Just another day

Thursday night. Today was just another day in my life. Another day of life, to be sure, for which I really am grateful, yet still just another day. Another day of not doing what I know I need to do. Another day of driving myself to the brink of sanity trying to figure out why I'm not doing what I know I need to do. Am I frustrated? Oh yes, to be sure! Do I have any sort of plan to break out of this funk? Um, not really.

OK, you know what? Now I'M even tired of writing and reading this crap! Dammit, I need to stop whining and moaning and overanalysing everything. I'm fat. I'm bored. I'm boring. I have a boring life. I don't have anything I truly love in my life. Wait, wait, wait...if that last thing is true, what about Chris? Jesus, I don't even know if I'm capable of passion for anyone or anything, even this man that I love so very much. It's like I'm just this human blob of mediocrity, the human version of tapioca pudding. Boring, bland, flavorless. (Does anyone, other than my dad, love tapioca?) Have I ever truly been alive? Have I ever taken any risks? Seriously, ever? Even this site is just boring and pedantic. I live my life like a robot: get up, watch TV, get ready, go to work, work, come home, eat, watch TV, sleep, repeat. I'm so damned afraid of everything, it's a wonder I even managed to get up the nerve to go to Virginia to meet Chris. I guess I was more afraid of not going.

Is the fat a symptom of my fear? Is it an instrument of the fear? Am I using it to hide? Protect myself? Make myself so hideous that no one could possibly like me, much less love me, thus giving myself an excuse for my complete lack of friends? It's funny, really, because I'm so obsessed with what the world thinks of me, yet I hide myself away in my protective little cocoon so that the world can't ever get to me.

Something has got to change. I wasn't made to live like this, I just know it. I shouldn't be hiding, metaphorically or literally. I'm not a bad person and I know that I could make friends if I'd just throw off this protective coating of goo and baggage and fear and whatever else is holding me in this state of suspended animation. Jesus, I'm 36 years old, not 86, and my life isn't over. There might be something really scary waiting for me around the next corner but if I just keep standing here because I'm too afraid to go forward then it doesn't really matter if I'm "safe" because the scenery never changes.

Time for a change of scenery.


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