I'm just an animal looking for a home

Journal Entry


Note:  The only changes to this entry are minor corrections to grammar, punctuation, formatting, and spelling.  I’ve also removed any last names which appeared, except in the case of teachers.

I am melancholy.  Also, drunk.  Is this the first drunken entry?  I can’t remember a previous one, but my drinking over the past year has been a little worrisome, so I may have written in here and forgotten about it.


  • Broke up with Monica in March.  Her idea, but probably for the best.  We wanted different things.
  • Fell for Andrea, who is now on the verge of dating Matt.  We’re just good friends now.
  • Fell for Libby, a girl in my apartment complex.  She’s got unresolved issues with her ex-boyfriend Michael.  Having a hard time getting over her.
  • Maile is one of my roommates

I feel fairly alone.  It isn’t a pleasant feeling.  I have no real close male friends in town, and although I have some close female friends, seeing them when drunk merely makes me infatuated with them if they offer me sympathy.

I guess I’m just tired of not being in a relationship.  I’m not regretting the decision to divorce — Scarlett and I don’t work, just as Monica and I do not.  But surely there is someone out there…  Libby seems great, but that isn’t working out.  So I’m alone.  And drunk.  The signs of alcoholism are disturbing.  I drink to get drunk and don’t even enjoy it.  But I look forward to it.  I’m drunk and the only benefit is that it makes me tired and lets me sleep instead of dwelling on all this shit.  But I know it’s bad.  If I had a reason not to drink, I don’t think I’d have any trouble not drinking.  But I don’t seem to be too lucky when it comes to love.  Three serious relationships — Monica, Alex, and Scarlett.  Look how those turned out.  Not that it matters.  Fuck.  Listen to me whine like a child.  Lovely, isn’t it?  Will it always be like this?  I doubt it.  I know it will all turn out okay, but it hurts and I don’t know how to deal with it in the meantime.  I may just cry or sit for a while.  Writing isn’t helping.

P.S. Drunken email — perhaps that will help.  I know it won’t– don’t tell.


Author: mitcharf

vegan, curmudgeon, animal lover, feminist, agnostic, cat whisperer, bookworm, hermit, Red Sox fan, Cthulhu enthusiast, softball player, man-about-town

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