what terrifies me right now is how hopeless i feel.
how little agency i have (or how much agency i have given up).
how unhappy i feel, and how much i wish someone would
reach down inside of me
stretch the muscles that make me smile.

my ghosts always come back to haunt me.

i'll never understand why i wasn't successful.  where i went wrong.  

some things never make sense.

i wonder if all the times don draper came home after a 12 whiskey-on-the-rocks work day and fucked betty like she was a blow up doll, if she just wished he would collapse into bed, push her hair back from her face, and kiss her forehead.  

betty draper is, in my opinion, the epitome of sexual frustration.  she has sex, yes, but it's never the kind of sex that she wants.  you can see the frustration in the way she smokes a cigarette with breakfast, and snaps at her children, and indulges the flirtation of other men.

"in bed, i chew my fingernails, and spit half moon slivers onto the carpet..."  i used to write about sexual frustration.  about a woman taking a man's virginity.  as if i could somehow, through my writing, undo what had been done.  i experimented and played.  i was patient.  i wanted.  and now, i'm being fulfilled, but i'm still restless, and i'm not writing, so i feel bottled up and shaken, ready to explode, bubbles coming from my eyes.

i feel like betty draper and i want to smoke a cigarette in bed, and lament the state of things, and put curlers in my hair.  it's too short for curlers.  i haven't any cigarettes.  

sunday,  i'm leaving for southern california with J.  i will take lots of pictures, and eat new food, and meet family members, and everything will be exciting.  i'm hoping for some kind of awakening in me, some shaking off of this stagnation that i've been feeling.  that feeling will be, in part, abated by this long needed spring break.  i tire of my job and i need the open road, and J's hand in mine, to put my mind at ease.

betty didn't show up in the season premiere last week, so i'm guessing she's a shitty character to feel like. gotta switch things up a bit.

I miss J so damn much!  hurr derp, i'm a taken woman.

my whole body feels oversized and clumsy.  two left feet, an aching stomach, hands that fumble over everything i touch.  i look in the mirror and sigh - my face is haggard, and tired, and old.

i want to take a sick day because i'm so sad, i can barely open my mouth.  i want to lay on my back and sink into my bed and cry until there is nothing left of me but a a puddle of salt water on the sheets.

but knowing me, and the apathetic turn my sadness tends to take, i'd just sit and stare at the wall until my eyes start to burn because i've forgotten how to blink.

so here are the things that i'm doing instead of working:

1. i'm drinking a pear cider at delta and enjoying the sunshine.

2. i'm worrying about my nonexistent resume, and how there's a recruitment for the Napa/Sonoma school district coming up in April, and i'm not nearly prepared for the job hunt.

3. i'm thinking about the 63 tests i need to grade over the weekend.

4. i'm avoiding PACT like the plague because i don't want to watch a video of myself teaching and listen to, over and over again, the way i slur my words when i speak.

5.  i'm feeling tired, and embarrassed over a number of things.  mainly my work performance.  i know i'm not living up to my potential.  

6.  i'm wishing i was in a creative writing MA program instead of the credential program.  experiencing major regrets.  i need to be reinvigorated.  

No matter what I do, it's never fucking enough.

Funny how that works, ain't it?