So I have officially given up on finding a job. The white flag has been waved. My rationale is the sooner I can make peace with living at home at 25, the better. I'm looking at taking some classes because if I just live at home with no job, no friends, and no life, someone. Will. Die. My sanity will be hovering just a bit above my mother's and my heads, and her or I or both shall go with it.
But on the upside, I have not cried once today. I wanted to, and came close a few times, but didn't. Days without incedent of the crying variety: 3
On the downside, I can't get past beauty by the numbers. Sizes, weights, other stuff probably...but mostly sizes and weights. I just don't feel very good about myself these days. There. I said it. I think this persistent job rejection thing has shaken me to my core. So far, my thought process has been as follows: I can either be useful or pretty. If I am not a, I must be b. Nothing has equipped me for option c: none of the above. At this point I just feel like I'm taking up space and not making anything better for anyone. Stupid inferiority complex. And people wonder why not being good enough is like my #1 biggest fear of all time.
Or something like that.
I feel like the only thing I haven't fucked up yet is obviously my relationship with Matt. Two years in November, and I couldn't be happier. I think the only thing that would make me happier would be a pink sapphire on my left hand. I'm not opposed to a long engagement, just so long as its an engagement. But I don't think that will be anytime soon. However, I can still drop hints like I got holes in my pockets. I wish I could stop holding my breath and just not be afraid to lose him. I know I'm not perfect (yet) but I just want to be perfect enough for him.
Does that make sense?
And I didn't cry once during the production of this post. Someone get me an ice cream cone.
About Me
- Xlynn
- I live my life by song lyrics, have a chronic/terminal case of smartassitis and and currently taking medication to combat a particularly hearty strain of Don'tgiveafuck syndrome. I do the 22k in april to raise money for research. I appreciate your prayers. I'm also a sarcastic, habitual liar. ...sometimes. You will be my new best friend if you can tell me exactly what the fuck Paul Simon and Julio Were doing down by the schoolyard, the exact location of Carmen Sandiego, and the real words to "Blinded By The Lights" (revved up like a deuce, you know, a roller in the night?). I will date you if you can name 3 Green Day albums that aren't American Idiot. I'm a handful but my friends love me. good luck!
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