Sure, yeah, vacations TOTALLY reduce anxiety…

Today is Day 9 of my 10-day vacation, and it’s the only day I don’t HAVE to do anything.

But I started thinking about getting my apartment in order while I have time, and then about what kind of decor and furniture I want, which led to remembering I have zero sense of style, and to wondering HOW I have such a wide spectrum of things that appeal to me, like how I equally want my apartment to look like Olivia Pope’s but also just bought groovy yoga art and hot pink mixing bowls, and to “Do I want to stay in my tiny apartment or get a bigger place so I can have other rooms to play with different styles, AND an office and a dishwasher?” and to “City or suburbs?” and to “East Coast or West?” and to “What do I want from my fucking LIFE?!”, which led to a headache, and now I’m going back to bed.

That is what I want from life.

See also: Replacing this cup of coffee with water, and perhaps also Valium.

“Whatever, sea cow…”

Therapist: “So how’s it going with your body image as far as your vacation and trying on swimsuits?”

Me: “I mean, it is what it is. I can’t change much in 2 weeks, so…this is my body, I’m gonna go have fun.”

Therapist: “That sounds like a very healthy perspective. Good for you.”

Later, while trying on shorts…

Me: “Cool, so I’m basically a manatee.”

Aaand now I need more therapy. 🙄

Oh, fuuuck YOU…

I’m shopping online for hiking shoes, which are apparently a thing I need for my goddamn VACATION? Fucking nature people. 🙄

Anyway. Guess which hiking shoe I’m NOT buying?

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Fuck you, you fucking “fashionable for ladies” fuckface. I don’t give a flying fuck if my fucking shoes are fucking fashionable!

…OK, fine, I totally care, but that’s not the MAIN thing I’m looking for. ASS. How ’bout you take your fashionable shoes for a hike up to Shut Fuck Mountain, jackass?

Jesus just cockblocked my lazy day

I took a couple days off, trying to alleviate some work burnout, and put myself on the waitlist for a popular class at my gym tonight. I figured if I got in, that was Jesus telling me to get off my ass and leave the house, and if not, clearly He’d prefer I stay home and watch comedy shows.

They just emailed me that I got in, and godDAMMIT, Jesus! This is why I’m not religious!

Ugh. FINE. I’ll do something “They” claim is good for mental health — fucking hippies tryna thwart the part of my brain that’s perfectly content being fat and depressed, thankyouverymuch. 🙄

I’ll just live under the stairs, it’s fine.

I’m preliminary swimsuit shopping for my April vacation, and even on the curvy-chicks, we-need-underwires, our-models-have-an-adorable-hint-of-backfat site, I want to jump out the goddamn window.

It’s February. This layer of fat is keeping me warm, thankyouverymuch. I will be a quality buffet if the apocalypse happens — I am marbled as FUCK. And I’m also SUPER good spending my life in these oversized sweats. HMPH.

🎵 “We built this city on Su-da-feddd…” 🎶

Last week I went on vacation and stayed with a friend and her husband for part of the trip. My friend came down with a cold while I was there, and her lovely, amazing husband went out and brought her an assortment of cold meds, and when he realized he forgot something, went BACK out to get that as well.

So obviously now *I* have a cold, and I’m lookin’ around and it’s just me and Jesus in the house, and oddly, Jesus is shit at errands, so if I want drugs, I have to pull my 90-lb. skull off this pillow and go get them myself.

I see now that this is basically the ONLY reason to be in a relationship. A nice man is going to bring me wonton soup, but I don’t think he’s legally permitted to bring me Sudafed.

Right, then. So as soon as I get back from CVS, I’m gonna answer ALL the OkCupid messages, and hell, maybe sign up for Match, too.

“So, how did you two meet?”

“Well, it all began that day I needed a pharmacy minion…”

My bed is my docking station.

“Damn, I feel so much more human today than I did yesterday. What the hell happened?”

“Well, you stayed in bed for 2 days straight and then took your ADD meds with coffee.”

I’m not recommending this as a life choice, but…I mean, I DO feel better…

You are funnier than me and I hate you for it: a love story.

One of the books I read while on vacation was So Sad Today by Melissa Broder.

I remain faintly annoyed at how good and funny it is, because I didn’t write it.

(This is just from one chapter; the whole book isn’t lists of “love stories.”)

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Paging Stuart Smalley

This post started one way, but took a wrong exit to a place in my head I visit sometimes. It usually passes within a day, and then I’m back to at least a marginally normal self-image.

I went on vacation in part to get some perspective, maybe achieve sudden clarity via Southwest Airlines party mix.

I did, but not as much as I’d like.

But I did realize I can’t meet this guy I’d been talking to on OkCupid. We’d talked about meeting once I got back, but I realized I’m not feeling a connection, at least not yet. I have pretty good instincts for that, though, so possibly not ever. (This has also happened with two other OKC people.)

I feel bad, but even though That Guy felt nothing for me except my clitoris, that whole debacle helped me remember how I feel when *I* feel a spark with someone, even if it’s not mutual. My ex, too — I felt that in my gut and in my butt, and I’m not feeling it for these OKC people. Whatever the issues, my interactions with That Guy and my ex set a standard for what I need to feel and how I need to be treated.

I know I have to move on eventually. I just don’t think I’ll be able to, or should, until I feel something more compelling — I don’t need to be in love, I just need to feel a chemistry.

I wondered if I should meet that OKC guy just to interact with a man in a potentially romantic capacity, the way I used to go on job interviews for practice. But I don’t want to make anyone my practice. Having BEEN used fairly recently, I can’t do it to someone else. (Though I hear it’s effective.)

I may still be too damaged for this. I can’t tell if I’m really not ready, or just scared.

I already wasn’t feeling the best about myself when my ex and I broke up. I asked him why he was even with me, what I’d contributed to our relationship, and why he’d want to have children with me. He explained the kid thing, but wouldn’t tell me why he’d been with me. He said I should know. I still don’t. I believed he loved me. I believe he still does. I just don’t know why. (The best I can come up with is that I let him have his own space and his own time, and never made him watch “The Notebook.”)

Following that, That Guy made me feel smart, sexy, and funny…buuut then told me he never really thought any of that. Well, I guess the “sexy” part was true — as indicators go, his constant erection in my presence was probably a good one. 

When I thought he cared about me, I spent time with him thinking, “Pfft…I’m amazing.” He said my confidence showed, that I owned my business in the bedroom, that I was funny and a good writer — he was one of the reasons I kept writing this blog. And then he was like, “Ha ha, just kidding, you’re none of those things.”

So I’m not enough to keep one man if I don’t want to have a baby, and not enough to keep the other guy because…I guess maybe I’m NOT the person he made me feel like I was.

Plus there have also been professional aspects where I wasn’t good enough to do one job or another, and a general feeling with my family that I’m just not worth being heard.

So… I don’t know what I’m doing now. I know it’s called SELF-esteem, but mine’s been knocked around a lot the past few years. I don’t know if I’ve ever considered how deep-seated all this is, and I see the therapist partly because I don’t know how to fix it myself. I have friends who, if they’re reading it, would punch me in the neck for thinking any of this. I don’t ALWAYS feel this way, but when I do, people can tell me whatever good things they want, I just can’t see it for myself.

Ahem… Why, what do YOU think about on vacation?

P.S. Next post, I promise, back to OkCupid snark, Valentine’s rage, masturbation, and the feminism of bath sponges.

Escape: Plane and Simple

I’m pretty excited to be taking a vacation that requires a plane, and leaving all my bullshit behind — if only for a week, and if only metaphorically, since my bullshit lives in my brain and actually travels quite well. I checked, though, and there’s no fee for emotional baggage on domestic flights. Score!

It’ll still be good to get away, particularly to get away to anywhere warmer than here.

So I’ll see y’all soon, assuming more pleasurable climes don’t claim me as their own. 

See also: fuck you, winter.