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Spurred on by the success of several friends and multiple recent conversations about needing to meet people I tried online dating.  Or I guess I should say I considered online dating.  I got as far as creating a user name on a dating site and looking through 15 pages of tiny thumbnail pics of guy in my age range near my zip code before I deleted my as yet uncreated profile and cried for an hour.

So either I’m not ready to start dating again, I’m suffering from worse social anxiety around meeting new people than I thought, or the potential dating pool in my area is really distressing.  No lie, the very first guy that looked halfway decent, clicking on his profile immediately produced “I have three cats” and “I really want kids.”  It’s like my own personal dating hell, unmarried 40ish guys desperate to procreate, fat guys who think they deserve a supermodel, self involved pseudointellectuals who are more interested in appearance than actual intelligence, and guys who seem convinced that their love of jesus will make you want them.  *shudder*  Yeah, I don’t think I’m interested in jumping back into the dating pool.

And here it is Friday night.  I haven’t called any of my friends to go out, or gotten dressed to go out on my own to a regular haunt.  Instead I’m sitting around in my underwear, in my too hot house, watching crappy straight to video romantic comedies and being irritated with myself for not working on any of the multiple creative projects I have strewn about, half done and languishing.

I’m fairly certain that my current wave of self loathing is brought by hormones and work being really stressful.  Sadly I was just discussing in detail how much my wild mood swings bother me earlier today.  It’s like I set myself up for it to happen.

Friday and I’m probably just going to finish writing this and go to bed.  I need to figure out how to make my weekend positive.  My plans were to go to the flea market with Hawthorn, then clean my house and go grocery shopping and finish a web project I promised a friend and hopefully work on something satisfyingly creative for myself.  But it appears the plans with Hawthorn have derailed (by the inclusion of his 18yo son and said son’s friends, which just seems like it would make the flea market awkward, tedious and really uncomfortable for me).  So that leaves me with chores, more chores, some other chores and hopes that I can pull it together to do something I enjoy. As a weekend prospect, that seems pathetic event o me, who would usually rather be left alone at home. And yet I am not at all motivated to try and make a new plan and get out and do something.

I spent part of the week mulling over how I felt after Cedar was here and how I felt while I was back home.  My conclusions were that I need to meet more people, socialize more, find some friends who share my interests (who aren’t Hawthorn).  I also decided that I feel like work is my secret identity.  It’s my Clark Kent costume of middle aged, practical, uncoolness.  It’s just that I seem to be that person all the time lately.  I need to unleash my inner superhero.  I need to dress up and go out and be awesome.  To remind other people how amazing I am and to display it enough to myself so that I don’t forget again. And yet here I find myself with 60 hours stretching in front of me, with which I can do anything I want and the best I can manage is pouting about the monkey wrench in the lame plans I had and going grocery shopping. As I said, unmotivated.

Maybe my expectations are too high?  I don’t want to waste my time going out because it won’t be worth it? Anxiety has something to do with it, but not as much as, uh, fear of failure, I guess? I need to go out and have fun in a low-key, stress-free, low expectation environment.  I’m not even sure how to do that.  Instead I’m going to sleep and hope the wild mood swing is in the POSITIVE position when I wake up.