Truth: I feel more like myself than I have in months.
I had a crap-ass long weekend and yesterday morning was rough, but my afternoon was downright decent.
I had one conversation that went pretty okay; that was nice.
Then I had two phone interviews - both of which I think went well - which reminded me that I’m actually good at what I do (despite not really enjoying it) and that I’m a highly sought after commodity in my competitive field.
Last night and this morning: all completely normal.
I’ve still got crap coming up in the days and weeks ahead, but I’m feeling as ready and prepared for it all as I can.
The bad thing about being at the beach with my wife: not being able even to look at the attractive women who all would reject me outright.
The good thing: only feeling rejected by the one woman.
You know how when you’re cooking a big meal - a party or maybe Thanksgiving - the goal is to time your preparations and finishing touches so everything ends at the same time? Sure, some things can be ready ahead, but mostly you want to have everything finish at the same time.
In life, it’s best when that does NOT happen.
Hello Maria and your Heart Bomb. :)
Lisa Unger, Beautiful Lies (via kyrrd)
The Lady gets upset with me when I say that this is the a reason she finds me sexy. I always say it’s a great thing because I do believe that is love, but I do think that if she didn’t love me she people might look at her funny because she’s so turned on by a fat load such as myself.
I do believe in the fact that when you connect with someone, something transcendent happens and they become almost ethereal to you. You see their body and spirit meld into a shimmering essence of beauty. It’s hard to hear that someone thinks you’re beautiful and sexy when you have a poor self image. You think they’re playing the kind of trick every heavy or awkward kid had played on them in 7th or 8th grade where a pretty girl (or cute boy) pretends to like you and you believe them and then they spike your heart into the dirt in front of the rest of your class at roller skating.
Or the whole 8th grade class gets invited to a make out party except you and one or two other people and when you go to a meet up with your Catholic grade school class 25 years later, they all talk about it like everyone came, and they start saying “Don’t you remember that Chris?” and you say “Nope. Don’t remember that. Didn’t even know that party happened. Remember, you called me “Hips” that year? That’s probably why I don’t remember it.” Then… Subject change…
Oh. huh. Yeah. Uh…ditto.
(I’ve nothing more cogent to add than, “ditto”.)
I asked Peter Sellers and Stanley Kubrick and they said I should just stop worrying and love the bomb.