J: The gulf of dislike is impassable and eternal

This entry's post from... hm... some play.... if only I could remember what it was called or who was in it.... hm..... hmmm....

So things are going well. Not terrifically, and certainly not altogether smoothe, but well.

After the initial jubilation at getting my internship, the constant questions of specifics began to assault my brain. The problem with working under an editor whose only contact is distant, there's sometimes the use of vague language that trips you up, so miscommunications/misinterpretations/misunderstandings are common. I'll never actually meet this guy, it's a little like Dr. Claw. I'm asking a lot of questions now so that I know my responsibilities when April begins. Unfortunately, my desire to get the affairs in order may have caused me to jump ahead in the schedule. That's where one of those misunderstandings occurred.

But I did something about my stress that is totally out of character for me. I talked to people about it. I conveyed my fears and anxieties to my friends, and through that, relieved the burden somewhat, and even reached the conclusion that, no matter how annoying I was with questions now, it would ultimately ease things up later.

Add to that a verbal misstep during the day when, examining this week's page proofs for the Sun, I mused that fancy headlines don't seem to catch peoples' eyes, and the girl whose page it was had snuck up directly behind me. I attempted to account for what I'd said, but I don't know if she was buying it. I have this habit of not always being able to express myself around girls I haven't gotten to know.

So yeah, it would've been nice to have that moment back, but I'm really more concerned with not making my new editor think i'm a blathering ninny who can occasionally write a good article. Oh hell, if my articles are good enough, it shouldn't matter that I'm a blathering ninny.

It was a gorgeous day outside, contrasting with the dreary landscape of my consciousness. Spring is lying in wait, ready to burst forth any moment. But it is still biding its time.

I need new shoes. After the soaker I gave myself on the weekend, my shoes still are not in great shape.

I'm starting to get a little better. In fact, I made quite the step forward in my quest to cure myself of nervous stomach reactions. Because you know, it's no fun being victimized by your own body. I made quite a statement a few years ago at Grandad's birthday. A very colourful statement, all over the toilet at that seafood restaurant. I knew I had a problem then and there, but haven't been so driven to prove I could overcome it, until this year. A formerly prolific vomitter, I'd proudly gone all the way through the year (or at least since the early hours of New Year's Day,) without giving the technicolour yawn, when Dad called last night. He said he wanted us to go down to the hotel and have dinner with Grandad, before he goes on a trip. This is something of a tradition for us to do, and while he doesn't usually take us to dinner on tuesdays, the occasion warranted it. By this point in the year, this was the ultimate test. And?

Passed it. Nailed it. Flying colours. Okay, there was a brief uneasiness about me, but it went away. We arrived, headed off to the restaurant in shifts (it was down the road but we couldn't fit all six into the car,) and settled in to order. Everybody ordered the same thing, which was a first. Not true, actually. We all got the steak sandwich (which is really just a steak covered in mushrooms and a couple slices of baguette, not meant to be eaten as a sandwich,) and the others all got fries, but I got kettle chips to be different.

So that's a decent-level victory, although it was not as simple as that, not a pure victory, as I did it with the aid of a little pink placebo. Maybe it's not a placebo, but it might as well be, because maybe I just need to feel like I've assured against any nausea. I needed to take a pill I felt would work. So no, it was not a truly pure victory, but it was a means to the proper ending -- a clean dinner with family. I'll take it.

I still don't think I can eat a proper meal in a restaurant with friends. I'm not even willing to try at this point. So don't worry kids, I'm still weird. And I like it. A few weeks ago, the night of Sears when we grads were all re-uniting, Ana asked me about my, uh, condition. It's nice that she cares so much, and a little weird. Like she's fascinated by it, maybe because she feels she can relate. Maybe she can. She asked me what I'd do if I had to take a girl out to dinner, if I weren't willing to eat with her. And the answer is I'm not sure, but I doubt I couldn't get around it. After all, the odds are good that if I weren't confident I could eat with a girl, I simply wouldn't ask her to dinner. After all, it's not like she's going to ask me out (believe me, whoever she is, she won't.) It's kind of a "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it" (and I should be so lucky.) After all, there'll always be drugs. That'd really test their mettle.

But in any case, I've made another step in the right direction.

Let's go somewhere nice and not have dinner. (I miss you.)

Keep on rockin'
-Scott