Man Detox

Okay. So not to bitch or anything--I've just spent FOUR HOURS reading TranceJen and I feel like if I bitch about anything, ever again, dogs will eat my innards--but...



I'm COLD.

I mean, REALLY fucking cold.

I plastic-ed the front window, but cold is seeping in through the window frame. I shit you not. This house SERIOUSLY needs some work.



And while I'm not-bitching:



I'm depressed, I hate my job, and I'm going through Man Detox.



No, I haven't broken up with LJ; I just haven't seen him much. Business has apparently taken him (and the truck, may it be damned to an everlasting pit of fire because it won't start if it's cold) to Wisconsin, to hang with Damian. And hopefully, with Damian's girl, who will once again refresh LJ's memory about how much exactly he ought to appreciate me. Because I'm not a crack 'ho.



He left Friday night, after taking the Be-Damned Truck for some mechanical therapy--I dunno what they did to it, but I hope it was painful. And so all weekend I've been here by myself.



I apparently have to be left by myself for a bit to realize how useless having a man around makes me.



It was the same with CR. When he was around I lived in this state of suspended animation, not doing anything much because I was never sure when he would need something from me, or when he might come home and expect something. Anything. Anything that would make him not leave. Anything that might make him see that I was worth something.



I learned this at home. I learned this by the constant criticism that came with just playing quietly, by myself, or just sitting in my room reading a book. (Yes. I read books when I was a kid. I think about it now and I think to myself, If I had a kid and he/she read books instead of 99% of what kids do these days, I'd be so fucking grateful that I'd probably fall to the ground weeping. But not my mom. It wasn't USEFUL.)



When CR left, I went through a long period where I just didn't get out of bed on the weekends. There didn't seem to be any reason to get up. It was hard enough making it through five days a week; seven just seemed excessive. So I took two days off from life.



I think I have a slightly better reason now, when I don't get out of bed til noon on weekends--I'm TIRED. My brain is fried by the fucking idiots in charge at my job. I need to heal my brain from the assaults on common sense that are perpetrated Mondays through Fridays.



But that doesn't explain it entirely. I think on some level I'm doing the same thing with LJ that I did with CR--the same thing that explains why all his friends seem to think he's got the best girlfriend around. I'm waiting. I'm always there. Just in case he needs anything--which, to his credit and my constant bewilderment--he almost never does.



Since I was very small, I've always felt like I had to be earning something. Money, or love, or approval (which equates with love somehow). I remember, as a kid, constantly asking my mother "Are you mad at me?" Even when she had no reason in the world to possibly be mad at me, I was always asking that question. And always fearing the answer.



And now, at thirty-four, I'm still trying to earn love and approval from anyone who crosses my path. If I don't have anyone to earn approval from, I just...sit. And wait.



How much bullshit is that?



Today's Project While Sitting And Waiting: staying warm. And watching Camp, which has the distinction of being the only movie that makes me cry which I'll watch despite that fact.