January

I'm tired of January. I'm tired of just about everything. The classes are going well so far. The wine job is pretty much out at this point. I've been sitting here thinking about how I could possibly rearrange my furniture so it would feel like I live somewhere else, but I can't think of any way to change things in this tiny place. I hate being depressed. And I hate that it keeps coming back even though I try to keep myself distracted. I've tried to fill my schedule with all sorts of things, plus all the other things I need to be doing, and every night and every morning I feel like I'm not getting any better. It sucks. I know you keep telling me stuff that's supposed to make me feel better, which I appreciate, but I'm lame and girly and can't get over it like I should. It seems ridiculous that I can't meet decent people in my life. It also seems ridiculous that I don't have any girl friends that are supportive or even want to hang out or go out. It seems that the only women I have around me are the kind that are "frenemies". It's all great and fun when they need help; I'm always there, but when I need something, they have boyfriends to hang out with and I just get a comment like "you'll be fine, just get over it". Today someone told me he'd call me when the boys get together for a beer. So now I guess I'm the guest star in some sort of guy version of Sex and the City. And none of them are cute. I never knew that after 27, I wouldn't be able to find a man to date me. I never knew that college was my last chance. I never knew there was such a thing as a last chance. But after four years in this godforsaken place, I've been in two "relationships" that were shorter than any introductory APR and more complicated than Gravity's Rainbow. I had a date last week and he asked me if I was low or high maintenance. He also tried to get me to go to karaoke with him. Not a chance. Maybe the guy I'm looking for doesn't exist. Who knew that non-lying, non-cheating guys were so hard to come by?

I don't even know how to resign myself to a lifetime of living in a small studio as an aging spinster defying stereotypes by not having any cats. Stupid feelings.