Thoughts from the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through: If we were honest about what America runs on, Dunkin’ would also fill prescriptions.
Yesterday my friends told me they ran into Guy I Dated For a Minute, and now for some reason it’s all I can think about.
I THINK it’s partly because my doctors are screwing with the drugs I take, so I hadn’t been in the greatest mental place, anyway, but it’s sort of spiraled into a fun rehash of the “not enoughs” — pretty, smart, cool, good in bed… All the things you think you can suck at, I’ve been telling myself I suck at. Like… this dude doesn’t even want to be FRIENDS with me. What the fuck is that? Am I THAT boring? I even offered him friends with benefits and…still no? So I’m not good enough in bed to fuck a third time?
And by the way? The sex was…serviceable. It was good, but not great. It got the job done. And the dude’s nice and all, but I think I mostly saw friendship there. I have no idea why this is bothering me so much NOW. We’ve been not dating longer than we WERE dating, and it HADN’T been bothering me before. I think I’m finally getting that we’re not going to even be friends, and so I just feel gross and used and stupid. Again. (I teared up while writing that, so it’s possible I nailed it.)
The “stupid” is big because I’m attracted to people smarter than I am, in relationships and friendships, and it goddamn blows to not even be friends-worthy.
UGHHHHHH. Bitch, stop being a bitch, bitch!
(Here’s hoping putting this in writing is therapeutic, because my actual therapist is on vacation this week.)
I understand why this isn’t allowed, but I really think I could be trusted to judiciously self-administer maybe six Xanax per year — just one for every time I see my parents.
But fine. I’ll just eat too much at brunch. Pancakes and Xanax are basically the same. (Panax? OMG, no — Xancakes! GIMME.)
Adele: “So I’m reading this wrong?”
Felix: “Well, you did just mix mood stabilizers with gin, darling.”
Adele: “That’s brunch.”
— Orphan Black
10:30 a.m. and already the kind of day I’m just going to take whatever pills are in my purse and hope for the best.
(Relax. There’s only Advil, aspirin, and allergy meds. The good shit’s at home.)
The bad news: I went home from work early yesterday thanks to overwhelming nausea, which may have been caused by any number of things, from medication to weather to stress, and it’s still lingering today.
The good news? A happy bonus of being a sexless spinster is that it’s damn sure not caused by pregnancy.