018: Not technically a circle

Slipping into my old self-hate pants tonight.

Some events last week left me very pissed off for the week, a sinking feeling of bitterness toward others that, as it always does, turns into a dislike of myself. It was an innocent enough night to begin with, a farewell night of drinks for Trevor, leaving us for more hours at a store closer to his house.

It was going okay -- not great, but it was an unwieldy group of people, and Chantelle as always brought her friends along, girls I always always always end up making uncomfortable smalltalk with.

Matt's ladyfriend, a girl I'm also friendly with, showed up, completely independently, with a friend of her own. The guys have all been obsessing lately over monkeying with my non-existent lovelife. I guess my situation is pretty difficult to believe, but when you get me in a situation like that, it gets easier to believe.

I attempted to play along, unenthusiastically. They did a bad job being wingmen, I did a bad job being interesting on my own. If the girl was even aware they were trying, she was not at all willing to go along and I don't blame them. I'm not good in a situation like that, where there's someone there to outshine me, although it occurs to me that, especially of late, there are far too many situations I'm not good in.

By the end of the night, I was mad at them and mad at myself for lacking the qualities that would have made a night like that unnecessary. Of course when I'm drinking I'll take any excuse to get mad at myself (like now.) A week later I came to the realization that I'm too goddamned old to be this bad with women. Which of course is a shame, because I am this bad, and I'm clueless what can be done for a poor creature like me. Well it's my own problem and nobody but me is ever going to get it figured out.

Might in fact be beyond redemption. In any case it's hard to make others like you when you're not all that fond of yourself.

I've gotten kinda boring lately. That's what routine does to you, but on the plus side I don't fret over hypothetical problems the way I used to. I acknowledge they still exist, but I guess I've gotten that good suburban complacency. It's comfort; it's a rut, but it's a good one. For now.

At lunch I started writing again. I bought a notebook specifically to keep with me at work so I could put my lunchbreaks to good use. I mean, good use aside from stuffing myself with sushi. I'm probably gonna get mercury poisoning. See, that's the sort of thing I used to be a lot more worried about. What does that tell you?

Oh yeah, writing. Yes. I've reconfigured my follow-up play once again into a form that -- knock on wood -- might actually work, entertain, and be all the things I want it to be (basically a more ensemble-y version of Half-Past.) Hopefully this one takes. They say you write 1000 pages of shit before you get to the good stuff. What they don't tell you is that after page 1000 the shit doesn't just stop like that.

I took someone's shift for tomorrow. I haven't done that in a while; haven't had to, and long since been on "my own" Mon-Fri 9-5 schedule. I used to get really bitter about taking other peoples' shifts, but she's being really appreciative about it, which is nice.

Boredom and angst.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto