Last night, just to make sure that 1994 was totally out of my system, I watched “Reality Bites.” I thought that would serve as a good cleansing of the palette, a last hurrah to my nostalgia-week. it worked, because now i’m smack dab in the here and now, and it’s not quite so much fun.

i’ve been in quite a funk for the past couple of weeks. the time of the month hasn’t helped matters.

mostly i’ve spent this weekend thinking about the story i handed in for class on Thursday. It’s called “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?” and it’s bad. And not just writer insecurity bad, but geniunely what the hell is the point there is nothing fresh or engaging about this story at all bad. i am a little ashamed that my name is on it, it’s that bad.

so now i’m trying to forgive myself for writing a bad story, it’s not going so well. not so well at all. probably because my mood is so foul and i’ve been spending a lot of my time trying to figure out what the fuck i’m doing.

a few weeks ago one of my friends asked me what my goals were. i was horrified and ashamed to admit i have none. i cannot answer the ‘where do see yourself in five years’ question, because i don’t know. i always had that vague goal of getting married and having kids. but as 30s start to disappear, that goal doesn’t seem so attainable. its as though i have given up on that goal, because i can’t even admit anymore that it was mine to begin with.

this is going nowhere fast. i was going to bitch about being lonely and unsure, and all that stuff i spent four years complaining and whining about. that does me no good. i just need to figure out what’s going to cheer me up enough to make it through the week without disolving into tears over most everything (like, for instance, that scene in reality bites where ethan hawke comes back after his dad dies and he cries into winona’s neck, wrecked me last night).

ah, fuck it. i’m lonely. i’m not lonely for friends, because i have a ton of great ones. i’m lonely for the kind of thing you just can’t solve on your own. despite my best efforts, after 33 years i have finally learned you cannot make someone love you or want to be with you.

what bothers me the most is that i still let this one stupid thing make me cry. i own a house, i have an awesome family, a good job doing something i love, i have friends who adore me, and yet i still feel defective because i don’t have a man.

i am plenty smart enough to realize that i do not need one. but god, i really do want one, and i can’t seem to figure out why. but i want it. i would give up my toes for a crush. someone who smiled when they saw me. a smile from a guy who would set the butterflies free in my stomach. hell, i’d settle for a little bit of attention from anyone with a penis right about now. and this makes me feel so utterly pathetic that i cannot even stand myself.