One Hundred Years of Solitude

How is it that he always e-mails me just when I’m about to give up on him?

I hate the way I interact with people.  I want to be social, I really do…but it’s so much easier shutting myself up in my room to read for hours.  A boy once reminded me that there are more friends to be made in 3 months by being interested in what they do than there are over 3 years of trying to get people interested in you.  But do I always have to take the initiative?  I want to know that people actually want to see me, not that I’ve called them, e-mailed them, im-ed them into eventual submission.  No one ever wants to make the first move.  Friday night, and after I make a few calls on my phone that are never answered on the other line I realize that there’s nowhere for me to go to find people.   I go to Borders…is it sad that I go there hoping that someone will happen to be there.  Today it was Miriam…there have been others, and if not I’ve always got my books.  I always bring library books to read at Borders, some sort of irony, fighting against the shameless book price tags these days.

I had a lovely morning at the mall with Manabu and I know rationally that almost all of my self-doubt is irrational…but this hardly helps, ya know? In fact I’m rather proud of my mall shopping today.  A $70 skirt with a print of the cityscape of Venice for $11 and a rather cute pink pig pillow for Paul’s birthday.  Yes, pink…I know there was a reason I decided I should get him something pink, but I forget now. 

I’ve been inhaling books this week…but not the right ones.  I’m only 100 pages into Master and Margarita…if I put the energy into that I put into my English reading I’d be doing marvelously well.

Sorry for the repeat, but I haven’t got enough diversity of thought to write two entries today…they’d end up the same anyway…would someone for the love of G-d leave me a note to know that you’re reading my ramblings.