Cleaning house

Monday, March 27, 2006

Hrm.

So I have started several posts this week, and I have completed none.  In fact, it’s been almost two weeks since I gave you a real post.  Why?  Because.

 

I’ve had so much turmoil going on inside my head that I have been too busy to even write it down.  And writing it down usually helps!

 

I have become obsessed with a boy.  A boy that I haven’t even really told you about!  (He’s adorable—reference 2 posts ago if you doubt this.)

 

I have made some serious life decisions.  I have had some revelatory meetings and discussions with people at work that can control my destiny.  I am feeling pretty good about my life in general—things are looking up.

 

I’ve begun to open up to people about my private life.  I’ve told 4 or 5 people about my obsession with this boy.  I haven’t done that since I was in elementary school—in my experience, these things always backfire.  But I’ve done it, nonetheless.  I’m still feeling pretty good about it, and I’m hoping that it all works out for the best.

 

But because I’ve been talking about it in Real Life, and messaging friends that I talk to all the time about it (Hi Rob!), I haven’t really felt much like posting the gory details here.  And that’s just plain wrong.  Why?  Because this is MY journal.  Much as you are all welcome to read it, and much as I enjoy hearing your comments and observations regarding my rather mundane existence, it’s still for all intents and purposes MY diary. 

 

I’ve done much better here than I ever have before at consistently entering my daily events and feelings.  I’m not so good at diary keeping.  I read somewhere once (and I cling to this!) that diaries are for people that think—people that DO are far too busy to write it down.  I choose to believe I’m too busy having fun to write things down.

 

But I have a terrible memory.  People, who know me well, are WELL aware of this.  If things don’t get written down, they don’t get done.  And that’s a bad thing for someone who can’t reliably keep a diary.  I hold onto my old day-planners so that I can look back and see what was going on in my life 4 years ago.  Without that tangible tool, I don’t have a clue what was happening to me in 2002.  I also would have NO CLUE as to what city I was living in, or where I was working.  My memory is just that bad.

 

So I will henceforth endeavour to be more reliable about posting my shite.  I need to be able to look back and see where I was in my life.  I love having this tool.  I enjoy having the feedback of (not-so) strangers.  It is the most unbiased and objective type of input a girl could hope for.  And I don’t really mind being a little embarrassed in front of you all, because I know that I don’t have to face you tomorrow in the lunchroom.  And that even if you ARE judging me a little bit, I can live with that…because I asked for it.

 

I’m posting from work right now, because posting from home has become somewhat of an ordeal.  I hate confrontations.  I avoid starting them at all costs, for the most part.  I deal with them all the time at work, and I’m not afraid to start something in public, but in my private life?  Never a confrontation I couldn’t manage to avoid for months on end.  Granted, this never makes things better—I just stew over it day after day and become more angry and embittered…but that’s life. J

 

Perhaps later I’ll tell you all about my current boy-crush.  You can give me tips on whether or not it’s okay to call him until he answers.  I know that it’s not really cool, but at the same time…I’m 34 freaking years old and I have a crush like a 10 year old.  Remember when you used to call the boy you like and either crank-call or just hang up 27 times a night?  Back in the olden days, before call display!  Or when you used to ride your bike past the house of the boy you liked over and over and over again all day on Saturday, in hopes (and terror!) that he might actually be out on the front porch one time and you’d get to say ‘hello’ to him as you pedalled fast away?  Those were the days.

 

I’m wanting to do that now.  I want to phone and phone and phone until he realizes that he thinks I’m as amazing as I truly am (and humble too!) and can’t live another second without me.

 

Wow…if I’m this infatuated after only dinner, imagine what I’ll be like if we ever actually KISS?!  (He may be a terrible kisser—that would work wonders for putting an end to this teenage angst-ridden infatuation bullshit.  Here’s hoping—I really don’t like being a messy bundle of tense emotions!)

 

Anyway…time to get back to work. 

 

Sadie

J

 

p.s. Could I possibly start any more paragraphs with prepositions and conjunctives?  Not freaking likely.

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