Monday, August 22, 2005

Day Sixteen: You Say It's Your Birthday

Well, it's my birthday, too. Which is it is. My 32nd birthday. You want weirdness, look at your birthday, followed by 2005. Pure sci fi.

I'm back in "my" apartment, here to start wrapping up my life in this place. I've actually managed to resist the urge to stay in bed forever. Well, sort of resist. I'd had fantasies of getting up at 7:30, doing 450 crunches, blogging, maybe writing a little bit, and then getting down to work. I barely made it out of bed by 8:30 (after hitting the snooze button when my alarm went off at 8), I barely did 300 crunches (I haven't done any in almost a week). But I am managing to blog. That's something.

It's been good to be back here. Good to be fully back in my own space. But it's also so, so daunting. I'm trying to resist two urges: 1) to just say "fuck it", order up a dumpster and throw every goddamn thing into the trash without inspection, 2) to say "fuck it" and beg my landlord to let me stay, find a job and never leave. That last one isn't really an option, but there you have it. You always want what you can't have. Hell, you always want what you don't want.

I did the celebration of the birthday on Saturday night, with a ton of drinking and a mob of acquaintances. I'm not exactly sure why I have these parties. I do like parties, and I do like being a host, but it's always such a weird collection of people, and usually, a fair portion of those who show up are people I don't particularly care to see. Or have too much to talk about with. And then the people that I really want to talk to, I'm too busy to spend any time with. It seems like a fool's proposition or something. Or at least a set-up for disappointment. Especially since I never seem to hook up with anyone. Which isn't really what I want. Augh! All so complicated.

And, actually, it was my second night of serious drinking in a row. I had a pseudo-date on Friday night, that turned into a festival of drinking. The datee presents me with something of a dilemma. I don't particularly like her. She's kind of fun to hang out with, but mostly because I think she's nuts. But "nuts" isn't something that I need in my life right now...I don't think. But...she's interested and available. I think. I don't know what the hell to do about that. Part of me says "move on, you're not interested and you're not that hard up." Another part of me says, "you're exactly this hard up, and, plus it's an experience, why cut it off?" And I'm just not sure which way to jump on it. So to speak.

But today, all that matters is I'm officially 32 years old. Another year older. And definitely feeling like I'm creeping up towards the top of the rollercoaster. I just hope there isn't a shark pit at the bottom. And I hate rollercoasters. How the hell did they get me on this thing?


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