February 19–May 19, 2005 — Skinned knees

I’ve been so jealous lately. Of everyone who seems so much better at things, at being with people. They seem so much more together. It’s in the way they dress, too. In the last year I’ve obsessed over that a lot more. But everything I do is too calculated, and it’s impossible to be calculating if you want to act naturally. Or at least it’s impossible for me.

Also, I think I finally have a proper nemesis. She’s very good at starting conversations with pretty girls while I’m talking to them, leaving me to walk away. Yesterday she told me she hated me in a joking tone when I apologized for bumping into her, but I saw through that.

Which I guess is enough for me to mark someone as my nemesis. It’s all part of being very self-involved.

People keep telling me how desperately I need to drink to smooth over these rough edges. Again tonight, even. Mostly I think I need to make the best of rough edges because they seem to be where I spend most of my time. But sometimes I think it’s probably not normal to have this much trouble talking to people or to dedicate so many days to reliving the bad parts. I read an article on depression the other day that asked why anyone would argue against curing it if we acknowledge it as a disease. It argued that we’ve created a mystique around what is just an illness. And I guess maybe it’s the same for me around people, maybe it’s social anxiety or whatever they call it in commercials for pills these days. But sometimes it seems like a made-up disease. Sometimes I think it’s important to be a bit anxious.

The other night I slept beside someone for the first time in almost a year, and I couldn’t stop shaking. She didn’t really seem to mind. At first it was just my arms, but then she put her hand on my chest and said, “Even your core is trembling.”

I don’t know why that happened.

It was also the first time in months that I’ve woken up to sunlight. Aside from the shaking it was a really good night. It was something I could get used to.

When I went home, the light above my desk burned out. I tried to change it, but the glass detached from the metal part. Then I cut my hand trying to get it out with pliers. I gave up, but I started to worry about accidentally turning the light back on and somehow causing a fire. So I used packing tape to tape the switch in the off position.

That was a few weeks ago, and I’m writing this in the dark.

The cut on my hand still hasn’t healed, either. I’ve been washing my hands really, really often lately, which doesn’t help. I don’t know what it is. I read something about keyboards harbouring disease, so now I get random urges throughout the day to wash my hands in the office washroom. I don’t close the door because I don’t want to touch the handle. At home I’ve switched to a soap that seems a bit less harsh; I’m hoping its mildness compensates for me washing my hands far more often than I should.

Yesterday I bought deodorant because it was on sale. It scanned in at $1.50 below the sale price. Today I went back and bought more deodorant, giddy at my eye for bargains.

And that’s me these days.