The Cynic’s Lament.

I wwrote this entry earlier today while i was at work. Now it’s later and i’m home from owrk and also a tliteele bet drunk. We wentr out and had out “cghristmas” part y from my work an wwe all went to this fancyish restaurant and sicne my boss is a cheaprksate, we all deicede to stick it to him nad ordered many many drinks, and then after the boss left we all went to another bar and hda more drinks. WHiler we were walking around before dinner, i ran into creeeeepy doinner theatre guy and all the girls from work agree that he’s totally creepy and gross, so see, it’s not just me! I’m also stil l hnugry, because it was some weird restaurant where they make you eat family style but each plate isn’t enough to fede everybody family stuyle so really I just ended up haveing only a coupl of bites of food, and also because most of what the “table” ordered was esafood, and i don’t eat seafode. so now i’m having a gnarola bar. the end.The difference between why I wasn’t writing the last time and why I’m not writing this time is that this time, I’ve been around. I’m here, constantly, sitting at home, and yes, I’m writing. I’m writing pages upon pages of the same worthless drivel over and over again, and none of it is ever going to see the light of day.

I really don’t know what’s come over me these past few weeks. I’d been so happy, and then all of the sudden, it just ended. I turned in to an over-emotional wreck and it’s taken me longer than I care to admit to snap out of it. But, now it seems that the worst has passed, and I’m back to being myself — just an averagely-emotional wreck.

My show is almost over; just one more weekend of performances and then it will be nothing more than a minor point on my resume. It’s somewhat interesting to note that despite how atrociously bad this show has been, I’ve become somewhat enamored with the theatre company that produced it. And I must be the biggest sucker in the entire world, because I’ve already agreed to do the costuming for their next show. Working production is a good way to get a foot in to the organization and find out if this terrible show really was as big of an anomaly as the people who’ve been there for longer say it was.

I’m still trying to fend off advances from Craig. He’s so much in love with me, and I don’t know why. He seems to want somebody who is exactly the opposite of me: somebody kind and calm and loving. So, what on earth does he see in me? I’m not particularly nice, I have a short temper, and I’m not naturally affectionate. He thinks that I’m this perfect person, and, well, I guess I think he’s kind of okay. But, see, that’s part of the problem. I don’t have any sort of passionate feelings about him — love or hate. He’s a good guy, and he’s nice and smart and he works hard, and I certainly like him well enough, but even after seven years of trying to be madly in love with him and trying to curse his name to hell, I’m left with little more than comfort and acceptance and, yes, slight contempt towards the one person who’s done nothing more than love me unconditionally. I guess that I just don’t understand how he can continue to chase me, believing that one day he’ll catch me and then everything will be perfect.

I don’t chase people. I’ve been very adamant about that. Sure, I’ll pursue a person to a certain degree — I’m not stupid enough to think that somebody will know when I’m interested if I don’t come out and express it — but once it’s clear that there’s no interest in return, I cut my losses and move on. I can’t imagine that it’s very satisfying to have to cajole and goad somebody in to accepting a date, knowing all the while that the other person is really not all that interested. Craig doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps chasing me.

Maybe I’m just being naïve in thinking that I deserve to be with somebody who makes me just as fluttery as I make him. (Or her — I don’t discriminate.) Maybe those old women in books and movies are on to something when they tell the young girl to marry a man who loves her more than she loves him. Maybe it’s worth it to go through life with a lingering sense of unfulfillment in exchange for being adored and well cared for. Maybe I’m just so completely psychotic and unlovable that I need to grab on to the first person who’s willing to look past that and then pray that he never finds out how much happier I could be with anybody else.

Maybe I’ve just had my self-esteem shattered in too many pieces, and I’m looking for somebody to pass me the glue.