Cautionary Therapist (hi, Cautionary Therapist!) told me last week that I seem to be depressed.
After thinking about it for a long time, I’ve decided that she’s right. Not the clinical kind, or the kind that needs medication. Just the kind that needs a good kick in the pants. The kind that needs to go out dancing and maybe drink too much and definitely laugh too much and much too loudly.
CT suggested that, as a way to get myself out of this funk, I try to take a new risk every day. Or every week, at least. To challenge myself to do something I’m too afraid to do under normal circumstances. To gamble just a little, small antes that could have enormous payoffs.
I had the day off today in honor of our 44 presidents, and I celebrated by going to see Revolutionary Road by myself. It was depressing as fucking hell. Afterwards I met a friend at my favorite pub, got drunk on Grey Goose martinis, smoked way too many cigarettes, and laughed a lot. When I was closing out my tab, the bartender (a girl about my age) said to me, “I don’t mean to be too forward, but you are GORGEOUS.”
I thanked her. My friend (hi, friend!) said, “Oh, the life of [Cautionary Girl].” I signed my bill. We left.
And now I’m home, and I’m thinking. I’ve been bleeding friends lately. Friends are hard to come by. Most of the friends I currently have I made years ago, and they keep moving away from me. I need more friends. But it’s hard to make friends. I can’t just go up to the girl in Starbucks who seems to be the same age as me and ask if she wants to be friends with me.
But I can go back to the bar and give the bartender a note that says “I love to make new friends” with my e-mail address on it. And I will. Right now.
And hope that she doesn’t get the wrong idea. ‘Cause I’ve already got enough problems. But I sure could use a friend.