Went out. Drank. Don’t feel better, exactly, but I feel as if the latest indignity is something that has happened, not something that is currently happening. It’s a haggard sort of coping mechanism, but you take what you’ve got.
“I don’t know why you’re having such a bad time lately,” said my buddy Joe, gazing into his Wild Turkey. “I mean, you’re awesome.”
“They all say that!” I snarled. “‘Ursula’s awesome!’ I am getting so sick of hearing ‘You’re awesome!’ It’s going on the list next to “This reminds me of Labyrinth!” If I’m so goddamn awesome, why does this keep happening?!”
I realized at this point that my hands were about six inches from his throat and making violent throttling motions, and redirected my aggressions towards my alcohol.
“Oh my. That bad?”
“You have no idea…”
There was a lengthy discussion of the psychology of men, the vagaries of internet celebrity, and the pitfalls of dating. I took extensive notes. Hopefully I’ll be able to read them tomorrow.
I’m still depressed as hell, but now at least I’m depressed for the right reasons. I think.
Does that make any sense?