I had a really nice talk with a friend today about life and love and those sorts of things. It was nice...

...but of course, after that, no one bloody called me. For the record, this week I received four personal calls: One was my dad calling to see if I was going up to visit this weekend, one was a friend with whom I haven't talked to for a couple of weeks wondering how I was doing, one was a call from a friend stranded after her car battery died, and the last was that same friend asking if I wanted to go for coffee and talk about life and love and those sorts of things.

Sometimes I think that maybe I'm being paranoid about my feelings of abandonment, but when I look at my call log on my phone, that paranoia seems justified.

I don't know, at least the friend I talked to today (hi there!) had some sympathy for my plight here, and seems to understand why I feel so crummy about life and the way that it's treating me. That makes me feel less alone...enough so that I had thought that I might erase the post I wrote earlier today, but I'm going to keep it up. It's honest, if a bit over-emotional, and worth keeping up as long as any friend of mine that reads it doesn't take all the blame for its content.