I May Have Fucked Up A Tiny Bit

I know I've been a tiny lackadaisical about the blog lately, but there's a good reason for it: Long story short, I'm working on starting up some much needed therapy. It's not like I have a raging drug addiction or a severe case of kleptomania, but quite frankly, I have some deep-seated rejection issues I have to get through. This really shouldn't come as a surprise to, like, anyone. At all.

Well, granted, there was a catalyst to it all. On Thursday, I ended up revealing to Matt that I happen to be a compulsive liar (Once again, not a surprise) and one thing lead to another, he ended up telling me something that he's been keeping from me for about five months to spare my feelings. Naturally, this lead to me downing half a bottle of wine before work.

I spent the better half of my day attempting to dance around sexily while the room spun. Eventually, I found my way upstairs where I served as a sort of pseudo therapist for one of the other dancers. In return, he offered me half a QT of coke, assuming that I was (A) in my twenties, and (B) already a recreational drug user. Once again, compulsive liar. Party foul on me for that one.

All I can say is WOW you should not do coke. Like, ever. Seriously. Withing 30 seconds my eyes were protruding cartoonishly out of my head, and within five minutes, I was hanging from the chin-up bar in the changing room gym like a koala bear tripping some major balls. It was at this point that the guy started catching on that this probably WAS my first time riding the white pony. Needless to say, he was feelin' the guilt pretty hard.

After spending five minutes talking me down (literally. I was clinging to that bar for a while), I decided to sleep off the half-QT, while a room full of incredibly well-muscled strippers sat by watching the skinny white boy vibrating on the couch, making sure that he didn't inadvertently OD on barely enough coke to up a five-year-old. Oddly enough, having a drug-induced freak out is a GREAT ice breaker. I wouldn't recommend it though.

After returning home, making tortellini in record time and listening to Merriweather Post Pavillion (Animal Collective makes so much more sense when you're on drugs), I ended up fessing the whole thing to Matt. Thankfully, he gave me a number he got from a friend to help me sort out my issues.

Anyhoodle, I'm not proud of any of this really. I really should not have done that coke. Or that half bottle of wine. And I really should have gone to see someone about my rejection issues a LOOOOOOOONG time ago. But whatever, cut me some freakin' slack here, homeskillet. I'm finally gonna work on sorting my various fuckeries out, and all it took was a little bender on my part. Hooray?

To be honest with you, the past couple months, I've felt like I was really just sort drifting by. As much as I've done, I've kinda spent the past five months wondering what was wrong with me, questioning every little thing I did...Basically, the not-so-fun stuff. Anyway, I'm going to try and sort that out, and once I do, hopefully I'll be able to keep doing what I'm doing, but with a little more feeling.