I've been at work a half an hour, but it feels more like two. And yet when I get home two hours feel like a half. So what does that mean? I have to change my life (some more).

I'm so poor, I can't even pay attention.

(Well, not really, I just like that phrase).

But not working two jobs has definitely cramped my style. Not eating out at all, whereas I used to just follow my stomach and on a whim, would decide what I wanted for lunch and go and get it. Bringing my lunch-- so lame. Especially since when I am faced with what to make, I lack imagination. Very spoiled I am.

Haven't gone shopping one bit. I realized that was something that made THIS job bearable. Going out on my lunch hour and buying stuff. Sad, I have been such a consumer. Maybe the universe is trying to teach me something about that-- "You have enough stuff!" And "This job really sucks and you should leave, if the only thing you look forward to in your day is going shopping, you bimbo!"

My new project is trying to keep my plants alive. They seem to be dropping off one by one. I'm not really sure what they need. I water and water, and move them when it seems appropriate. But they don't thrive. Like discontented lovers, they just look at me, all wilted, but do not tell me what the problem is.

Spoke with CF on the phone last night. I can tell she is gearing up to pull something funny and screw me over on the money deal. I think she is going to try to get me to do more work for her as some kind of "exchange". She can forget it. I really just need this to end. Cut my losses, take what I can, and disconnect. She's a controlling lunatic and will keep it going as long as she can.

Had a good conversation with Anna last night. I haven't spoken to her since before Christmas. She and I have a lot in common (except she is frigid, as I mentioned before). However I still have not broached the subject of her conveniently omitting the fact that she's hanging out with Frank's ex. Once again, let me clarify, I am cool with the fact that she is friends with this person, but her lying to me about where she went with who kinda bugs me. It's the lie thing. I realize she is probably afraid of offending me, but there's something that happens to me when people don't tell the truth about a little thing. It makes me very distrustful. I am probably blowing it up into nothing. There are two ways I figure I can handle it: either come right out and say, "Anna, I know you are friends with Psycho, and I don't want you to feel that you have to lie to me about it; I'm cool with it." Or, I could be more casual and say, "When you see Beverly, cause I know you and her and Psycho go out sometimes, will you tell her to call me? I've lost her number." With the latter, maybe it will be less offensive to her delicate (nervous) Southern sensibilities, and give her the message that she can be open with me.

Another lie: Frank has been smoking again, but he will not admit it. I noticed it a few weeks ago, that his breath smelled like it- it didn't smell like he'd smoked just recently, but rather like he was once again a smoker. I can't explain it, but my father smoked too and he always had this smell on him. It kind of soaks into a person's skin and their membranes. So I just noticed it while he was breathing and asked casually, "Have you started smoking again?" (out of curiousity, not all naggy like that probably sounds when you read it). He said no. I thought maybe he was starting to get sick, because sometimes people get bad breath right before they get sick. "It's weird. It smells like cigarettes," I said, and forgot about it.

Then I noticed it on Sunday and commented on it again. He seemed to get a little agitated and said he hadn't been smoking, but he either closes his eyes or looks away when giving this answer. THAT's a little suspicious. So I asked, "Would you tell me if you WERE smoking?" "No," so I laughed. "Okay, you're smoking then." He got upset. "Are you done? Because if you continue with this I will leave." I said, "Frank, I love you and would hate that you feel you would have to lie to me about anything. I love you whether you smoke or not. It doesn't matter to me."

I've never ragged on Frank about smoking so I couldn't figure out what the big deal was. I felt hurt that he was obviously lying about this little thing that doesn't matter one way or the other! Then I thought about it, and figured that he must be really ashamed. He had been trying to quit all last year, and finally announced that he had done it. I told him I was proud of him for doing it, because I know he really struggled. Maybe now he feels bad, like an alcoholic that relapsed or something. Let something have control of him.

Here's my little secret about smoking: it turns me into a little girl. When I see a man smoking a cigarette, I feel such a sense of longing, and of being on the outside. I thought about it and figure it must have to do with my father. He was a big-time smoker, and maybe I was jealous of that cigarette, all the pleasure and enjoyment he seemed to be taking from focusing on that little white stick. I would watch Frank smoke and feel frantic inside, like I wanted to run into his arms, make him hold me, pay attention to ME. I know, it sounds crazy. I was very glad when he quit, to say the least, although I didn't tell him why.

Now Frank enjoys his not-so-secret love, somewhere in private, somewhere where I can't see it.

I guess when you love someone, you let them lie to you even though you know the truth. Isn't that what this relationship is all about anyway? Frank says he doesn't feel attached and I don't believe him, I just tell myself he is afraid to admit it. Frank says he doesn't smoke and I let him tell me that, even though I know he is and must be feeling pretty bad about it.

Wow. How did I get here?

And what do I lie about?

Oh, we'll save that for the next entry.

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