching it, what use was there in fishing?

I write all this hear without fear of anyone - anyone! - reading it, for several reasons:

1. JJ doesn't read my blog anymore, as shown by ability to parse out information about each person who visits the site (the only person on this ISP who shows up is my computer, as evidenced by the monitor size of 1920x1200 as opposed to his 1280x1024).


2. No one ever really calls me, IMs me, e-mails me, or attempts to communicate in any other fashion, so no one knows these things that go on in my life. So if by posting all of this stuff on my blog, someone, somewhere, sees it, at least I'll know that someone knows about my world, even if they don't care.

3. Even if people did see this, including JJ or potential new boyfriends who might be frightened away by anything on here, I don't really care that it would concern anyone. This is who I am, this is what I think and feel, and I'm not going to hide it from anyone anymore.

To borrow a phrase that Chris used several times while we were visiting in San Diego, "Love me or leave me."

This is it. People have baggage - all people. Everyone, everywhere has baggage. That's an inescapable fact of life. People carry the weight of the world on their shoulders sometimes. This is my baggage, and it travels with me wherever I go. If other people can't handle it, then that's too bad for them because, despite all my baggage, I'm an amazing fucking person.

Besides, even if other people don't have baggage that's as bad as mine - or merely as intimidating - I know I happen to handle mine better than other people handle theirs. I'm used to it and I'm good at it, despite what doubts I'd imagine some people have about that last claim.

What can I say? I'm kinda like Superman, baby.