A Sense of Routine in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

So discombobulated every time I leave for a few days. Could that be the root of my issues? That I have no roots? No sense of solid ground? If I really sat down and thought about it, I’d know that I find some kind of comfort in routine. Sure, I love the excitement and the travel and the random stranger…but where is it getting me? Am I making any progress?

I feel like I’m just gathering pieces of stories. Snippets. Things that just don’t seem to come together to create much of anything. I’m frustrated and feel like I’m supposed to be putting the pieces together into some kind of big picture. But the puzzle pieces all come from different boxes, so perhaps they sort of fit together in a funny way…only because I force them to.

And I always have that nagging feeling that any moment, all this will be ripped out from under me and I will be left with nothing. Why can’t I just enjoy? I suppose this feeling comes with the territory, eh? This is the price I pay for snagging what most consider a dream job—I find ways to sabotage myself. I need to stop this shit and adhere to the ‘fake it till you make it’ strategy. It’s not really that. I can do it, I can. Also, I’m damn good at what I do. I know this. It that damn self doubt…plus a rumor mill run amok. Not a good combo.

Meanwhile, still no routine. I think I must fake this as well. Or at least, do the best I can. In other words, get back into the swing of going to the gym, take classes, join more organizations (so you miss a meeting or a class here and there, it happens), etc.

I guess what I’m saying is that I can no longer put my life on hold because of my work. Other people do it just fine. Why can’t I?

So I’m starting by going back to the gym. I’d let my membership lapse at the place close to the office. It was one of those meathead gyms, and though I liked one of the classes, I was only going once a week for the last several months, and that just wasn’t enough. It shows. I’m horrified by my flabby bod. I hate being uncomfortable in my skin, and though I know I will never be 100% satisfied, I know that things should be…well, tighter (and not my clothes, neither!).

Went to the new gym that’s close to my place. I’d been there before to check out an art opening. Yes, this is a combination gym and art gallery. I know what you’re thinking, very pretentious. And yeah, sorta. But that’s not the point. The point is that it’s two blocks from my pad and it’s a 24-hour gym. It’s a small independent place. The owner is cool. I dig the people there (hip, friendly, mostly gay). It’s got the coolest interior/atmosphere. And most of all, I think I will actually GO.

Went to a faux-yoga class on Monday night and I really liked it. It was a combination of yoga, pilates, and some other shit. It became painfully clear that I’m not used to all of those moves when my toes curled up like little monkey feet fists as they cramped over and over. I had to stop about four times, and I’m sure the hottie boys in the back were whispering and giggling behind my back. But I didn’t care, because by the end of class, I could once again wrap myself into a stretchy, limber pretzel.

I still got it! I know it’s in there. I just need to get it out a lot more often.

And what else? I went out with the guy I met at the Apprentice call-backs on Saturday night. We’re practically neighbors, and he invited me to come over and see his new place and then hang out with some of his buddies at a bar. Got hammered and started ranting about all kinds of shit—mostly my lack of a sense of stability. How embarrassing. But he was really nice about it and even offered to let me spend the night at his place. I refused because I wanted to kiss him so badly at that point, and we all know where that would have gotten me.

So I’m setting him up with Julie, my nabe from the old place. I actually worked some matchmaking magic, and have set something up for tomorrow night (a little cinqo celebration, perhaps?). I’m so proud of myself! I really hope they like each other, because I like the both of them, and I hate Julie’s on-again, off-again boy. He’s an abusive ass, as in mind-fuck. And hoo boy, do I understand how hard it is to get out of the mind-fuck situation.

Speaking of, I’m still avoiding LDL. I haven’t told him that I’m not coming to visit him for the 4th of July because I’m too scared of what his reaction will be. See? The mind-fuck will always be around if you let it seep back into your little brain. I’m feeling guilty for not nipping myself in the bud when I found myself back in touch with him. E-mailing. Calling. And worst of all, visiting. I do get lonely, but that’s just ridiculous. I hate that I’m still, STILL scared of him after all these years. Man, he has such power. He does this from several states away. What’s wrong with me?

On a lighter, more stable note, it sounds like there are lots of great things going on here this weekend, and I’ll actually (miraculously!) be in town and in the right frame of mind for them. Jen and I are already planning on the gallery openings and parties on Friday night. And something else is going on Saturday, but I can’t think of what right now.

I should go. I’m still at the office and I need to be getting ready for a big meeting I’ve set up for Friday. Just wanted to click this out before I dug into that mess.

I actually feel good after writing this. Kinda like a human again.