Not So Sure Anymore...
...that I made the right choice in coming back to California.
It's taken only a few weeks to lose all the positive momentum I had after I got my new place. A little longer after that and I was back to old patterns and habits. Not just the cruising-on-Craigslist, but also indulging in commercial providers. Which I've been forcing myself to abstain from for simple reason of budget. But still, I look and consider.
My friend back in Denver pointed out that even if I'd taken the job in London, I might very well be just as depressed there as I am here, maybe even for similar reasons. But last night, laying awake trying to fall asleep, something dawned on me: at least, had I gone to London, I could say that I did something. I tried, I took steps to make a major change in my life. It might not have worked out like I thought it would, but at least I would have had the assurance of having tried. Instead, I look around my apartment, around the bay area, and think to myself: "Didn't get far, did you? Moved 8 miles, into a smaller apartment. Well played."
Saturday night, I went up to San Francisco for Perverts Put Out. As used to be the case, convincing myself to dress nicely and leave the apartment was akin to pulling teeth. The event was stunning; I'll need to do a separate post just about it alone. Of course, once there, I was enjoying myself. But eventually it was over, and I had another Saturday night to go home alone. It was so tempting to go somewhere cruise-y like Blow Buddies or Divas. But I'd spent all the persuasion I could muster just getting myself out of the house. It was the first time I've been back to SF since moving back here last month (actually, the second-- the actual first was for the memorial service for a friend's mother, thus my mind was otherwise occupied that afternoon).
I haven't made any effort to revisit my "Craigslist experiment". There's a lot to be said for quick, no-strings gratification. But just because I'm an addict doesn't mean I don't feel any emotional needs or impulses (the lack of emotional expression comes from the Asperger's, not the addictive nature). OK, that was a weak joke. I don't intuitively form those sorts of connections like others do, but I still crave them. And the CL route was just teasing the appetite, not appeasing it. To make matters worse, there's fuck-all to choose from in terms of independent video stores in my general area (that is to say, those that are not Blockbuster or Hollywood Video). So I don't even have the kind of access to porn I had at the previous address.
(On the plus side, it was around this time last year that I broke my foot, so living a live free of crutches is worth being thankful for. I'm just already dreading the steady march towards Valentine's Day, and my recent attempts at dating haven't panned out very well.)
-D
It's taken only a few weeks to lose all the positive momentum I had after I got my new place. A little longer after that and I was back to old patterns and habits. Not just the cruising-on-Craigslist, but also indulging in commercial providers. Which I've been forcing myself to abstain from for simple reason of budget. But still, I look and consider.
My friend back in Denver pointed out that even if I'd taken the job in London, I might very well be just as depressed there as I am here, maybe even for similar reasons. But last night, laying awake trying to fall asleep, something dawned on me: at least, had I gone to London, I could say that I did something. I tried, I took steps to make a major change in my life. It might not have worked out like I thought it would, but at least I would have had the assurance of having tried. Instead, I look around my apartment, around the bay area, and think to myself: "Didn't get far, did you? Moved 8 miles, into a smaller apartment. Well played."
Saturday night, I went up to San Francisco for Perverts Put Out. As used to be the case, convincing myself to dress nicely and leave the apartment was akin to pulling teeth. The event was stunning; I'll need to do a separate post just about it alone. Of course, once there, I was enjoying myself. But eventually it was over, and I had another Saturday night to go home alone. It was so tempting to go somewhere cruise-y like Blow Buddies or Divas. But I'd spent all the persuasion I could muster just getting myself out of the house. It was the first time I've been back to SF since moving back here last month (actually, the second-- the actual first was for the memorial service for a friend's mother, thus my mind was otherwise occupied that afternoon).
I haven't made any effort to revisit my "Craigslist experiment". There's a lot to be said for quick, no-strings gratification. But just because I'm an addict doesn't mean I don't feel any emotional needs or impulses (the lack of emotional expression comes from the Asperger's, not the addictive nature). OK, that was a weak joke. I don't intuitively form those sorts of connections like others do, but I still crave them. And the CL route was just teasing the appetite, not appeasing it. To make matters worse, there's fuck-all to choose from in terms of independent video stores in my general area (that is to say, those that are not Blockbuster or Hollywood Video). So I don't even have the kind of access to porn I had at the previous address.
(On the plus side, it was around this time last year that I broke my foot, so living a live free of crutches is worth being thankful for. I'm just already dreading the steady march towards Valentine's Day, and my recent attempts at dating haven't panned out very well.)
-D
Labels: craigslist, depression, navel-gazing, ppo
posted by Dausa at
5:51 PM
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