So I've decided the best remedy for an entire day of panic attacks at work is to come home and read the totally innapropriate laugh out loud book my mom got me for my birthday. (Again, Helena mom, not my other one. She would never do anything inappropriate. Like love her daughter just because she's her daughter and accept the fact that she left the cult because, honestly, CULTS SUCK.)
I was planning on secretly working tonight because I have a lot of work to do and they don't want to pay me overtime, but the book got the better of me, and now I'll definitely have panic attacks all day tomorrow. Totally. Worth. It. (But honestly, panic attacks also suck. I'm seriously considering having my chest removed so it doesn't hurt so bad all the time. But then I probably wouldn't get so many dates so that's probably a bad idea. Although dating in your 30s is also a bad idea.)
The other day I ran into my ex-landlord. Travis and I lived in an apartment in his house in Maple, so he totally knew me when I was part of the org and married to a brilliant, brainwashed golfer. Who was not the best husband, but still the best friend I ever had. He got me, even if he didn't always like me all that much. It's possible he asked me on a date (my ex-landlord, not my ex-husband, he got remarried and I'm pretty sure the JWs frown upon dating your ex-wife once you're remarried), and I may have said yes because I didn't really know if coffee with your ex-landlord is a date or not. I hope it's not. But I will never live in Maple, ever again, so there's no future in this. The suburbs are really just those horrible places where I imagine the zombie apocalypse starts (that's always where it starts in the movies) plus you have to take the GO train which means if you're even 30 seconds late, your ride leaves without you. And flashes you the finger. And you're late for work.
He said I looked stressed (D-uh) and that I was always so full of life, it was sad to see me looking like something died. Well, it did Asshole. All of the friends I ever had, family, community, faith. Only they didn't die, they just decided to stop loving me, which, and I know I shouldn't say this, but for me, this is worse than if they'd died (I don't want any of them to die - clarification). If they'd died it would be sad but I wouldn't take it quite so personally.
And there it is, every guy I've ever dated since then: the reason I'm so sensitive to rejection. (Not talking about you, 27, I know your phone just got "stolen".)
I have to say though, despite the constant panic attacks, the men who always leave and the "there's something about mary" bangs, I am very happy with life. I was so proud to have a dozen friends show up on the weekend for my birthday. I've done well. I've learned that true friends will break into your apartment late at night and drag you to the hospital. Or bring you their leftovers when they know you were at school all night. Or buy themselves a toothbrush because they stay over a little too often. And very occasionally come over and yell at you until you either kick them our or take them to brunch. I'm very happy with how things turned out. And I wouldn't change it.
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