Boring weekend

This weekend was boring.

I drove the manual car to my workplace in the wee hours of the morning. I think I will stick to driving in the middle of the night, because there's no way I'm going to drive in rush hour traffic when I won't succeed in engaging my clutch 100% of the time, and I still get engine stalls from time to time. A pleasant surprise was that they allowed the car in. (I had a pass but my car didn't have a label.)

I used to look forward to weekends, because that was when I could catch up with my books, but my books hardly matter now. I think I might have spent too much time with them.

Maybe it was meeting up with some old friends and hearing them talk about how much $$$ they made (or missed making) at the stock market.

Or maybe it was facing, for the first time in years, the prospect of...

I think what is novel is the sensation of being liked, being approved of, probably on a deeper level than just... . God knows it's happened so little for me.
It's the ability to trust someone, although the consequences of betraying that trust are fairly catastrophic.
And it's the ability for that trust to turn itself into a form of guidance, a sense of direction in life that stops it from being walking in circles in a forest.

I'm wondering if life is really going to be as bleak as I thought it'd be.
I'm wondering if things are going to be as insane, intense and unstable as it was the last time.
I'm wondering if I'm really capable of being liked. Of being attractive.

I'm not thinking about a single person. I'm thinking about the prospect of someone in my life. Anyone, just someone.

Everybody struggles, some people just struggle a bit more.

And that's why books have suddenly become boring.

Edit: Might have to start behaving like a nice person again, a bit more like myself before I started work.