And it is days like today that reinforce the part of me that wants to give up on people. I keep looking for the best. I keep hoping. (All while safely keeping my distance, of course.) And I keep getting disappointed.
I just want someone to prove me wrong. Someone who is consistently there. Someone who always is who they are, faults and all. They don't take on different personalities depending on the day. They don't up and disappear for various periods of time. They don't pay attention and then ignore me and then pay attention again. The rules are always the same: this is what I give and get from you, this is what you give and get from me.
But then I'm not even that person. How can I ask for that when I haven't even done that? My dear Ashley puts up with me even when I don't call her for a month. And she has hung on even though I'm not even the same Sarah Jo I used to be.
I'm just complaining because I'm hurt and disappointed and worried and I don't know what to do. And I hate feeling this way. And I don't know how many times I can forgive and move on. Or how many times I should. And I don't know how to compartmentalize this so that I don't start treating other people with unnecessary caution.
A phone call from a friend really can make a difference in a bad day. Even a short call.
My customers keep making positive comments about my cheerful disposition.
Some obscure relative gave us perks at the haunted place tonight.
I now have groceries.
I got to talk weight loss and air force talk with a guy tonight.
I played beer pong for the first time. Minus the part where I drink the beer. Gross.
Tomorrow I get to see my friends.
Kiersten liked me today.
I made a smoothie at my house today. It was delicious.
I got my hugs today.
I'll be going to Orlando soon.
Honestly, I wanted to be somewhere else tonight. With someone else.
Now here's that hole again.
I talked so much yesterday that my throat still hasn't recovered and I didn't even get to say anything I wanted to say. I just repeated the same crap over and over again.
My brother and Amber are at the house again. With Ambers sister. And her three children. And that more than doubles the number of people smoking in the house. And they are dirty and loud. I loathe strange children and cigarette smoke.
I hate that I seem to measure my happiness by the status of my most important relationships. And that so few become part of the "most important" category.
Maybe I didn't get enough hugs. There is something to be said for physical contact. Someone come sit next to me and hold my hand and tell me that it will all be okay, even if you have to lie.