It was the triangle that did it. It was me sitting there with a triangle and a metal chopstick, not knowing when to hit the stupid thing. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with panic and inadequacy. The simple question, "Are you ok?" was enough to cause tears to well up in my eyes. I clumsily made my exit with little explanation.
A little late and not quite good enough are some ways I might describe myself of late. Also included in the list of negative adjectives might be fat, irrational, and stressed.
I hope I have some rational excuse for the some of them, something like PMS or hormones, but the not quite good enough and stressed and the little too late are definitely related to the fact that I am still underemployed with no clear prospects. My bank account is overdrawn, bills are and will be paid late, and I don't even know when I'll be able to remedy the matters. I've also gained weight and I've noticed that many of my recent "exes" have followed me up with someone worthy of commitment and in one case breeding. Plus, I can't play an instrument. Not even a fucking triangle.
I've been bouncing between "fine" and "horribly depressed" since the end of the holiday season. Usually it is the holiday season that elicits depression and stress in the average person. Not so for this gal. It's the return to everyday life which has thrown me into a funk.
There are things I should be sharing that are happy and lovely, things like movie nights with friends, free drinks, jam sessions, potential love interests and the lovely evenings spent with friends.
Instead the things that are racing through my head include electricity bills quintupling, unemployment and financial ruin, the inevitable hit of the economic crisis, bank fees, and looking less attractive than when I was one pant size smaller.
I don't care if boys still want to get into my fat pants.
I should be talking about things like being friends with Mr. G and how things have not been awkward when we hang out in a nice social setting that isn't a bed.
I should be talking about how Mr. L is returning in mere days.
I should be talking about how Mr. TB and I are going out for drinks on Wednesday.
I should be talking about how Mr. TT came to keep me company at the Bergmann when I worked Sunday night.
I should be talking about how I am gaining management experience at the Bergmann, something that looks good on a resume.
I should be talking about how I have amazing friends who are fun to spend time with.
I should be talking about how I got to frolic in the snow just before it warmed up and melted into gross slush.
Instead, I am irrationally upset and panicky, unhappy, and contemplating (not seriously) shoving a philips head screwdriver through my heart.
Is this part of being a girl? I hear that we are just crazy.