Reading this will be a waste of your time.

This is the last resort of someone who has spent the last two hours trying to look busy. Our system is down at work, and has been for most of the day, and everyone here's running out of things to do. This is pretty much how my entire week has been. Bored, lonely, introspective, mildly depressed. Thinking of how much I could do with eight hours all to myself, to do whatever I wanted... but instead I have to spend them sitting at this desk. Sitting, thinking, rethinking, overthinking, re-overthinking, over-rethinking.... What's out there? What's next? How long will this part of my life go on before the next one starts? There's a poem by Donald Hall about always rushing toward "the next thing! the next thing!" Well, that's me. Where to now? Who's going to come into my life next? Who will be out of it forever? Am I going to do the things I'm SUPPOSED to do, and am I going to do them because I WANT to do them? Will there be anything the least bit original about the path I follow? Or am I just going to get old?

I feel like I am getting old, or already there. Sometimes I feel like I'm done, even at this young age. I've always had a really weird sense of time, an inability to separate one period of time from another in my mind. No matter how much I've changed over the years, I still have the sense of always having been the same person, and the feeling that I always will be. Maybe I'll always be the same scared, solitary little girl, always the dreamy teenager in Coke-bottle glasses, optimistic about her 20s and unconcerned about anything after that. And maybe I've always been 23, free, and in love, always been an old beat-down woman at the end of the road.

Of all of the people I've been and will be, that old woman is the only one I've truly hated. I've hated her for all of the regrets she will have, and never, ever wanted to become her. I've been terrified of what it means to grow old, afraid of not making it that far, but mostly fearful of getting there and finding no meaning in anything I've done. If I can stop being afraid, if I can act now in ways the older me will be proud of... I think it will all be okay.

Whiny, self-indulgent blogger I've been lately. I promise my next post will be an inane ramble about how much I love Eggs Benedict or something. Wait, that's still kind of "me, me, me." Why don't you tell me how you feel about Eggs Benedict, and we'll go from there.

So damn unpretty

So as I'm walking to my car this morning, I'm thinking about my jeans and realizing how ratty and beaten up they are and how I can't afford to buy new ones. And I wonder, what would I do if my pants split during the day at work? What would I do? Would I slip off and buy a pair at one of the ghetto stores in Midtown? Or just go home? Send around an e-mail to my team saying, "Sorry for the short notice, but my pants burst open at the seams, and I don't want to show all of you my ass, so I'll be leaving for the day. Any time not made up will be charged to 'personal.'"

This momentary concern came and went, and was forgotten.

Fast forward to 12:30. I head down to the Wintergarden to have my lunch, and when I sit down, I feel a coldness beneath me. 'Did I sit in something wet?' I wonder. So I reach down, and time freezes as I come to the horrifying realization that no, it's just my bare ass against the metal chair, because there is a giant hole in the seat of my jeans.

Luckily, I had a sweater to tie around my waist for the rest of the day, but I have no idea when it happened or how many people saw me between the time it happened and the time I noticed.

The best part is, that was my LAST functioning pair of jeans. I'm down to a pair of black pants, a pair of brown pants, and a pair of khakis.

You know it's been a bad day (not to mention, you know you're hormonal) when you're on the verge of tears because you can't put together an outfit casual enough for going out on a Monday night. I can't seem to find anything that's comfortable and that doesn't make me look like I'm either going to work or going to a club. I should probably just stay home.

I wish guys could understand what it's like when girls feel really bad about themselves.