No, I didn't know I could easily upload a photo
Has it really been eleven days since an update? Well thar she blows.
So it finally stopped fucking raining in Olympia. Thirty five days, sweet Jesus. I looked at the stars for a long time in the cold tonight, just happy to see them again. The stars are how I fell in love with Olympia (the stars are also how I fell in love with someone with whom I shouldn't have fallen, but that is another entry), and seeing them is invigorating. I wish it were the harbinger of better things; I wish it wasn't forecast to rain tomorrow. But wishes are for fools.
I took four days off of work to deal with the ever worsening situation (well, maybe that's an exaggeration; maybe it just doesn't improve), and I came in and it was like nothing had changed. I wish I could put into words how hard it is to deal with this sort of thing; I can hear his screaming in my sleep. (When I do sleep, which isn't terribly often, what with sleeping during the regular business day.) It's quite wearing, and I don't get a lot of money and I'm not even sure how rewarding it is anymore. I can't leave until March if I want a good reference, though. So, for the time being anyway, I'm stuck.
I wish I had a better relationship with my mother during moments like this. I don't have a horrible relationship with her, or abusive or anything like that, but it's not exactly ... I don't know, supportive. I tried talking to my mother about the screaming and she asked why we couldn't force him to take medication, and she went on this way random and way crazy rant about birth control and how "the patch was created for women who were too lazy to take their pill every day, but it's all still an abortifacent anyway." Needless to say the conversation ended there (though I suppose I should've said "lazy women like your son's partner, mom? Or your daughter?" I thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie, though). My mother has a tendency to view anything emotional as pissant bellyaching, and most of my conversations revolve around bills and the bottom line. "But you didn't ask me what was inside, Mom!" Yeah, I'll shut up.
Did I mention my student loan repayments started kicking in? Yeah, so I need to find a better job or a cheaper place, and quickly.
Today I submitted my second in a series of horrible reviews for the year 2006, this time focusing on Cat Power. In it I kind of identify myself as a "lapsed anarcho-journalist." As Warren Zevon would say, I don't want to talk about it.
So it finally stopped fucking raining in Olympia. Thirty five days, sweet Jesus. I looked at the stars for a long time in the cold tonight, just happy to see them again. The stars are how I fell in love with Olympia (the stars are also how I fell in love with someone with whom I shouldn't have fallen, but that is another entry), and seeing them is invigorating. I wish it were the harbinger of better things; I wish it wasn't forecast to rain tomorrow. But wishes are for fools.
I took four days off of work to deal with the ever worsening situation (well, maybe that's an exaggeration; maybe it just doesn't improve), and I came in and it was like nothing had changed. I wish I could put into words how hard it is to deal with this sort of thing; I can hear his screaming in my sleep. (When I do sleep, which isn't terribly often, what with sleeping during the regular business day.) It's quite wearing, and I don't get a lot of money and I'm not even sure how rewarding it is anymore. I can't leave until March if I want a good reference, though. So, for the time being anyway, I'm stuck.
I wish I had a better relationship with my mother during moments like this. I don't have a horrible relationship with her, or abusive or anything like that, but it's not exactly ... I don't know, supportive. I tried talking to my mother about the screaming and she asked why we couldn't force him to take medication, and she went on this way random and way crazy rant about birth control and how "the patch was created for women who were too lazy to take their pill every day, but it's all still an abortifacent anyway." Needless to say the conversation ended there (though I suppose I should've said "lazy women like your son's partner, mom? Or your daughter?" I thought it best to let sleeping dogs lie, though). My mother has a tendency to view anything emotional as pissant bellyaching, and most of my conversations revolve around bills and the bottom line. "But you didn't ask me what was inside, Mom!" Yeah, I'll shut up.
Did I mention my student loan repayments started kicking in? Yeah, so I need to find a better job or a cheaper place, and quickly.
Today I submitted my second in a series of horrible reviews for the year 2006, this time focusing on Cat Power. In it I kind of identify myself as a "lapsed anarcho-journalist." As Warren Zevon would say, I don't want to talk about it.