It’s the weather, or I’m going through a second adolescence, or my period is due next week, or it’s the end of the world and we’re all going to die, or something, but this week just sucks . Actually these past couple of weeks sort of suck and I don’t understand why because nothing is going on, everything is normal, everything is fine. Except every time I look in the mirror I see a repulsive troll who is three weeks overdue for a haircut. I can’t wake up on time. My pants all fit weird. My feet are really cold in bed even though I’m sleeping under five blankets. I made soup on Sunday and have been eating it all week and hating it every time.
I just kind of hate everyone and everything the last couple of weeks. My calendar has filled up with interesting people and fun things to do, true, and that’s all good but somehow it’s not quite enough. My paper journal looks like it did in 1989, all “Dear Diary: No one understands me. I am so alone, so very very alone.” I did an extra bellydance class this week in the hopes that it would help me cool out a little but I grimaced my way through the slides and the shimmies and all I got out of it was sore abs. It’s been raining for 25 days and I don’t think August is ever going to get here but even the trip seems scary and inhospitable and ridiculous to contemplate.
I can’t even write this entry correctly and I’m kind of driving myself crazy just thinking about how there’s no reason for me to feel that everything sucks because while, yes, sure, a lot of things do (war, the Alito hearings, incessant drizzle, supperating chest wounds), many things (strawberry gelato, Archie McPhee, stripy socks, the fact that I’ve been invited to a Miss America-watching party next weekend) do not…so why can’t I call it even? Why can’t I get my act together and just be okay with how things are going? Ugh. I’m so itchy and restless and I want to write all this stuff about unrequited love and difficult friendships and disappointed expectations and dreams deferred and sadness and the long slog of adulthood and I can’t concentrate and I want to run away and I want to get back in bed until spring. I don’t know what’s wrong.