enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Me, food - canned and wept into

Still really not in a good mood.

I don't mean this literally, but in my all or nothing sort of thinking at work today - in my complete and utter misery - I thought, "I'm going to have to kill myself."

I can just get such a bleak feeling inside, as though I have nothing to which to look forward. The days roll one into the other and every day I have to endure the isolation and boredom and demoralization at workplace. I just can't do it.

And then I come home to my empty apartment and worry about it starting all over again tomorrow.

Everything is a vicious circle: you hate your job you can't get on with the rest of your life.

I'm getting on with the rest of my life. Sort of. But I'm so drained in energy by thoughts and anxieties about work.

I wish I could move. But after moving twice in the last year because of circumstances, I really can't leave this job for at least a year. Six weeks down, 8.5 months to go. I can do 46 weeks. Yes, yes I can! And several of those will be vacation.

Sigh.

So I went to the food bank tonight. The coordinator said that I was very good. The people were lovely, but many of the people on the crew were rather old and so unable to haul boxes or haul bags of food out of the giant pallet boxes in which they were stored.

I'm obviously stronger than I look and I like to work up a sweat. I also don't mind dealing with broken, messy or smelly things. I've never been very fastidious. So I was right in there. It felt good to at least be USEFUL for a change.

The only problem is that the positive effect of feeling like a person with a a contribution to make is that it only lasted the length of the bus ride and the walk home, and I am already feeling useless and near to tears again.

I'm really tired of my life. It's lonely and boring.

Oh, aside: the old dudes, they still like me. The old guy next to whom I was working at the food bank kept on hitting on me! ACK! His skin was the colour of turnip, just like my landlord's. And, worse yet, he kept on calling me "Steph."

I hate it when men whom I don't know start calling me "Steph" without asking me. It feels icky. Everyone else is allowed.

So John made it be known that he likes my energy and that he lives alone. He also let it be known that he doesn't allow Ch33se Whiz in the house.

Apparently that point of agreement in our dietary choices is enough to portend marriage. He gave me a plastic ring from one of the donation boxes. I think John is eager to find someone to help him change his colon bag twice a day.

Fortunately pretty much everyone else there was a woman. Thank goodness. I really don't want to deal with men anymore. They bore, insult, annoy and fatigue me.

Can you tell that I'm cross. I'm so cross right now that my eyes are crossing.

When I was on my way home last night I stopped at the video store. Video store man was very helpful, as usual.

He initially proceeded to tell me about how screwed up his life remains - the affairs behind his girlfriend's back, his inability to even identify exactly how he feels about anything.

And then he came out with this: "You know - and I don't mean that you're hostile, not at all - but you seem like you have anger in you. With his fist pointing into his chest he said, "an anger ball. Right here."

Yeah, buddy. I'm definitely starting to feel the anger (as I giggle loudly).

He may have something. They always say that depression is anger turned inwards.

I don't feel very depressed at the moment, just self-loathing and frustrated and tired of plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose.

My mother of course in ignoring me and running off to party in Florida for Christmas with only a late in December note -and not. sending. me. my books - hasn't helped much.

And although I'm loving my cycling class and my reading and my readiness to draw again, it doesn't feel like enough.

I've always been someone who does very well on her own - I have always been able to entertain, interest and even delight myself.

Right now it's proving more challenging. So much is ringing a bit hollow. I yearn to feel more satisfied and stimulated and not always having to prove myself to cold and pretentious people. I feel as though I could cry a river, all the way through the halls of my department.

Sometimes I feel like the woman in L!ke water for ch0colate who cries an endless river of tears into a cake that becomes tears itself, and knits her endless sorrow into the longest, crummiest afghan you ever saw.

I think I'll skip the bit in which she rocks back and forth in the chicken coop and rubs excrement all over her body.

I'd also stop at the part where she marries the kindly doctor, and totally skip the turning herself and her lover into an inferno when their passion is finally consummated.

Yeah, I'd skip that part.

I'm starting to think that I'm "too practical for romance."

Maybe a shared loathing of Che3se Wh!z and any aerosol cheese products is enough for marriage...

:)

I hope that broccoli stilton soup helps. I'm going to make some now.

Yes, yes it does! And thank you N!gella Lawson. You're definitely more than a pretty face. (She advocates just throwing in a bit of this and a bit of that. Go on, girlfriend! I did not feel like belabouring this.)

9:26 p.m. - 2008-01-09

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next

other diaries:

stepfordtart
ohell
awittykitty
annanotbob
manfromvenus
smartypants
fifidellabon
hungryghost
hissandtell