(no subject)

An unexpected resignation at work today, no notice given, and I'm so very jealous and the news makes me want to cry. I didn't particularly like the woman who left, but I'm the only one who knows how to do some of the work that she did, and so it will fall to me, on top of everything that's already falling upon me. And that's what it feels like, a comically slow avalanche, rocks continuing to bounce down the hill to land atop an already nigh-insurmountable pile. I stay here for stupid reasons, and I don't want to spend my thirties in this silly, life-sucking job, but I don't know how to take the first step.

I have a crush on my knitting teacher, and it grew when I found out she had been a math major in college. (I signed up for knitting two last night. I just found it is full. I am saddened.) I went into Latin (I think) because at the time, it was as close to math as I could get without actually involving math, and I regret that a little bit on occasion. Not the learning of Latin, but that I don't know more about how math works, and I don't know how to begin self-teaching.

I need advice, or direction, and it breaks my heart a little bit that I don't have any sources for it. And maybe this is another one of those facets of adulthood, where I have to do my own research and make my own decisions blindly, there are no shaping forces anymore other than a desire to be neither broke nor broken.

I want a new tattoo, still. I've told myself I need to go purchase work outfits that don't require the wearing of nylons, since I want the tattoo on the outside of my left leg. This will obvious lead to the purchase of dress pants, a thought that terrifies me. I am a horrible clothes shopper, mostly because I can't figure out a way to look at myself with any sort of kindness or patience. I'm not sure if this is some particular function of my self-loathing or my body-type, or a more over-all girl thing, but I find it exhausting. I can occasionally overcome my flee-the-store instinct, by promising myself a reward, in terms of books or a tattoo, or promising myself I won't need to shop for a while if I can just get this over and done with, but more often than not that ends with me purchasing a piece of clothing, getting home and realizing I'm not actually going to be able to convince myself to wear it out where people can see me. Pants are the worst, and at the moment I own three pairs of jeans (one of which is at the point of disintegration) and a couple pairs of pajama pants, and that's it.

I've been exercising more and more regularly and eating mostly better for over a year now, and I've dropped a scant few pounds, and become a slightly firmer awkward shape, but I imagine this is the body type I'm stuck with until I finally let go and balloon into something even worse (if I ever do), so I've got to find some compromise. And I see women, my size or heavier, who are obviously much more comfortable with their bodies, or at least have the ability to project comfort, and wear things that make them look lumpy, and I think I'd like to learn that skill, I imagine it makes both shopping and decision make less tear-provoking, but I don't know how turn off the censor that forbids me to leave the house Looking Like That.

I think there's some magical number of uncommented upon livejournal entries, where I have to talk myself back into the understanding of this place as useful even when it doesn't garner any sort of attention, and I'm no saint myself, I want to leave comments but find myself silenced by awkwardness and the alien texture of other people's lives, be they academic, polyamorous, procreative or something else entirely. I've stopped talking to (or being talked to) by more people than not, and I still count ended or never-begun friendships like a rosary of failures, and when Light and I talk about moving, I wonder if it will just be a whole new set of ways to f(l)ail. I talk a better game than I play when it comes to misanthropy, because I cannot silence my desire to be liked, to be wanted, and I keep hoping some day I'll find a way to balance the equation, to want less or to get more.

I've been trying to write a sentence about how I do not intend to slight my other friendships, that I will take the handful of people in my life right now over all the possible riches of other friendships if it's a matter of either/or, and comparing that to my love for gruyere not meaning I don't want other cheeses, new or other favorites, but the sentence is ending poorly every single time, so I'll leave it at that.

Also, I have a new birdfeeder, a puzzle mat and a bar of dark chocolate with pink peppercorns. Take that, world-which-appears-to-want-me-to-weep-today.

(no subject)

An unexpected resignation at work today, no notice given, and I'm so very jealous and the news makes me want to cry. I didn't particularly like the woman who left, but I'm the only one who knows how to do some of the work that she did, and so it will fall to me, on top of everything that's already falling upon me. And that's what it feels like, a comically slow avalanche, rocks continuing to bounce down the hill to land atop an already nigh-insurmountable pile. I stay here for stupid reasons, and I don't want to spend my thirties in this silly, life-sucking job, but I don't know how to take the first step.

I have a crush on my knitting teacher, and it grew when I found out she had been a math major in college. (I signed up for knitting two last night. I just found it is full. I am saddened.) I went into Latin (I think) because at the time, it was as close to math as I could get without actually involving math, and I regret that a little bit on occasion. Not the learning of Latin, but that I don't know more about how math works, and I don't know how to begin self-teaching.

I need advice, or direction, and it breaks my heart a little bit that I don't have any sources for it. And maybe this is another one of those facets of adulthood, where I have to do my own research and make my own decisions blindly, there are no shaping forces anymore other than a desire to be neither broke nor broken.

I want a new tattoo, still. I've told myself I need to go purchase work outfits that don't require the wearing of nylons, since I want the tattoo on the outside of my left leg. This will obvious lead to the purchase of dress pants, a thought that terrifies me. I am a horrible clothes shopper, mostly because I can't figure out a way to look at myself with any sort of kindness or patience. I'm not sure if this is some particular function of my self-loathing or my body-type, or a more over-all girl thing, but I find it exhausting. I can occasionally overcome my flee-the-store instinct, by promising myself a reward, in terms of books or a tattoo, or promising myself I won't need to shop for a while if I can just get this over and done with, but more often than not that ends with me purchasing a piece of clothing, getting home and realizing I'm not actually going to be able to convince myself to wear it out where people can see me. Pants are the worst, and at the moment I own three pairs of jeans (one of which is at the point of disintegration) and a couple pairs of pajama pants, and that's it.

I've been exercising more and more regularly and eating mostly better for over a year now, and I've dropped a scant few pounds, and become a slightly firmer awkward shape, but I imagine this is the body type I'm stuck with until I finally let go and balloon into something even worse (if I ever do), so I've got to find some compromise. And I see women, my size or heavier, who are obviously much more comfortable with their bodies, or at least have the ability to project comfort, and wear things that make them look lumpy, and I think I'd like to learn that skill, I imagine it makes both shopping and decision make less tear-provoking, but I don't know how turn off the censor that forbids me to leave the house Looking Like That.

I think there's some magical number of uncommented upon livejournal entries, where I have to talk myself back into the understanding of this place as useful even when it doesn't garner any sort of attention, and I'm no saint myself, I want to leave comments but find myself silenced by awkwardness and the alien texture of other people's lives, be they academic, polyamorous, procreative or something else entirely. I've stopped talking to (or being talked to) by more people than not, and I still count ended or never-begun friendships like a rosary of failures, and when Light and I talk about moving, I wonder if it will just be a whole new set of ways to f(l)ail. I talk a better game than I play when it comes to misanthropy, because I cannot silence my desire to be liked, to be wanted, and I keep hoping some day I'll find a way to balance the equation, to want less or to get more.

I've been trying to write a sentence about how I do not intend to slight my other friendships, that I will take the handful of people in my life right now over all the possible riches of other friendships if it's a matter of either/or, and comparing that to my love for gruyere not meaning I don't want other cheeses, new or other favorites, but the sentence is ending poorly every single time, so I'll leave it at that.

Also, I have a new birdfeeder, a puzzle mat and a bar of dark chocolate with pink peppercorns. Take that, world-which-appears-to-want-me-to-weep-today.