11/25/96 - No Future For Me

[Now starts an era I'm not sure what to do with. There's a lot of repetitive self-pity in the next few months. However, there's a lot that also reveals much about me, and even some good, juicy stuff that I want to retain. I guess I'm just going to have to plunge in and see how it goes. Love the edit function in Diaryland!]

5:10 AM - 11/25/96 - 435 14th

I woke up at 3:15 and haven' been able to get back to sleep. I started rereading "Entries From A Hot Pink Notebook," this novel about a gay teen in white trash Maine. It may not have been the best cure for low self-esteem.

What the hell am I doing? I feel about 16, and clueless about what I want to be when I grow up. But, I'm not 16, I'm 27, a college dropout, making [bupkiss] an hour at a new job I think I'm gonna hate, living in a dump in the Mission District. Rafe worked out a chart of my spending habits compared with a mythically higher income [I couldn't admit to my actual take-home to him], and I'm still falling behind.

I'm trying to remember that last time I made a good life choice. Even getting out of Santa Barbara, which I've been telling myself will be good for me over time, is looking dumb in some ways.

And what about my attitude towards love lately? I've been telling myself that I'm not ready for another serious relationship, over a year after Ben and I broke up. Wasn't I the one who everybody thought would be a great boyfriend?

I've gotten into this track of drinking, shopping around for random guys and then blowing them off (the way I've treated Julian, while mostly not-on-purpose, might be indicative), and just treating myself like shit. Exercise is a distant memory. This should be an exciting time of growth for me, and while I've been busy, it's felt more like I've been frantic to find distractions. From what?

Writing, I guess. And an inchoate list of things that has been trying to form in my brain. Even if I don't have that damned degree, I'm still college-educated, and damned smart and creative to boot. Do something, before you become just another barfly. I'm faced with some fairly clear choices, and up to now, I haven't been making very good ones. I've never been a planner, but let's see...

GOALS FOR THE NEXT BIT:

1. Talk, really talk, to Julian. Ask if anything serious might come. Ask yourself the same question. Maybe we'd be better off as friends.

2. Give work a chance this week. Keep looking. My future is not in managed health care.

[I turned the page just now and surprised myself. That it? This entry...depressing. It's 11:45 PM, September 18, 2000, and I'm thinking along a lot of the same lines as in November 1996. This exercise was supposed to be therapeutic, and...I dunno. My future isn't in commercial property management either.]

[Enough. Time to go to bed.]

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