First public display of anxiety overload at my new job: complete. They officially know I’m a basket case. Luckily, they didn’t fire me. Hooray! I’m good enough to keep even though I’m emotionally unstable!
If the general public didn’t have to be such a RAGING CESSPOOL OF ASS-FLAVORED BITCH BISCUITS it’d be a lot easier to contain myself.
Don’t be grumpy at people who have done nothing to you to deserve that. PSA of the day.
At least I have my cat. And I’m hopeful that one day this place will allow me my dream: working from home with the degree I drunkenly achieved. (Literally all my online classes had at least 30% of its work completed while I wasn’t sober.) That didn’t sentence very well but the cat being all cozy next to me makes me not care to correct it.
I’ve been socializing almost every weekend night for the past few weeks and I’m so happy to be having a me night. Not that I don’t love my friends; I do. Very much. That happens to be why we’re friends! Weird! But damn I get peopled out. I need me time. I need a 3-day weekend every weekend. I need friends days (the normal weekend…) and another day for Shley day. A day where I can read and blog and be with my thoughts.
Without my thoughts I get more anxiety-y, I think. Not like the rush of the day and the social calendar filling up shit I have all these things to do and I’m broke thoughts, but I should write a poem damn that tree is good looking I’m so happy carpet is soft thoughts. Those thoughts are good thoughts. I need me time to have those thoughts.
When I’m with friends and I talk too much what’s in my head people just tune me out then I feel shunned then I get sad then I remember I’m fat and worthless and moral of the story is I sabotage myself when I don’t get sufficient social recovery time.
I still hate being tired all the time. I’m tired all the time. I still hate how far I let myself go. I still hate the 2 relapses I’ve had in the last 2 weeks. And I still hate how alcohol is so many calories when all I want to do is forget but it makes me gain weight sad face.
My cat is soft. My cat is soft.
I wish I was cat. I would be the most boring, persnickety cat. If I were just a cat version of myself, I’d be like a regular cat. Touch my belly NO DON’T TOUCH MY BELLY ok rub my head not THERE rub THERE god you’re worthless *struts away* feed me.
And those are my thoughts for the day my tongue hurts on the side from salt and vinegar chips good day.