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A Good Day
Posted by
jojin
,
22 June 2012
·
199 views
I actually had a good day today.
This morning I tidied up my room and did some laundry and then spent a good five hours with my friend. I talked about him in a post about a week ago. He's the autistic boy that's become infatuated with me (I'm not bragging or just saying that either. He's said it more than once. We've both agreed to be friends).
We went to a French bakery and talked about how we grew up and our families. Well, I did a good bulk of that talking. He's a good listener. I mostly talked about everything that's bothering me and my job and my student loans, but we did have some light hearted conversation.
After the bakery we went to a thrift store. It's hard to describe being around him. I'm certain now that we could never be a couple (I'd hate to destroy his childlike innocence with all of my scorn). He's enthused by everything and inspired by everyone.
In someways, I wish I was more like him; enthusiastic and, awkwardly, able make convesation with strangers.
Being back at this house is where my anxiety returns; A: it's messy. I'm not a neat freak, but clutter makes my anxiety worse and that laundry room is a nightmare! Clothes everywhere! B: I have most nothing in common with anyone here. They're all extroverts. The husband here is an artist, so we have that in common. C: I get trapped upstairs. It's very easy to get upstairs and hide in my room, especially when company over. Sometimes I stay upstairs for hours, all day even.
The scars on my arm from the night I self-harmed haven't gone yet. I just don't want anyone to ask about them.
I have to got to work tomorrow. It's just for a few hours, but either way I don't want to go. I just hate to walk there. The bus to the park doesn't run on the weekends:(
This morning I tidied up my room and did some laundry and then spent a good five hours with my friend. I talked about him in a post about a week ago. He's the autistic boy that's become infatuated with me (I'm not bragging or just saying that either. He's said it more than once. We've both agreed to be friends).
We went to a French bakery and talked about how we grew up and our families. Well, I did a good bulk of that talking. He's a good listener. I mostly talked about everything that's bothering me and my job and my student loans, but we did have some light hearted conversation.
After the bakery we went to a thrift store. It's hard to describe being around him. I'm certain now that we could never be a couple (I'd hate to destroy his childlike innocence with all of my scorn). He's enthused by everything and inspired by everyone.
In someways, I wish I was more like him; enthusiastic and, awkwardly, able make convesation with strangers.
Being back at this house is where my anxiety returns; A: it's messy. I'm not a neat freak, but clutter makes my anxiety worse and that laundry room is a nightmare! Clothes everywhere! B: I have most nothing in common with anyone here. They're all extroverts. The husband here is an artist, so we have that in common. C: I get trapped upstairs. It's very easy to get upstairs and hide in my room, especially when company over. Sometimes I stay upstairs for hours, all day even.
The scars on my arm from the night I self-harmed haven't gone yet. I just don't want anyone to ask about them.
I have to got to work tomorrow. It's just for a few hours, but either way I don't want to go. I just hate to walk there. The bus to the park doesn't run on the weekends:(
