Wednesday already?

I'm too tired to blog.
I am in desperate need of a life off.

I'm just.
Grrrr.

I want to be happy about the good things in my life. Because being sad about the bad things feels like I'm being disrespectful to the good. Isn't that silly? Like being sad means I'm never happy or grateful. But it feels that way. One emotion at a time, ma'am. Please check your emotional baggage here.

For the record, I have a fabulous husband, great friends, wonderful sisters, an awesome apartment (I'm, like, totally running out of hyperbolic and vaguely juvenile ways to say "good".). But.

I want. A house. A dog. A new car. More friends. Less fat. A baby.
And every day that passes makes me feel just that much more inferior. Yeah, that's right. Inferior.

I don't like feeling not good enough. It reminds me of 7th all over again. Those days where I'd cry on the swings because the cool kids didn't like me enough. I thought they hated me. At the time I was downright convinced of it. In hindsight, perhaps I was overreacting just a tad. I was young, and I didn't understand that just because someone didn't want to be your friend, didn't mean they didn't like you. I simply means they don't like you enough. I've learned that as I've gotten older. I know, sad and depressing, huh? But lately I've just felt that way. Like I'm not enough. Damn those karma points. I can see them getting sucked into the tumbleweeds of my life. Perhaps I should trade the Xanax for some Prozac. Think that would mix well with my coffee (which I cannot have).

For the record, I'm not depressed. Even though I sound a tad like Sylvia Plath on lithium right now. I just want more. And I don't know how to get more. So when you want a new job, you interview for, and get a new job. Done. When you want a new car, you go to the lot and pick out a new car. I want a new cell phone, so tomorrow, I will take my tiny little butt (hey, something on me has to be tiny. I have the whitest-white girl ass around. Flat as a pancake.) to the AT&T store and get a new phone. Complete with a brand new 2-year contract.

Can you believe I actually ran my previous contract to the end? Craziness, right? For realsies. I've never been that committed to anything. Well, besides the HG. But he doesn't count. I couldn't be married to anyone but him, so it's not commitment so much as karmic requirement. That was my second contract in a row. I think the only thing I've dated longer is the HG. I'm not sure who I love more. I mean, I love the HG. But I need my phone like I need oxygen. What would my poor thumbs do with their time if I couldn't text?

I once read a post on a message board I frequent on occasion asking people how much they texted. The responses varied greatly, but one theme was constant. The people who didn't text much, if any, always qualified their responses with "But I'm 30x year's old....". Um. Ok. So either you lost brain cells at 30, or you're implying that texting is a juvenile activity. Yeah. Bitches. But my point is more that people my age don't seem to be so much with the texting. Except my friends. Who admittedly don't text me as much as I text them. Hmmm...perhaps it is me.

Is it wrong that I hate talking on the phone? It always feels like a first date. And, oh dear Lord, how do I not miss those. I do sometimes miss the giddiness of a new relationship and as twisted as it might be, I think I might miss the whole "he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not" game. And I can play that game with anything. "Ok, if that stop light turns green before this song is over, he totally loves me." "If I can hold my breath for 45 seconds without gasping for air, he loves me." "If I see a cop on the way home, he loves me." Hey, I never said it was an effective game. But tell me you've never played it. But as far as first dates go, I can leave those, thank you very much. All that "what should I wear? And what if he somehow totally forgot what I look like and is expecting a super model to show up? OMG, what if I totally misinterpreted his invitation and he'll be there with his girlfriend? And is that ironic or not?" Yeah, I'm good. And phone calls can be like that for me.

Well, more specifically, getting off the phone is like the end of the first date. Are we going to kiss? Hug? Say we should do it again sometime? What's the protocol? And what if I accidentally say "I love you" to someone I don't love? Like the AT&T sales person I spoke to earlier tonight. She was super friendly and gave me fantastic service (Coming from me, this is the highest form of praise. I hate customer service phone reps. I'm sorry, no offense if you are one. I'm sure you're lovely. Just don't take my calls. I'm pure venom. I regularly lose karma points for this. I'm ok with that.) but despite having told her I love her, I'm pretty sure I don't. How can I love someone I've never even seen a picture of? Don't be ridiculous. So that's why I text.

So I want a new phone. And I will go get a new phone. As an anniversary gift. Yeah, we're the romantic types here in the Bitter household. Last year I got a Dyson and the HG got a PSP and Nintendo DS. We may not be romantic, but we certainly are big dorks. Good thing we're already married...finding mates for us would not be easy.

But I can only fix certain things. Easy things. What about the hard things? How do I fix those? I don't like how I feel about not being able to fix these things. I know, I know. Everybody has things in life they want to fix, change, improve. I know I'm not alone in that. I get that my feelings of inadequacy are not exclusive to me. But, like focusing on the good, that does not make me feel any better.

And so the quest for perfection continues. I swear, I am the worst perfectionist on the face of the earth. I want to be perfect. I'm just too lazy for it. That's what it all comes down to. I feel like my failures (or perceived failures) are my own fault. That I didn't do something right or if I did it right, I didn't do it right enough for long enough. I never feel as though I've done enough.

I feel like infertility is my fault. Actually, I know it's my fault. My particular form of infertility is caused by scar tissue that develops from an infection. Guess how you get those infections? I'll give you hint: you won't find it in a G rated movie. So Ok, I should have taken better care of myself when I was 19. But I didn't. So I put myself in this situation. Do you have any idea how much that freaking sucks? Especially since I was in, what I thought at least, was a monogamous relationship. I really thought he was "the one". Unfortunately, we broke up over a communication failure. He thought it was Ok to sleep with other women. I thought it wasn't OK. We just couldn't come to an agreement on that.

It's the same story with weight loss. Last I checked, I wasn't strapped to a chair and force-fed by a sadistic killer (Seven was a good flick. Creepy. But good. I learned at least one lesson from that movie: never open a box delivered to you in the middle of the desert. I promise you won't want what's in it.). No, I didn't get a secret starring role in any movies. I ate every ding dong, pizza slice, and french fry all by myself, thank you very much. I am quite the accomplished eater. I could give lessons.

No, my downfalls and the things that make me sad are all my own fault. So I guess if I did them to myself, I can figure out a way to undo them, too.

Hmmmm....
See? I totally don't need prozac. Pollyanna strikes again!

What I do need is some sleep. I'm way too tired to be blogging tonight.
Clearly.