kiwifruit's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chasing Away the Demons With Cashew Chicken Friday afternoon. I just got done watching Oprah, which is my guilty pleasure. I always seem to get a good cry out of it and somehow that makes me feel better. I need to feel better today. Yesterday I got a call from Boss-lady telling me that I wouldn�t be able to start back to work on Monday as planned. But, if I wanted to wait another six weeks she would �probably� have the money to pay me then. Not going to happen. I think I am finally through with the dotcomedy. I guess it�s about time. Still I am terrified about what�s next. All those feelings of inadequacy and fear are knocking around in my scull. I honestly don�t know what I�m going to do now. I mean there�s the obvious�find a job. But I feel like I haven�t found my �niche� yet. I haven�t found a spot where I feel like I�m really good at something and that is so demoralizing. I wonder how so many people can have so much faith in my abilities and yet I have none. There is a huge discrepancy between the way people see me, and the way I see myself. I�m not sure who is right. Probably a combination of the two. I have this fantasy of becoming a teacher�but it�s probably just from watching too many �inspirational� Lifetime movies. Needless to say I am feeling very scared right now insecure. Not my two favorite feelings. I want to constantly feel strong and safe. In fact, I spend almost every moment of my life trying to attain this place of strength and security. Something tells me that I�m not alone in this quest. I meet these people all the time who outwardly seem to have it so together. In fact they seem so together that you want to throttle them. But inside, under their cashmere cowl necks and $75 blowouts there is always that gnawing self-doubt. God, at least I hope I�m right here. Maybe I�m just projecting onto others. Maybe everyone else really does have it together and I�m alone in this. Naaah. If that were true no one would ever have anything to write about or paint about or torture themselves about and how boring would that be? I mean really. C. picked the most inopportune of weekends to fly off to the West Coast to have a big frat boy chest pounding weekend in Vegas. No folks. I�m not so na�ve that I think all that goes down on these weekends is a bunch of chest pounding (although I�m sure that�s a big part of it). I keep picturing that awful movie with Christian Slater where they go to Vegas for a bachelor party, Very Bad Things. I�m sure it�s somewhere in between the chest pounding and the drunken accidental murdering of prostitutes. This is why I can�t be left alone when feeling crappy about myself�I start to make every aspect of my life a horrible mess when really it�s just one. C. isn�t going to be fondling prostitutes, though I�m sure he�ll more than his share of Jack Daniels and other mind-altering substances. Then they�ll all lose a lot of money gambling, pound their chests, drink some more and talk about their �glory days��the stories of which I�ve heard at least one hundred times already. It always baffles me that people can talk about their college days as the high point of their lives. I mean if that�s true, then you have a hell of a lot of years left to live wallowing in bitter disappointment. Speaking of bitter disappointment. In my deep state of depression after Boss-ladies phone call yesterday I dove head first into a platter of Chinese food (cashew chicken and an egg-roll the size of my head to be exact). Cashew chicken has to be the most disgusting food ever created. Picture if you will a congealed mass of fatty chicken bits, oily brown sauce, roasted nuts and enough sodium to make you retain water for the rest of your natural life. I don�t even like Chinese food for chrissakes. I mean if you�re going to step off the dietary deep end at least do it with something you really love�a platter of nachos perhaps or a load of French fries. Of course I had the mother of all food hangovers today. I won�t gross you out with the details of a destroyed digestive system running obsessively on the treadmill this morning. It�s better kept to oneself. Never. Ever. Again. Okay, it�s now almost 6 pm and I can realistically have a glass of wine without feeling like a total lush. I�m going to my friend Amy�s house tonight to drink (more) wine, nibble on cheese and crackers, watch a movie and play with her deliciously chubby little baby boy. This will either make me feel much better or much worse. La di da. La di da. 5:53 p.m. - 2002-10-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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