Thursday, January 28, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Happy Pills
I recently had a conversation with someone about happy pills. Grant it, I did call them "happy pills" to begin the conversation, which gave them a tone of light-hearted, unnecessary, candy-like items.
That didn't keep me from being completely pissed about the opinion my friend shared regarding anti-depressants. This is a common opinion and, even more frustratingly, a fairly valid one: anti-depressants are an over-used medicine that is thrown at anyone who is having a bad day. Instead of experiencing life, including the difficult times, we use unnatural drugs to keep ourselves from feeling anything but happiness. "Happiness" is our new version of health and it is not actually healthy.
Okay, that may be true in some cases, maybe even many cases. I see what formed my friend's opinions (damn you, Tom Cruise).
Here is the problem: when someone who has never experienced mental disorders judges people who use a psychiatric medicine, it is automatically translated as bullshit. It is the same kind of pious rhetoric that comes from skinny people with awesome metabolisms who say that over-weight people are just lazy. Um, if you were the kid in the 3rd grade who gained 5 pounds every time you ate an extra cookie, the challenge is not that simple.
Those of us on anti-depressants who face these pious bull-shit spewing people are left with a tough decision. In my conversation, I could either simply say "I disagree" and leave my friend feeling like he won OR I could describe the experience of depression with and then without medication...exposing my most personal and vulnerable life experiences.
If you are one of those pious bull-shit spewing people, read the following: Medication does not take away depression all-together. What it does is make life bearable. Instead of spending weeks on end locked in a dark room plotting my suicide, I now spend most days simply dreading the process of waking up and beginning another day. "Dread" is not like normal people dread- a bad feeling that you push past. Depression "dread" is a sense of darkness that presses on all of your skin, sits on your back, screws with your heart, makes you sleepy, turns your stomach, and makes all of the world beyond your skin seem dull and unreachable. That dread is, for me, an inherited chemical imbalance that is not always strong, but always there. Medicine makes it simply a part of my life instead of being my entire experience of existence.
Like normal people, I get sad and miserable when bad things happen and then happy when great things happen. Those bad feelings are good for me. They feel different than the feelings of depression, although really rough patches of life can sometimes trigger the depression.
Once last spring, I was mowing my grass and realized that I was fully happy. I was enjoying chores, enjoying the day, and there was no trace of the "dread" in my heart. It made me angry. I realized that other people probably feel that way more often than once a year. That is part of my inheritance, just like a lousy metabolism, a great mind, a good sense of humor, and a lot of brown hair. It is my life and my journey.
PART of success in my journey is the use of happy pills. I went 25 years without them and did well in life. I also spent of lot of those years feeling quite miserable...as if every day was a punishment that we must endure.
Yes, many doctors misuse anti-depressants. Many doctors perscribe them to patients instead of really listening to them describe their sickness. A lot of people ask for anti-depressants because they don't want to face life.
Those truths do not mean that it is okay to walk around spewing bullshit about the weak minds of people on happy pills. Fuck you.
(okay, the last phrase was violent. Sorry)
That didn't keep me from being completely pissed about the opinion my friend shared regarding anti-depressants. This is a common opinion and, even more frustratingly, a fairly valid one: anti-depressants are an over-used medicine that is thrown at anyone who is having a bad day. Instead of experiencing life, including the difficult times, we use unnatural drugs to keep ourselves from feeling anything but happiness. "Happiness" is our new version of health and it is not actually healthy.
Okay, that may be true in some cases, maybe even many cases. I see what formed my friend's opinions (damn you, Tom Cruise).
Here is the problem: when someone who has never experienced mental disorders judges people who use a psychiatric medicine, it is automatically translated as bullshit. It is the same kind of pious rhetoric that comes from skinny people with awesome metabolisms who say that over-weight people are just lazy. Um, if you were the kid in the 3rd grade who gained 5 pounds every time you ate an extra cookie, the challenge is not that simple.
Those of us on anti-depressants who face these pious bull-shit spewing people are left with a tough decision. In my conversation, I could either simply say "I disagree" and leave my friend feeling like he won OR I could describe the experience of depression with and then without medication...exposing my most personal and vulnerable life experiences.
If you are one of those pious bull-shit spewing people, read the following: Medication does not take away depression all-together. What it does is make life bearable. Instead of spending weeks on end locked in a dark room plotting my suicide, I now spend most days simply dreading the process of waking up and beginning another day. "Dread" is not like normal people dread- a bad feeling that you push past. Depression "dread" is a sense of darkness that presses on all of your skin, sits on your back, screws with your heart, makes you sleepy, turns your stomach, and makes all of the world beyond your skin seem dull and unreachable. That dread is, for me, an inherited chemical imbalance that is not always strong, but always there. Medicine makes it simply a part of my life instead of being my entire experience of existence.
Like normal people, I get sad and miserable when bad things happen and then happy when great things happen. Those bad feelings are good for me. They feel different than the feelings of depression, although really rough patches of life can sometimes trigger the depression.
Once last spring, I was mowing my grass and realized that I was fully happy. I was enjoying chores, enjoying the day, and there was no trace of the "dread" in my heart. It made me angry. I realized that other people probably feel that way more often than once a year. That is part of my inheritance, just like a lousy metabolism, a great mind, a good sense of humor, and a lot of brown hair. It is my life and my journey.
PART of success in my journey is the use of happy pills. I went 25 years without them and did well in life. I also spent of lot of those years feeling quite miserable...as if every day was a punishment that we must endure.
Yes, many doctors misuse anti-depressants. Many doctors perscribe them to patients instead of really listening to them describe their sickness. A lot of people ask for anti-depressants because they don't want to face life.
Those truths do not mean that it is okay to walk around spewing bullshit about the weak minds of people on happy pills. Fuck you.
(okay, the last phrase was violent. Sorry)
Monday, January 25, 2010
lent
Each year, Lent rolls around and everyone starts to talk about what they will give up for 40 days. I jokingly say "dating and sex" because, up until the past couple of years, those were obviously far from my life.
This year, I actually think that I am going to give up dating and sex. The problem is that I can't actually tell anyone because I've dated just enough for it to be real. No jokes this year! Jenny is giving up her whoring ways for a month and a half! Let's see how long she lasts!
Of course, Lent is still a month or so away. I could always change my sacrifice to chocolate....
This year, I actually think that I am going to give up dating and sex. The problem is that I can't actually tell anyone because I've dated just enough for it to be real. No jokes this year! Jenny is giving up her whoring ways for a month and a half! Let's see how long she lasts!
Of course, Lent is still a month or so away. I could always change my sacrifice to chocolate....
Thursday, January 21, 2010
fuzzy and wet
You dirty-minded reader! No, I am not talking about what you think.
Today I have a cold. It isn't one of those feverish, miserable, achy colds--at least not yet. I just have the stuffy-headed, sneezing, coughing, Nyquil-taking symptoms. Since it is not night, I am now on Dayquil, which makes my mind very fuzzy.
A lot is confusing to me today.
Six hours ago, I thought that my boss and secretary were lying dead on the floor of a locked office. Why, you ask? I came to work late, as is usual. As I walked into the building, a strange car drove slowly past me and an unknown hand waved from behind a low-brimmed hat. Inside, my office was locked, which I didn't do. I then found the front offices locked and empty. Strange. It is not a holiday. Even if it were, we don't take off.
I returned to my office confused. As soon as I sat down, someone knocked at my door. It was the man from behind the low-rimmed hat in the parking lot. He followed me to tell me that he just had to come in to say "hello." He'd seen me around before and something just told him to come in and say "hello." I was very beautiful and he just felt like he needed to say "hello."
This is romantic if you go back to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in a New York park. It is creepy and dangerous when it takes place in a fairly empty building and the person saying "hello" is wearing white tennis shoes, gray sweatpants, a button up shirt, and a tweed jacket. And a low-brimmed hat. Who is also missing teeth and missing that reassuring spark of humanity from behind his eyes.
He was very kind. I very kindly turned down an offer for a date. He left after telling me a couple of more times that he was drawn to me. I promptly locked my door and called the church secretary to see WHERE the hell she was.
No answer on the cell phone.
It was at this time that I felt certain that the kind man with the empty eyes and the low-brimmed hat just finished killing my co-workers. I pictured their limp bodies on the floor of my boss's office in a pool of blood where this crazy man left them, politely turning off the lights and locking the doors before walking down the hall to ask me out to coffee.
Thankfully, I had a voicemail telling me that they were going to a funeral and could I please answer the phone for the next few hours.
Cold medicine and creepy men do NOT mix well. Then again, neither of those things should really be mixed.
Oh, and it is raining outside. Hence, it is wet. And I am fuzzy.
Today I have a cold. It isn't one of those feverish, miserable, achy colds--at least not yet. I just have the stuffy-headed, sneezing, coughing, Nyquil-taking symptoms. Since it is not night, I am now on Dayquil, which makes my mind very fuzzy.
A lot is confusing to me today.
Six hours ago, I thought that my boss and secretary were lying dead on the floor of a locked office. Why, you ask? I came to work late, as is usual. As I walked into the building, a strange car drove slowly past me and an unknown hand waved from behind a low-brimmed hat. Inside, my office was locked, which I didn't do. I then found the front offices locked and empty. Strange. It is not a holiday. Even if it were, we don't take off.
I returned to my office confused. As soon as I sat down, someone knocked at my door. It was the man from behind the low-rimmed hat in the parking lot. He followed me to tell me that he just had to come in to say "hello." He'd seen me around before and something just told him to come in and say "hello." I was very beautiful and he just felt like he needed to say "hello."
This is romantic if you go back to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in a New York park. It is creepy and dangerous when it takes place in a fairly empty building and the person saying "hello" is wearing white tennis shoes, gray sweatpants, a button up shirt, and a tweed jacket. And a low-brimmed hat. Who is also missing teeth and missing that reassuring spark of humanity from behind his eyes.
He was very kind. I very kindly turned down an offer for a date. He left after telling me a couple of more times that he was drawn to me. I promptly locked my door and called the church secretary to see WHERE the hell she was.
No answer on the cell phone.
It was at this time that I felt certain that the kind man with the empty eyes and the low-brimmed hat just finished killing my co-workers. I pictured their limp bodies on the floor of my boss's office in a pool of blood where this crazy man left them, politely turning off the lights and locking the doors before walking down the hall to ask me out to coffee.
Thankfully, I had a voicemail telling me that they were going to a funeral and could I please answer the phone for the next few hours.
Cold medicine and creepy men do NOT mix well. Then again, neither of those things should really be mixed.
Oh, and it is raining outside. Hence, it is wet. And I am fuzzy.
Monday, January 11, 2010
done!
He finally called tonight and we ended it. No, no. I ended it. No drama, no cruelty, he agreed that he was not head over heels. Didn't even put up a fight.
I feel like a dark cloud has lifted. I am free and no longer waiting by the phone. Maybe I will be less of a horrible bitch at work tomorrow.
I feel like a dark cloud has lifted. I am free and no longer waiting by the phone. Maybe I will be less of a horrible bitch at work tomorrow.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
now I'm waiting...
Today's contradiction: I don't want to date him, but I am almost sick waiting for him to call.
3 full days
At least as time passes, this man makes my decision clear. The torturous "waiting game" is ridiculous when you consider that I am waiting for him to call so that I can dump his ass.
Fun is for a man to call and you dump him. Sadly, I am not a cold-hearted bitch and I've never actually done that. It sounds good in theory, though. It looks like fun when I see people do it on TV.
This is not fun. No calling means that my intuition is right--he is not all that into me. Ego boost for being right, big hit to the ego for realizing that he doesn't think that I am wonderful.
So now I am waiting. Waiting by the phone. Waiting for a text or for the phone to ring with an Indigo Girls tune. Waiting to dump a man and then go ahead and lay in bed crying.
My OkCupid account is officially moving to "disabled." I need a break from men for a while.
3 full days
At least as time passes, this man makes my decision clear. The torturous "waiting game" is ridiculous when you consider that I am waiting for him to call so that I can dump his ass.
Fun is for a man to call and you dump him. Sadly, I am not a cold-hearted bitch and I've never actually done that. It sounds good in theory, though. It looks like fun when I see people do it on TV.
This is not fun. No calling means that my intuition is right--he is not all that into me. Ego boost for being right, big hit to the ego for realizing that he doesn't think that I am wonderful.
So now I am waiting. Waiting by the phone. Waiting for a text or for the phone to ring with an Indigo Girls tune. Waiting to dump a man and then go ahead and lay in bed crying.
My OkCupid account is officially moving to "disabled." I need a break from men for a while.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
waiting
I am NOT waiting by the phone. I swear. I am not in so deep that I feel sick thinking that he will never call. I've been there and know how it feels---that is how I will feel in about 2 days if he hasn't called.
No, I am not waiting. I am, however, counting the days. This is a good test to see if he really is worth the effort.
Not a game. Just a countdown. We are now at 1 1/2 days. So far, that means nothing.
No, I am not waiting. I am, however, counting the days. This is a good test to see if he really is worth the effort.
Not a game. Just a countdown. We are now at 1 1/2 days. So far, that means nothing.
Friday, January 8, 2010
how long should I stay confused?
Well, friends, the hot musician left my house this morning at 6am. I started counting the hours before he left at about 2am. That had more to do with restless sleep that you get when sharing a bed with someone new and less about the actual man.
At least I think that is why I counted the hours--it was about sleep.
That is probably why.
I think. Maybe.
So here is my question in the middle of the night: How long, at the beginning of a relationship, should you continue to be confused?
Is a month a good timeframe to start defining previously ambiguous shows of affection? Two months? My question has some to do with the big, scary DTR, but maybe more.
I'm dating a man who makes little money, has no direction in life, is unhappy with his life, and I think he's given me an STD that I can't quite pinpoint (Dr's visit in a week....don't worry, my anxious reader). Why date him, you ask? He is kind, funny, talented, attractive, easy to be around, likeable in all social groups that don't include the rednecks who frown at interracial couples in Wal-mart, and he realllllllllly turns me on. Oh, and he is very physically affectionate--in a good way, not in a "I wanna fuck" way.
After a month and a week of dating, I still don't know how he feels about me. LOVE is not the issue here. I mean, we've only been dating for 6 weeks, people! LIKE, INTEREST, and general INFATUATION are my unclear areas. Isn't that sad? I don't know if a boy really likes me? I have to have the dreaded conversation.
So far, the only solid things I've heard from the man (and by "solid," I mean things that he said while sober) are:
well, I've got the dating thing in my life squared away [gesture toward my side of the room] and with a woman who doesn't require me to spend lots of money!
I am really happy right now [said while cuddling with me]
and, finally.....
I am going to date you as long as you let me
Okay, now if you picture Tom Hanks saying this to Meg Ryan in a beautiful NYC park with a camera spinning around their embrace, those are all wonderful quotes. In a context of my kitchen, couch, and post-coital nudity...they fall short.
That is why, sometime in the next 1-3 days--however long it takes him to call me--I have to initiate the "talk." Damn it. It is needed. I really don't want to bother Nairing some very sensitive areas of my body if this man isn't really into me.
I'll keep you updated. It is 2am and I finally bored myself into sleepiness.
At least I think that is why I counted the hours--it was about sleep.
That is probably why.
I think. Maybe.
So here is my question in the middle of the night: How long, at the beginning of a relationship, should you continue to be confused?
Is a month a good timeframe to start defining previously ambiguous shows of affection? Two months? My question has some to do with the big, scary DTR, but maybe more.
I'm dating a man who makes little money, has no direction in life, is unhappy with his life, and I think he's given me an STD that I can't quite pinpoint (Dr's visit in a week....don't worry, my anxious reader). Why date him, you ask? He is kind, funny, talented, attractive, easy to be around, likeable in all social groups that don't include the rednecks who frown at interracial couples in Wal-mart, and he realllllllllly turns me on. Oh, and he is very physically affectionate--in a good way, not in a "I wanna fuck" way.
After a month and a week of dating, I still don't know how he feels about me. LOVE is not the issue here. I mean, we've only been dating for 6 weeks, people! LIKE, INTEREST, and general INFATUATION are my unclear areas. Isn't that sad? I don't know if a boy really likes me? I have to have the dreaded conversation.
So far, the only solid things I've heard from the man (and by "solid," I mean things that he said while sober) are:
well, I've got the dating thing in my life squared away [gesture toward my side of the room] and with a woman who doesn't require me to spend lots of money!
I am really happy right now [said while cuddling with me]
and, finally.....
I am going to date you as long as you let me
Okay, now if you picture Tom Hanks saying this to Meg Ryan in a beautiful NYC park with a camera spinning around their embrace, those are all wonderful quotes. In a context of my kitchen, couch, and post-coital nudity...they fall short.
That is why, sometime in the next 1-3 days--however long it takes him to call me--I have to initiate the "talk." Damn it. It is needed. I really don't want to bother Nairing some very sensitive areas of my body if this man isn't really into me.
I'll keep you updated. It is 2am and I finally bored myself into sleepiness.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Work is Sticky
I hate being either predictable or typical. Unfortunately, when it comes to work, I am both. I've got the January "blahs" and am in the middle of a painfully typical 30-something career crisis. I'm bored even writing that.
Right now, I am covered in pine needle resin because I just finished the yearly honor of undecorating the 15 ft. tree at work. My eyes burn, my fingers are sticky, and I nearly had a violent moment with a giant tangle of Christmas lights. Many curse words and 2 hours later, I just realized that undecorating a Christmas tree was the most exciting thing I've done this week. The cussing and stinging eyes (allergic to trees, of course) actually broke up the long stretches of despair and struggle for motivation that seems to be my job.
I have a master's degree. From an ivy league school. I trained for this and it is my career and my passion. From a distance, this is my dream job- a great place to work, wonderful people, and something in which I actually believe. At least, I think I believe in this stuff. I probably believe in it. Sometimes?
This week, my stomach turns at the thought of planning another year. Damn you, January. I find myself damning every new season.
Now we've reached today's contradiction. I love my job and I want another job. Maybe a more accurate description is that I love my job and I am scared to death that this is it. Not an "it" as in "it is my job," but an "it" as in "this really is all that I am going to be? to do? oh, fuck."
It sucks to feel restless at 31. I am now too old to believe that a new job will actually solve my crisis of feeling trapped and insignificant. A new job just means that I have six months of learning and then I will feel this way in a different office doing different things that I don't really care about doing.
Now, I tell myself, Jenny, you are a woman. Your work empowers you, but it does not define you. It is okay to use work as a means to pay your bills and build a real life. That inside voice doesn't fix the fact that I spent 3 hours yesterday looking for something interesting on the web when I should have been writing an article or planning my 2010 calendar.
That makes things worse. People actually think that I work hard. I don't work hard. Okay, sometimes I do, but I also spend a lot of time trying to fill the void left by my lost, confused 30-something soul.
Someone once told me that the opposite of love is not hate. It is apathy. That is true. I love my job. I don't care about my job. Oh well.
This was a very boring post.....apologies to my readers. Here is something interesting to make up for 9 depressing paragraphs: My right boob is bigger than my left boob. I like the left boob better.
No. This is not my chest. Mine actually look hot in comparison, which is quite a feat. I'm not even sure that this is a woman. I can't stop looking at it. You are welcome!Right now, I am covered in pine needle resin because I just finished the yearly honor of undecorating the 15 ft. tree at work. My eyes burn, my fingers are sticky, and I nearly had a violent moment with a giant tangle of Christmas lights. Many curse words and 2 hours later, I just realized that undecorating a Christmas tree was the most exciting thing I've done this week. The cussing and stinging eyes (allergic to trees, of course) actually broke up the long stretches of despair and struggle for motivation that seems to be my job.
I have a master's degree. From an ivy league school. I trained for this and it is my career and my passion. From a distance, this is my dream job- a great place to work, wonderful people, and something in which I actually believe. At least, I think I believe in this stuff. I probably believe in it. Sometimes?
This week, my stomach turns at the thought of planning another year. Damn you, January. I find myself damning every new season.
Now we've reached today's contradiction. I love my job and I want another job. Maybe a more accurate description is that I love my job and I am scared to death that this is it. Not an "it" as in "it is my job," but an "it" as in "this really is all that I am going to be? to do? oh, fuck."
It sucks to feel restless at 31. I am now too old to believe that a new job will actually solve my crisis of feeling trapped and insignificant. A new job just means that I have six months of learning and then I will feel this way in a different office doing different things that I don't really care about doing.
Now, I tell myself, Jenny, you are a woman. Your work empowers you, but it does not define you. It is okay to use work as a means to pay your bills and build a real life. That inside voice doesn't fix the fact that I spent 3 hours yesterday looking for something interesting on the web when I should have been writing an article or planning my 2010 calendar.
That makes things worse. People actually think that I work hard. I don't work hard. Okay, sometimes I do, but I also spend a lot of time trying to fill the void left by my lost, confused 30-something soul.
Someone once told me that the opposite of love is not hate. It is apathy. That is true. I love my job. I don't care about my job. Oh well.
This was a very boring post.....apologies to my readers. Here is something interesting to make up for 9 depressing paragraphs: My right boob is bigger than my left boob. I like the left boob better.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Wisdom Sure Seems Itchy
Wise? People call me wise? Um, I'm dating a guy with no insurance (neither health nor car) who doesn't pay his bills and who will most likely give me herpes. I am a grown woman! With a career and a mortgage and who teaches teenagers about sexuality!
Did you know that herpes is a rest-of-your-life disease? Apparently, no amount of scientific facts can keep my brain from turning off when sex is on the line. Am I really willing to risk cold sores on my precious lady parts for 60 years because I am horny? Yes. My over-educated 31-year old self says "yes."
You see, if this weren't me...if I were talking to a girlfriend...I would tell her to grab a vibrator and wait for a man who wears deoderant on EVERY date- not just some of them.
And there it is. These decisions are so much more simple when it is not me. I wouldn't hesitate to tell you all of that annoying cliche shit: "there are sooo many more people out there" "This guy/girl is just a fish you need to throw back." "which is worse? To break up with them now and mourn what might have been or to wait and break up with them in 6 months, being left with a rearranged life and a cold sore on your vagina?" Okay, so that second one wasn't exactly cliche, but still true.
But for me? I am counting the days until I get to see the man who might smell like B.O., who has no money b/c he dropped out of school, who doesn't believe in marriage, and who presently has an active outbreak of herpes.
So they say that the 30's are the best decade of life. In the 20's we find ourselves and in our 30's we enjoy ourselves. Well, my "self" came and went. She has been replaced by a girl who knows what she wants (husband, kids, happily ever after) and who chases what she knows will burn her (hot musician with ample STD's and no future).
If wisdom is my consolation prize for not being really beautiful, I need to start a new diet and wear more makeup. The wisdom thing is not really working out for me.
Damn, that musician is hot. And funny. And kind. I can't wait for him to show up on my porch tomorrow. We can use a condom. How bad are cold sores anyway?
Did you know that herpes is a rest-of-your-life disease? Apparently, no amount of scientific facts can keep my brain from turning off when sex is on the line. Am I really willing to risk cold sores on my precious lady parts for 60 years because I am horny? Yes. My over-educated 31-year old self says "yes."
You see, if this weren't me...if I were talking to a girlfriend...I would tell her to grab a vibrator and wait for a man who wears deoderant on EVERY date- not just some of them.
And there it is. These decisions are so much more simple when it is not me. I wouldn't hesitate to tell you all of that annoying cliche shit: "there are sooo many more people out there" "This guy/girl is just a fish you need to throw back." "which is worse? To break up with them now and mourn what might have been or to wait and break up with them in 6 months, being left with a rearranged life and a cold sore on your vagina?" Okay, so that second one wasn't exactly cliche, but still true.
But for me? I am counting the days until I get to see the man who might smell like B.O., who has no money b/c he dropped out of school, who doesn't believe in marriage, and who presently has an active outbreak of herpes.
So they say that the 30's are the best decade of life. In the 20's we find ourselves and in our 30's we enjoy ourselves. Well, my "self" came and went. She has been replaced by a girl who knows what she wants (husband, kids, happily ever after) and who chases what she knows will burn her (hot musician with ample STD's and no future).
If wisdom is my consolation prize for not being really beautiful, I need to start a new diet and wear more makeup. The wisdom thing is not really working out for me.
Damn, that musician is hot. And funny. And kind. I can't wait for him to show up on my porch tomorrow. We can use a condom. How bad are cold sores anyway?
Nice to Meet You
Welcome to my blog. I am glad you've taken time to read the pitiful prose of another confused and passionately apathetic 30-something.
This place to write is my own study in adulthood. Actually, let's be honest. This is where I am going to complain, celebrate, and express just how confusing this decade is for me. People who know me often say that I am "grounded," "wise," and "very self-aware." Other than the obvious (that those are things you say to boring ugly people to cover the fact that you never tell them they are hot), this is problematic because I seem to be getting older and more confused.
Here is my place to vent. Just like any good whiney 30-something. Welcome!
This place to write is my own study in adulthood. Actually, let's be honest. This is where I am going to complain, celebrate, and express just how confusing this decade is for me. People who know me often say that I am "grounded," "wise," and "very self-aware." Other than the obvious (that those are things you say to boring ugly people to cover the fact that you never tell them they are hot), this is problematic because I seem to be getting older and more confused.
Here is my place to vent. Just like any good whiney 30-something. Welcome!
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