I find that I have things to say, often, but I never say them. It's easier not to, not because they're hurtful (although, sometimes they are), or because they're hard to say or hear, but because I can't find the break in conversation. I never know when to step in. So, instead of stepping on someone else's words or not being heard (which, if you ask me, is one of the worst feelings invented), or having to repeat myself half as eloquently as I'd said just two seconds ago, I hold my breath and wait for the moment, the spark in my brain, to pass.

I'm being hit on at work. I hate it for a variety of reasons. First, I am not attracted to this man at all, because among other things, the first thing he said to me was, "Are you easily offended?" I made the mistake of not standing my ground and saying, "Yes, I can be offended, and I'm not going to readily open myself to the opportunity." Instead, I gave my best trying-to-fit-in smile and said, "I don't know." He assumed this was an open invitation to make dirty jokes and give me panther-growls randomly throughout my shift. It's disturbing and I have no idea of how to stop it because of aforementioned issue with communicated effectively with others.

Secondly, it's a reminder that I am not being hit on by other, more suitable men. And I haven't ever been, that I'm aware of. Which is another problem. I'm not aware of men. I'm not really aware of anyone, in relation to myself. I sit in my head, behind a desk, thinking and distancing myself and making snap judgements, and it's hard to relate the horrible things the person behind my desk is saying to the person in front of me, because I don't want to be cruel. I don't want to be cruel. It's just there, in my head, this horrible person who hates everyone and everything.

Thirdly, I can't handle it. I can't appropriately make him stop. Instead, I smile, give a very small laugh and go about my business. I'm afraid this isn't the right thing to do -- that I'm encouraging him -- but since I have this torrent of mean things being repeated inside my brain, I can't find some middle ground. I can't yell at him, because I don't want to be thought of as being mean. It's just. Frustrating. And I go into work feeling nervous the entire time that he might talk to me. It's unfair.

Fourthly, I'm quitting in three weeks anyway. I don't want to get him in trouble if I'm going to leave shortly after. You see, I'm going back to school. I'm going to get that ridiculous English degree. I'm moving to Jacksonville, FL, after being so gleeful to leave, because it's the easiest option available to me. To move to a town I know, where I have a few friends, and a few relatives. To get the degree I do not want, but must have. One year. One year. Countdown.


On a slightly less depressing note, as inspired by riseoverrun whose choices were infinitely cooler than mine, I too have made a ( 25 favorite albums meme )