The patio was a regular injured list tonight, including: one concussion with neck strain, one sacroiliac separation status post motor vehicle accident, one gastritis patient in recovery. Let’s try to be careful out there, folks.
I had a four-hour nap today. It was pretty much a napgasm. I would wake up for a few minutes in the middle and say “hmm.. yeah… more… NAP!” and go back to sleep. God that felt good.
I need to write another cgh article. It’ll either be about jerkcity, or about the paradox of orange county punk.
I’ve been thinking about going back into therapy, mainly because the fact that I cannot get a date to save my life has been constant for years, and it has to be me and not the Cruelness of the World, and I should try to fix that. But it’s so expensive, and so time-consuming, and it so didn’t work before. I’m resistant, and in fact it makes me angry to think about it, because therapy to me is something you do because other people tell you to, basically in order to make *them* happy. I don’t want to destroy another couple years of my life for a slim chance at improving things. Just the memory of those years of always leaving work early and missing out on interesting things in life, and being poor all the time, and feeling bad all the time, just for some marginal improvements, is enough to make me really angry again at the whole business. But what else am I going to do? Each time the game of musical chairs is played and I’m left standing I get a little more bitter about dating, and I don’t like being bitter; it doesn’t suit me at all.
But another 10 years of being the spacer filler friend for women between boyfriends is not gonna be ok. Nope, nope, nope.