The last time I posted on here was on April 28th. I blogged about hamster races, of all things. A few things have happened since then.
I turned twenty-five. That's right, I'm now a quarter-century old. I had my little temper tantrum about it - refused to talk about it, refused to acknowledge that it was even happening. I didn't want anything to do with it. And yet...it happened, and it wasn't the end of the world. I guess I just figured I'd be farther along than I am when I reached this age. I figured that I'd have my own place, I'd have some big job that would be emotionally satisfying and, more importantly, that would matter.
Instead, I fell into the majority group of americans who are just trying to make ends meet with a job that they're overqualified for.
In the same vein, I got a job offer from another pet store. I took it - I start at the end of this month as a manager. It's not much, but it's a step up from where I'm at now and it pays more. Much more. I'd be a fool not to take it, so I will. I'm hoping it will beef up my resume - I'm told that management positions always look good.
Pookie and I fought. We waged a Cold War on one another, never outrightly fighting but rather passive-aggressively attacking each other until our nerves were frayed like the ends of two opposing wires. After three weeks of snapping at each other, we both broke down. We're working on getting back to where we were - but it's going to take work. And I'm going to have to open up, emotionally speaking.
I don't do well with talking about feelings. I never have. It's like some sort of block happens in my throat, and I just can't get the words out. Instead I usually wind up sputtering some sort of choked garbling sound. I'd rather not talk about the things that haunt my mind - it's so much easier if I don't.
Easier, that is, until I have a complete and utter break-down. It's not pretty.
So that's where I'm at.