I have come to the startling conclusion that I am really fucking boring. *blinks* Shit.
I'm gonna try to keep this short as I really should be trying to do the job hunt thing.
It's weird. I went looking for sites about job search anxiety and found an entire message board of people just like me. They did/do the same thing as me, which is to put off situations that spike their anxiety levels. Apparently there's a name for this -- Social Anxiety Disorder.
Naturally, my brain's response is not "Oh good, I'm not alone -- how do I join this board?" but "Oh God, not another mental diagnosis!" Sigh. Yes. Fuck.
We'll ignore for now the fact that I'm doing well just to be awake during daylight hours, having managed to sleep during nighttime. Yay me, and nobody cares. I damned well better get some birthday greetings from *somebody* Monday, if not before, or I'm going to lay my forehead against the wall and just stare until the wall does something interesting.
I've already realized that I don't want to apply to certain places -- well, most places. The grocery I visit almost every day to buy bread, milk, or something is "safe". The other, larger grocery in town is not "safe" (although I have other reasons for not applying there; I have a history with that chain that would work against me, and I do mean WORK AGAINST me).
As I was telling Sin the other day, "It's like I have not a brain, but two brain halves. One half is a little girl that just wants to go home to mommy and have her make everything better and take care of me. The other is the bitch that says 'I'll just sign the damn lease, loser, and then you'll HAVE to get a job or be thoroughly screwed! Hah!'"
If I add another diagnosis to my list of "How Ree's Brain Is Stupid" within the next month, I am going to through my hands in the air and just sign my life into the care of the local looney bin. Which reminds me -- I need to reschedule a missed counseling session. Hopefully not for Monday, ack -- I reserve my right as a nearly 22-year-old adult to get thoroughly plotzed in the privacy of my own home if I so wish. Getting slightly buzzed off alcohol is kinda fun, I've found, though most such drinks make my tongue want to curl up and fall out. Ugh.
Anyway, must make that call during business hours.
(As for the entry title -- blame Pink Floyd for The Wall and "One Of My Turns".)