I'm listening to Julie Doiron right now.

I'm completely fucking drunk. I don't think I have anything specifically to say about women, right now. Currently I can't recall why I decided I ought to log into this blog o' mine. I'm having a very, very bad night. I have aprox. zero free time these days because I'm always at work or commuting. Even if I could afford a car, I don't have time to look for one. I'm thinking San Diego ain't the right city for me. The public transportation here is less than a joke and my jobs are stupid and if I quit I'd be replaced in a week tops. Pretty cool how I can type well even when I'm this drunk huh? The spell check thing on Google chrome will do that. A friend posted like a week ago that she turned down a $14 an hour job because they didn't offer her enough hours. This is all on facebook. Another friend turned 30 today and she had a party and had all manner of people posting on her wall and it's nice. I'm turning 30 next October. I have precious few months to become an accomplished adult, and let's face it, my life hasn't promised amazing results up to this point. I've noticed a significant improvement to my emotional well-being when I don't have easy access to facebook. Unfortunately, at one of my current jobs I have several hours with a computer in front of me and nothing to do and I don't know how to stop. Facebook is my kryptonite. Psyche! Life is my kryptonite. Julia Serano is definitely, definitely a woman who I've had no end of esteem for. She once wrote that one of the things she noticed when she was taking estrogen was that she noticed her emotions became more instantly, unavoidably available. She couldn't push them to the back like she could before. I recall this because one of the big reasons I'm not crying in giant, ugly sobs into my pillow is because I don't want to wake my roommate. And when I cry, it's always ugly. That's the sort of tears I cry. Everyone else cries in conventionally attracitve ways and my tears are giant fucking Lena Dunham tears that blubber and let the whole world know. I learned that when I was living in the dorms and Rene Stephens (of Fulcrum records fame) first introduced me to Julie Dorion. God, that was almost 10 years ago. What would I do without her? There are things about my life, about this evening, that I'm not sure how to confess to. Even though embarrassment keeps me from holding back tears there are some subjects that I can't yet confess to. That either sounds really endearing or really unsettling. Perhaps both. Now i'm tempted to list all the things that i'm NOT talking about. That would be silly and over indulgent. To that end, let me just say that I have ways of dealing with my own challenges that are proscribed for people of my sex, gender, age, class, and other shit like that. I'm almost positive I'm going to regret posting this once I'm sober. Keep it covered up Charles! Don't want the world not thinking you're a casual fun dude. Won't get laid ever as a dysthymic train wreck. Gotta make sure you're Mister Well Adjusted. Besides, who can afford therapy, either time wise or money wise. I know that the only reason I'm posting this is because I'm desperate for help and I can't find it. I'm at an age when old people tell me I'm young and young people tell me I'm old. Or even if they don't tell me they make me feel old by asking who Kurt Cobain is. I wish I knew how to solve my life. I wish I knew how to answer the questions I began asking when I was about 7-years-old. The older I get, the harder it is to know I have no answer for them. I still can't remember what or who inspired me to open my blogspot that has become sorely neglected ever since I moved to San Diego. Well, I was free from medication and legitimately enjoying life for almost a full year. That's something to compel me to be more positive (but I must confess at present it's not working). Jesus, I'm tired of typing. I'm done for tonight. Time to kill this handle and pass out.