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Morning Angst, Vol. 3: Stupid Me

So I'm kind of angry with myself about Friday's irresponsible behavior. Actually, all of Sunday I was depressed about it. I thought drunken sexual encounters were reserved for perky 18-year-olds during Spring Break. Apparently not true.

I hate that I wrote about it in such a glamorous way -- like it's something to flaunt. Look, I got head from a stranger! Ugh. I don't live like this.

Then again, I guess I do.

The second part of my self-anger is focused on how readily I'll let a total stranger give me head, but I won't meet a decent, well-intentioned man for falafels and beers. How complicated am I? I love falafels; plus I think He's gorgeous, and He's so my type. So the question this morning is WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

Putting things down on the blog allows me to see myself in a whole different light. It shows me how I think. My thoughts are clearer when I write them down. I see the picture of me in bright lights. 

How shall I learn from it?

Off to work.
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