Before I write about today, I wanted to record that yesterday, I turned to S for comfort, and it – gasp – helped. I’m so conscious of not wanting to be a “downer” that I often don’t share my downs. Which I do feel are excessive. I’m glad I did.

I decided to come into work today since I’ll be off part of this week and all of next week. I slept in, which I felt guilty about, but I did work out once I got up, and although I wasn’t enthusiastic about it before and during, I felt great afterwards and was glad I had done it. It makes such a difference sometimes in my outlook on things. I noted to myself that I need to remember to take walks or do work outside whenever possible on the weekends so that I don’t feel (or minimize the times that I feel) the way I did this weekend. That sense of out of control feeling, but with virtually no desire to fix it while its happening.

I haven’t taken any of my Zyban for the past 3 days and since I don’t feel ready to climb the walls, I think I may phase off of it. I do notice, however, a jumpy feeling – a feeling of “something is going to happen.” I will monitor this feeling and if it continues or makes me very unhappy, I may return to the Zyban. I’m not morally against taking it by any stretch – I simply would rather not have to. I’d quit taking my birth control pills as well if I could for the same reason – would just rather not have to.

I spent some time yesterday and today searching the web for writing exercises. Along the way I found lots of info on getting work published, which made me laugh when I realized I was noting those sites as well – a little a head of myself. I realized how typical of me that tendency is. I can’t keep anything small and manageable in my mind – it nearly always balloons into huge-ness. I don’t wonder now why I’ve had anxiety and sedative issues now – to manage my thoughts, anyone would drink and smoke if not worse. I tried to explain it to S the other day in the context of smoking. I said, “I realize how this sounds, but I am able to very quickly and very logically go from ‘I quit smoking’ to ‘What is the point of my life?’” He laughed, but I was serious. And its not that not smoking eliminates the point of my life – it simply makes me think about the point of my life, which at times I’d truly rather not do.

I wanted to clarify for myself something I wrote in a previous entry. And that was – “You are becoming a less militant, more flexible (but NOT submissive) woman. Do I like that? I don’t know. I need to live with it for a little longer.” I am not “accepting” in the sense of just accepting whatever is thrown at me or whatever anyone choosing to do to or at me – read “door mat” here. I mean accepting in the sense of SELF ACCEPTANCE. Acceptance of the more traditionally feminine traits about myself. Accepting that I may want things that a man doesn’t or generally wouldn’t want. I am aware of how ludicrous that is.

I just went through my bills and realized that somehow I didn’t pay my mortgage for June, and its due tomorrow. Naturally, I can’t get anything done today. I just can’t believe I missed that. I was going to throw out some junk mail, and there it was. Thankfully I caught it, but it certainly raising money concerns. I assumed that the money I have would get me into June, but it will barely get me to my next paycheck. Oh, I’m frustrated! With myself, with money. It makes me wonder how I’ll ever be able to go back to school. Well, when that comes, I’ll just have to do it. Period. There is no point worrying about it now.

One goal I have (but have no idea how to work towards it) is to stop thinking that I am so old that there is no point in doing anything. That I’m nearly 30, which is close to death, so why start anything new. Isn’t that horrible? I realized how bad it sounds, but I also panic when I think of “all” the years I’ve wasted. What else should I have been doing, you may wonder? I don’t know, but SOMETHING. I need to remember that I’ve “wasted” at most 7 years – from 22 to 29. That’s not the end of the world. That’s NOT THE END OF THE WORLD, Lynn.

I fear death. I really fear death. Not so much for myself, but because I don’t know whether or not my loved ones will be there. Wherever and whatever “there” is. I imagine getting to age, what, 60 or 70 and wondering what in the world have I done with my life? I worry that it will all seem so trivial then. Will anyone mourn me? Will I have contributed anything?

I be you want a drink just reading this.