The "something" that happened over the weekend, the thing I keep referring to but not going into, has gotten somewhat better. And, as a result, my mood about it has improved, as well. Watching "Sports Night" DVDs last night after "Gilmore Girls" helped sustain my good mood, but afterward I spoke like some sort of stuck-on-himself scholar. There were non-sequitirs aplenty.
Last night, I chatted online with someone I knew in college who apparently stumbled upon the blog one day and started reading me without my knowledge. (I always assume that only six people or so read this thing, and I know all of them.) I asked him if there was anything I needed to be embarrassed about, and he said he didn't think so.
This weekend, I started trying to change my outlook on things. Though I've spent years of therapy trying to do this already, someone came along and told me that there was more work I needed to do to improve myself. I thanked them for the advice, which came in the form of an e-mail littered with angry four-letter-words, and told him that I would work on myself and my apparent melodramatic, overly critical, self-centered bitchiness. (Those words have been ringing in my head ever since that e-mail.)
But I think the e-mail that was sent marked an end in the life that I'm living, and now I'm supposed to go in a different direction as a result of it. I just don't know where to go.
How many of my sentences begin with "I"? How many of my stories are about myself? Are single people - without dependents - allowed to be more concerned with themselves than others? Am I worse at it than anyone else?
Last night, I spoke to someone who was having a real problem, and I tried to listen to her. Her problems were much worse than my petty concerns, and I think I helped her, which helped me. (Does that make the act or one of my motives behind it selfish?)
I'm confused. And I'm thinking too much. And I've been listening to too much Aimee Mann.
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