“What the hell am I doing here?” I emailed a friend yesterday.
In context, this question was asked after I wrote this:
“I went out Monday night and drank waaaaaaay too much wine with a new friend 10 years my junior who can drink me under five tables (not too tough, since I am a three-glass limit kind of gal). I cheered on the Bengals, flirted outrageously, and now feel quite stupid.” That’s when I asked the what-the-hell question.
So, what the hell? What the hell.
One of those who regularly comments on this blog, Tinker, seems to feel it her responsibility to worry about me. And I am oddly comforted by this. In keeping with that, she also seems to know when I am teetering, when I am feeling terribly unsure, whether I write about that or not. As she did when she commented on my lame post from yesterday, saying I seemed to be feeling down.
Down? How about sideways. Upside down. And, yes, down. And sometimes, so up.
–I love my job, even as I maneuver through the two-month bell that signals the end of the honeymoon period.
–I miss D.C. I miss Mr. Restaurant Gal. I miss everything.
–I love my silly apartment and want to make it all mine with great furniture and pictures hung just so.
–I miss my ancient cat. I miss my comfortable too-big green couch. I miss Mr. Restaurant Gal.
–I love the idea of a warm winter. I love this area and the beach and the sultry air. I don’t want to leave it.
–I miss the leaves that will fall from the trees up north in a few weeks. I miss the the occasional chill in the air that signals fall.
–I love feeling like South Florida might be home. I love feeling like this could be a second home for me and Mr. Restaurant Gal, even when it is a first home for me.
–I miss my best girlfriends so much, I cannot bear it some days.
–I love the idea that I might be able to make it work here. I want to make work, my work, work out okay. Because I really like my job.
–I am upside down. And I don’t know which way is up.
What the hell.