Wednesday, October 17, 2001

I've been feeling something creeping up all day. And now it's here, sitting between my shoulder blades making me cramp up, and in the back of my throat bringing me on the dge of throwing up and/or crying.

Caused by the content of what I am reading or the simple fact I am unable to find a comfy position to do so, yet having to read on, I really don't know.
Maybe it's just that I've been trying very hard to be upbeat and ok since Sunday, or because Ev didn't reply to yesterdays funny and lighthearted eMail confession, or because avoiding people gets so awfully hard after a while.

I so wish I could reach out, but that would mean I'd have lots of explanations to do, as to why I've been so odd these past, well, months. And I just can't. At all. And I don't really want to, either. I'd want calming, loving company without having to give explanations, oh, and without expectations, too. But well, people do not work that way. So I really shouldn't expect that. Being such a shitty friend, not being there for others, for fucking sake not being able to answer the phone or call someone back, how can I expect anyone to be there for me?

I know going to the parentals to look after the house and cats is the worst I can do now, simply because I am escaping my real life, which (if I had one, that is) would be located here and know that I will (when not looking after the bookshop) spend the weekend predominantly alone and thinking. Which really isn't a good thing to do for me at the moment, at all.
At least I'll have two days of real human contact, too. At least something.

I really need help. Better help than I am getting now.