[m4w] loneliness

... is all in your mind. (o go fuck thyself).

and she suggests that we keep busy to avoid facing the loneliness. o absolutely.

I'm always floored by people who seem so impressed that I manage to go out so much. I envy them their reasons for staying home. My inability to deal with... unsolved domestic issues drove me out last night, to watch a videotape of a 2-year old performance art show. I'd randomly ping'd Tux to come by if he could. He came in late, didn't see me, couldn't take the um, poor editing, and left me a voicemail to find him afterwards. (Luckily I did, I'd been needing a hug all day and no one else offered.)

At The Field, which I'd never been to even though it's Right There. He raved about how tolerable it was now with the smoking ban (when he wasn't chewing me out for luring him to see the video, which he hated... a lot), but when we left still he emphaticaly praised the "fresh air". Then showed me his shiny new place, with it's overwhelming polyurethane odor (the floors had just been redone), which apparently didn't bother him nearly so much as the smell of the bar. But he acquiesed to my suggestion that we sit on his porch to eat the salad he offered. I didn't know one could eat brussel snouts raw. Wasabi dressing covers a multitude of sins, perhaps.

I'd just been shown an apparently good, recent picture of me, where I look like a defanged walrus with enormous jowls, and really didn't want to eat much of anything at all. If that's a good picture of me... ugh. Liposuction, stat!

Which brings us to the problem of the meat orgy. They're all crashing with Jess (the Timster, although they don't know her as that) but she really has no room. So if I go, I have to find someplace else to stay after a night of carousing, which just thinking about makes me feel excluded and hence, lonely. I don't have to go all the way to manhattan just to feel like the fifth wheel.

[m4w] loneliness

... is all in your mind. (o go fuck thyself).

and she suggests that we keep busy to avoid facing the loneliness. o absolutely.

I'm always floored by people who seem so impressed that I manage to go out so much. I envy them their reasons for staying home. My inability to deal with... unsolved domestic issues drove me out last night, to watch a videotape of a 2-year old performance art show. I'd randomly ping'd Tux to come by if he could. He came in late, didn't see me, couldn't take the um, poor editing, and left me a voicemail to find him afterwards. (Luckily I did, I'd been needing a hug all day and no one else offered.)

At The Field, which I'd never been to even though it's Right There. He raved about how tolerable it was now with the smoking ban (when he wasn't chewing me out for luring him to see the video, which he hated... a lot), but when we left still he emphaticaly praised the "fresh air". Then showed me his shiny new place, with it's overwhelming polyurethane odor (the floors had just been redone), which apparently didn't bother him nearly so much as the smell of the bar. But he acquiesed to my suggestion that we sit on his porch to eat the salad he offered. I didn't know one could eat brussel snouts raw. Wasabi dressing covers a multitude of sins, perhaps.

I'd just been shown an apparently good, recent picture of me, where I look like a defanged walrus with enormous jowls, and really didn't want to eat much of anything at all. If that's a good picture of me... ugh. Liposuction, stat!

Which brings us to the problem of the meat orgy. They're all crashing with Jess (the Timster, although they don't know her as that) but she really has no room. So if I go, I have to find someplace else to stay after a night of carousing, which just thinking about makes me feel excluded and hence, lonely. I don't have to go all the way to manhattan just to feel like the fifth wheel.