I didn’t know how traffic court was going to go, but I had the general sense that it would go okay. Prophetic being that I am, it went okay. I, of course, had to leave a half an hour early for a nine minute drive and took a few wayward turns to get myself into the right spot. The judge was nice and I had to wait for just a few minutes while he promptly processed a few other cases, including a poor woman who described having shingles on her behind as one of numerous reasons she couldn’t do community service (I mention it laughingly, I guess, but you ended up really feeling for her and I think the judge did too since he removed that requirement.) It took all of two minutes for me and then I was out to pay my unfortunate fine and figure out how to spend the rest of my day.
I ended up not going back to work. Not calling them, either, like I said I’d try and do (since I didn’t explain why I wanted the day off). I went, instead, to a coffee shop and read. Tried to be present in the world so I could make eyes at some available people (ahem, ridiculous, but I keep thinking that if I spend so many of my waking hours amongst wholly unavailable and undesirable people it may put me at a disadvantage dating-wise [NO WAI]) and had some coffee that ended up being way too rich and turning my stomach. Then I went to my parents’ where no one was home and paced about, trying to forcibly arrive at some sort of psychic epiphany about how to resolve my loneliness and need for catharsis and my general anxiety and dissatisfaction until I felt like I was starting to slightly disassociate. Maybe that’s not the technical term, but I know what that feeling can be a prelude to, and I really don’t want to go back to that state of mind so I went home and looked up health insurance and mental health insurance and local therapists and figured that it probably would cost me about $90.00 to see someone for an hour to tell me to chill. No, I know it would be an excellent idea. It would probably really help.
But at the same time, I have to look at the anxiety factors involved in the day. Hadn’t eaten. Stressed about not being at work and having them picking through my stuff, spending money we don’t have. Stressed about the ticket and my money situation even though I know it’s okay, it feels like a black mark against me as a grown-up person. My lack of driving cool makes me feel like it’s just another way in which I’m socially retarded. So there was that. My schedule hasn’t been lining up with anyone I know so I’ve been isolated for a while, making up for it with gaming and then, now that the game’s over, I’m rather bereft. I’ve been egging myself in this direction for a few days and this sort or schedule disruption was just the spark I needed to make the assumption that I am categorically in need of psychiatric help.
Which…is a whole kettle of fish that I don’t have the money or time to take care of. It’s a shitty national state of affairs, but me being lonely because I don’t have the balls to talk to boys and because I’m no one’s idea of a bombshell and my work stress isn’t an emergency. It isn’t something I can spend 400.00 a month.
I’m alive. I’m not crying. I’m not depressed. My shoulders are slowly drifting away from my ears. I’m okay and now that I’ve eaten and vented and laughed and got gas and cleaned my room and did laundry and have begun to feel useful again, I don’t feel so frantic anymore.
I know I sort of lost my clarity today and that’s okay. Things are not perfect and they’re not great or awesome. But I know I deserve them to be at least awesome. At the very least.
So I go forward.