Talking to myself.

If this were the beginning, how would I introduce myself?

Hello, and welcome to the show known as my life. This journal functions as a sort of "Doogie Howser," end-of-the-episode commentary, except it sometimes makes less sense than Doogie's did. I don't have any one story to tell. And if I could or if I believed that I could tell a story effectively, I believe I'd be considered good at it. But, as of yet, I've not been able to tell any one story, not even my own. There are layers upon layers of me, and I talk about different layers pretty much every day. I sometimes think that no one will ever get me or want to get me, and that scares me. But then, I comfort myself by realizing that some friends already do see me for who I am, and that gives me hope.

So then, this is like some sort of "Sex and the City" thing, what with the themes and the writing and the how-I-cope-with-modern-personalities-and-romance schtick.

I don't think it's schtick. It's funny sometimes. Sometimes, in the case of some of these essays, it's pointless or depressing. I don't really write so much about other people's lives, and I guess mine is interesting enough, even when nothing happens. I wish this were more about romance. I wish I knew more about dating. I wish I knew how to stop the comedy when it comes to my own dating life sometimes. And sometimes I find it comforting that I can, when it's bad, find something to laugh about.

Why are you writing this in the middle of the night?

Because my mind goes screwy in the middle of the night when I've had more caffiene than anti-depressants, and I have ideas that just pop into my head, making me curious about the potential for these ideas. So I write them down and see where they go. And soon a half-hour of writing here becomes two hours, and I realize that I have to work in the morning and haven't yet gone to bed, even though my eyelids were heavy when I started writing this.

Where did you see yourself in five years five years ago?

Four years ago, I interviewed with the bookstore, and I told them that, within five years, I wanted to have a book on their shelves and time to focus and work on it. Though I've tried and failed to find "my medium," mostly because I was either too busy or too lazy to realize that it wouldn't just happen and that I had to work at it, the closest I've come to writing a book is working on this blog, which I guess is longer than a book at this point.

When it comes to my professional life, I think I'm a failure because I don't really like the work that I do and know that I should find something else. Yet I'm still a little bit scared to try and do something I might enjoy more or be better at. And I feel comfortable enough where I am to sit sedately in a cube for months on end, doing a not-good-yet-not-bad job. At this point, I think I'm qualified to do absolutely nothing. My copy editing skills are out of date, and I hated the hours at that job anyway. My reporting skills, though still good, are also only as good as the next kid just out of journalism school, and I make more money now than I did as a reporter, anyway. And now I get to live in Atlanta, as opposed to Augusta.

And I do date more now than I did then. But I haven't really had a boyfriend since Augusta five years ago. But I didn't really like the boyfriend I had when I was in Augusta. So there's that, whatever that is.

What are your goals in your personal and romantic life?

I don't know. I really don't know. I'm here typing this partly because I realized that I haven't had good sex, really, since April 1996. It's been THAT LONG since I felt comfortable with a guy, that long since I enjoyed a guy or enjoyed who I was with a guy. I have the weird, haunting feeling that I'd be bad in bed now, were I to actuallly have sex again. Weirder feelings involve that I feel like I've never really been good at sex, except when I felt comfortable with the people I was having sex with. And that happened maybe with two people ever. Maybe that's why I don't have sex now. Maybe that's why my brain and my body disagree about the sort of guys I should be having sex with. Maybe my time is yet-to-come. Maybe I'm supposed to learn more, get lessons or something. Maybe everybody has these feelings, and it's just insecurity. Maybe I need to feel comfortable with someone again.

Maybe it has to do with romance, comfort, familiarity, joy, celebration and truly wanting to do something to make someone else happy. Maybe it bugs me that sex has for too long meant nothing to me or not enough to me. Maybe I should have more sex or less sex. Maybe I should have relationships. Or work my way through life with the friendships I have, hoping to learn from them.

Or maybe I'm goddamn great in bed, and I've just been with some lousy damn people.

Maybe my past and my present add up in just such a way that this is where I'm supposed to be and how I'm supposed to feel right now.

Life isn't through handing me experiences to learn from, and maybe I just need to risk and challenge more to grow into who I am.

Maybe that will involve someone else. Someone who wants to be there. Maybe it doesn't.

Maybe I just need to be happier. Or just wait. Or just work on myself some more. Or concentrate on myself less. Or work on myself some more while concentrating on myself less, if that makes any sense. (OK, that sounds schizo.)

I can't think about it less. I process. I'm a processor. I get anxious while processing. I want to be in control. I can't be in control.

OK, you just sounded "Sex and the City" there, until the part where your writing disintegrated into psychobabble jibberish.

Yeah, except "Sex and the City" had a coherent theme-per-episode. In the episodes of my life lately, there is no sense.

Since I've come back from London, and I know I keep talking about how great London was, I feel like I'm sleepwalking through things here. My own humdrum life annoys the ever-loving-hell out of me.

I want stuff that's different, like days at the park, moments with new friends ... I want time with people who know me as someone with potential, not look at me like I'm someone stuck in the same place.

Why is it, I guess, that it'd be easier for me to change my attitude if everyone else changes their attitude about me first? Waiting for that seems like a way to misplace some of the blame once you've failed.

Because then you'd have to take risks.

And I'd have to take more charge of my own life. And I'd have to defy expectations.

And that's scary as hell.

Life doesn't neatly fit into episodes.

It can. If you think about it in terms of conflicts resolved, lessons learned and commonality-of-situations, there are beginnings and endings in "episodes" of life. If you think about it like that, it feels more like a set pattern than random chaos.

Still, you're growing and progressing and moving forward.

So now that you've decided you want to move in another direction with your life, which direction do you choose?

I don't know.