Mr Cellophane

It's dark outside, pitch black. It's not even 7.30am. It's wet. No, its not wet... the rain is hammering down outside and my feet are wet from walking to the station in it. I think these shoes need resealing, or so my socks are telling me. They are being pretty insistent on that fact.

I am very tired, I slept badly last night. Nightmares and then that restlessness where you just lie in bed without being able to sleep, til of course its time to wakeup. Then you sleep through your alarm and wake up with only a few minutes to get out the door. It's mornings like these that you need a decent latte to look forward to, but of course thats something which is no more (we did risk it yesterday, but it was appropriately horrible now... burnt latte is NOT a nice thing to come into work for so the days of the coffee are now sadly behind us).

I am grousing because I am tired and still not 100% so things tend to get to me more than they should then. What I need is a good old whinge and wallow and get it out of my system and then I'll be fine. Hmmm hey, that sounds like what a blog is for ;-).

Lately, I have had several very lovely people tell me what a nice person I am. How sincere, what a good friend. For some reason this is beginning to bug me. We know what happens to nice people and where they finish. Yes, I try to be nice to people with various degree's of success or failure depending on what kind of moody git I am. I do try and always give people the benefit of the doubt, no matter what, possibly slightly too much. I do see the good in people.

Why does it bug me that people say I am nice? Because then I start thinking thats all I am. I want to be sexy, I want to be interesting, I want to be entertaining, I want to be amusing, I want to come across as vaguely intelligent, I want to have something thats worth saying. As it is... I don't feel any of those. I am a nice person. Thats kind of it. That makes me feel so transparent, like I have nothing else to offer. I go into conversations with that thought in the back of my head that I am so shallow and really have nothing to interest them. Am I just a walking bundle of good intentions held together by simmering frustrations?

Yes. I know I spend too much time worrying about my social skills.

Yes... I am really grateful for everyone that tells me I am nice and they appreciate me. Thankyou. I am glad you think so and glad you like having me around and think enough to say it... and I know you really do truly mean it in the nicest possible way... and I am glad despite my little falls along the way and my bitchiness, you think I am a good friend.

You know, in hindsight... I kinda like being a nice person and wouldn't give up what I am to be anyone else. I mean, 'cos them I might not have been able to be there when you needed.

See. Have a little bitch. Let ourselves wallow and get it out and the world seems a brighter place again. Much much better than bottling it up.

I would *so* love a nap now though.