Ugghs

Boo to this weekend. I told myself I'd get caught up on work, at least on telephone monitoring reports, but I did considerably less than I should have done, and I still feel fairly crappy about life. Here is what you need to know about telephone monitoring reports: Technically they need to be done, but no one will ever, ever read them. So I should just write some shit down, print and sign, repeat 250 times, and be done with it. But for some stupid reason I can't. I'm not saying I'm putting a lot of work into them, but I am putting some. Which means I finished 56 reports this weekend instead of 100. Which, actually, for me isn't all that bad. But I feel just as buried as I did last week, if not more so. And I don't know what I'm doing. I think my plan to move back to Ohio might just be running away, but if I was running away when I moved out here in the first place, does that mean the smart thing to do is to run back? Is there a smart thing to do? If I were smart, clearly I would know.

Paul wants to start a publishing company, and I am all about that idea. I don't even care if it's a bad idea, since technically it is not my idea and therefore I can throw myself behind it wholeheartedly without those little nagging voices telling me that all of my ideas are doomed to failure. I realized today that I still can't really drive a car like a normal person. Possibly I am just out of practice since I drive very rarely, but I was trying to drive to Ocean Beach and I suddenly became aware that I had made some wrong turns and it seemed like the best thing to do would be to pull over, leave the car, and throw myself under a bus. I didn't, mostly because it wasn't my car and because I have gotten explicit instructions from my mother that I am NOT to kill myself in a fit of crazy. But it did bother me. I was always a nervous driver, but the "I am too dysfunctional to operate a motor vehicle, therefore I should kill myself" thing didn't really start until after college. I thought the SSRIs had mostly beaten it into submission, but apparently it's still there. I'm being stupid. I'm sure that I won't actually kill myself; I'm barely even depressed, but for some reason my brain always snaps to that, like, "Well, this isn't working -- what are my other options again? I can't think of any. Let's end it!" What am I, 14?

In other, other news -- this sociopathic drug addict I used to date seems to have gotten married. So there's someone out there for everyone. Actually, he claimed not to be a sociopath, but, as I pointed out, that's exactly what a sociopath would say. Of course the fact that someone who doesn't seem like a trainwreck married him makes me wonder if he suddenly stopped being awful shortly after we broke up. That would be my luck. Anyway, this fucks with my whole idea of relationship karma because I would have thought he'd be single for at least 17 years after the shit he put me through. But he's not. So, I'm going to start emotionally abusing people and see if I might be able to get hitched by 2010. Oh, who am I kidding?

Damnit, I need to start writing a book. Somebody give me something to work with, will you?