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10-8-08 // 7:57 pm

I want you to hurt like I do

NP: The Dears - "Missiles"

Hooray for advance copies! I'm taking a break from reviewing this one to listen to it again, drink a much needed beer, and ventify over here on this here diary thing.

This week has been so weird. I don't know, I woke up Monday morning feeling off. I had a great last week and weekend, busy but empowering and relaxing. But also with building anxiety. You know what did it? The realization on Friday evening that I had like six albums to review in a week, that I bit off more than I could chew this month. Nobody's fault but my own, of course. So I sat myself down, made a schedule and got to work. And once I did so, it all started to flow, and I was so proud of myself on Saturday night it wasn't even funny. I dusted off my tasks for the night & celebrated by kicking back with beers and cooking a brilliant stir fry. I was and am getting it done, and well! At least I think I am. Here's my main problem. I am a fucking overthinker. Seriously. What the hell is wrong with me? I put so much pressure on myself all of the damn time. This isn't Rolling Stone, this is a music reviews webmagazine. I don't know...I'm not sure if it's because I'm scared that the "cool kids" will find out that I'm really just a computer programmer playing journalist or what. But I want my first batch of reviews to be good. Really good. But that just feeds anxiety, which makes me a wreck. I'm at my best when I'm not dwelling, when I'm simply letting it all happen. And that's what I've been talking myself down to all week, these cycles of panic attacks and then realization that I don't owe anybody anything, just to try my hardest, and that I do have skills. But if I get all spazzy, I don't let my talent shine through. What the hell? What kind of weirdo am I?

It's the same deal with work right now. I'm doing great! But this week, I'm kind of underworked. I have a few nebulous "research this off the shelf tool" tasks, but nothing that I can truly dive into. So I feel like I'm wasting time, or that I'm not proving my worth, or whatever. When in all actuality, last week I kicked ass and cleaned my plate, and since things just move that slow around this office, my manager guy hasn't given me any new, proper tasks yet. So it's not like I'm ignoring work or deadlines...I'm just being underutilized. My plate is clear because I was so good at clearing it. But again, I put so much pressure on myself, I let anxiety take over.

I've found myself this week out on my post-work walks, trying to decompress, and basically giving myself these little pep talks, rationally explaining to myself why I shouldn't feel so bad. And it usually works, if not temporarily. This week has been very up and down, ebb and flow.

You know what else it is? I need comfort. I miss it. Intimacy, gentle touches, inside jokes, the other person understanding how you're feeling and not judging you 'cause they know you inside and out, cuddling on the couch, sweetness and tenderness, falling asleep with your lover. I miss that the most, the sleeping together. Not the sex, although that's quite nice too! But the sleeping together. My arm around a woman, feeling the rise and fall of her breath as I reflect on the day and slowly drift off to sleep. Again, I don't know if I'm communicating myself properly when I write stuff like this, because I love and value my friends, and I know I can talk to them. But...hmmm...you know what it is? I need a local female friend. I've always got along great with the opposite sex, and in a lot of ways I prefer the company of women. What I want right now is to go out, get a beer with a woman, spill my guts, maybe get a little of that unbeatable XX chromosome empathy, and...yeah. I don't know, I guess I'm all messed up right now. Objectively, everything is as good as it can get right now, and I realize that...but I need some soothing.

And I'm still pissed at Sarah. Fuck. !!! What a bitch. I hate to descend into cliched, grumbling ex-boyfriend territory, but seriously, who the hell does she think she is? I feel used. I think the more time passes since the actual break-up (it's been a little over three months now -- is that all? It feels like eons...), the more actual anger and resentment builds inside of me. I can feel it in my core. I think that's where some of the anxiety comes from, too. I want to let her have it. But I already did that. Twice. 'Cause that's how many times she felt compelled to tell me she was seeing someone new. Right now we're in that post-relationship "radio silence" mode. Which, looking at the big picture, is for the best. And I've done a great job of putting her out of my mind and getting on with my life, and I've thrived when I've done it. Last week was a shining example of this. But every so often, I slip up. It could be something as basic as a photo in an album, or a song, or any empty house, or a place we used to have dinner at on south Grand, or her status popping up on Facebook. And it sends me off the rails. I just can't get over the idea of her with some overeducated grad school fuckwit -- not 'cause I want her back, but because I want her to hurt like I do (apologies to Randy Newman). Why can't her guts be twisted in knots like mine? Who knows, maybe they are, but she has a shoulder to cry on, a new guy to (I'm sure) complain about me to. She gets someone to make me the bad guy to, and I'm left to pour my sad little heart out onto a computer screen. Why does she get to jump into warm arms? Why do I get the cold PC glow? You know, that's it! And it's so bitter it's utterly unbecoming and vaguely embarassing. But I want her to be miserable alongside me. At least for a while. To suffer. Fucking suffer! Zarquon knows I am, or at least have been.

OK. Time to spin this album again, grab another beer, stew in my own juices for a while, eat some dinner, pop on the DVD of "Undeclared" (what a welcome gem to rediscover, eh?), get a great night's sleep and re-emerge tomorrow as well as I did this morning. I hate when days nosedive like this one did. But whatever. I'm better than this. Time to act like it.

then / now