So Here We Are
Ah, the end of another month. We're almost half way through 2006 though, if you can believe that. I can't.
My life has turned into a routine. It goes like this:
- Wake up and dick around on the computer for an hour or so.
- Eat a small meal that we'll call breakfast.
- Sit in kitchen for a few hours, either revising or journaling (I've been writing a lot lately.)
- Eat again, a larger meal this time, bearing some resemblance to lunch, but by now it's around 2:00 so who can be certain?
- Retreat back into room, get dressed for the day and run whatever errands I need to.
- Return to Waveney, eat (again), this time dinner, with the same people that I had lunch with.
- Go on an evening walk around the lake or dorm, depending on the weather.
- Come back, retreat into a room where Mark can't find us, and watch 2-3 episodes of Grey's Anatomy off his TV network program, which he doesn't know we're using. We have watched 20 some odd episodes in less than a week. I'll come back to that though.
- Return to kitchen for tea time (how many times have I eaten now... nobody knows for certain.) Sit up until midnight or one (basically whenever Maria sends Robin and me to bed.)
It's the same every day and has been ever since I got back from Scotland. There are occasional things that change the routine, like Teen Movie Night, but otherwise, it's the same thing every day. Don't get me wrong, I quite like it. It's nice to have so few responsibilities to attend to, and to be surrounded each day by people I genuinely like, and who make me laugh. It's just that...
Grey's Anatomy is definitely my new favorite show. I hadn't seen it before last Friday, and when Maria suggested we watch it because we had never seen it before (but for some reason I own Season 1), then I said "Okey doke." And so it began...
It's an addiction. I love the show. The biggest problem, though, is that it makes me... I don't want to say depressed because that is much too strong a word. But it does do something. Opens wounds that I've been trying to close for weeks, perhaps. Or just makes me think, "You know, that stupid drama stuff that's on TV--there's a reason so many people tune in..."
Basically, you should never watch a show and be able to relate to it that much.
Jon told me I need to stop watching it. But it's kind of like a car accident, where there is obvious pain, and you should look away, but you can't. Plus, I have to know what's going to happen next.
I yell at the TV a lot when I'm watching it. I imagine it must get quite annoying to Robin, who apparently can hear me yelling through the walls, and Maria, my Grey's Anatomy partner in crime, and the "slutty mistress." I'm the "pregnant whore." It's from an episode.
Coincidentally, Jon asked me the other day if I was pregnant. Though I have put on some weight in these last couple of weeks (come on, look at my "routine"), I assumed he was joking. I yelled at him anyway though, claiming mood swings and all that jazz, then said it was Chuck's baby and that I hadn't told him yet. I only said that because there has been a lot going around about Chuck and me lately, which I definietly do not understand at all. I'm flattered though. Chuck's a cool guy.
He came back from his travels yesterday. I didn't even realize that I had missed him until he walked into the kitchen. It took me a moment to even register that it was him. Not because he looked different or anything (come on, it's only been a week). But in a week, so much happens, and the time passes so slowly, and so quickly at the same time. And I looked at him, and his now parted, much too long hair, and that's when it hit me--I was really happy he was back.
I hate that he's leaving again in a week, and that this time, he won't be back. I hate that Maria's leaving on the 6th and won't be back until the 15th. I hate that Robin's leaving from the 11th to the 14th. I hate that Emily leaves on the 3rd and doesn't know if she'll be back.
I hate that everything is about to change yet again. People are leaving. People that I really care about and miss when they're gone and who make me smile just by walking into the room. I try not to think about it, but I do. I try to live in the moment and enjoy my time with them now as much as possible, but I get so worked up about the future. Or the past.
With all the journaling I've been doing in the kitchen lately, I suppose I've been spaced out a lot during others' conversations in there. I make faces when I think apparently. You know, when you think of something funny, you smile a little bit--possibly even laugh if the thought is humorous enough. Or if you're thinking of someone who hurt you... and then you're snapped back to reality when someone in the kitchen is asking if you're okay.
Robin said a funny thing today. He said he can always tell what I'm thinking just by the look on my face. I told him I didn't know how I felt about that, and said I didn't actually think he could do that. Gosh, I can't be that much of an open book, right? "Oh, no, you are a completely open book," he said. "Like when I walked into the kitchen. You gave me a look like, 'What the hell are you doing here?'" I proceeded to tell him I thought his final today was at 12:15 (it was around 1:00 at the time of this discussion). So, essentially, yes, I had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing there. "See? Your face tells everything."
I wanted to scream at him. Okay, that's a little dramatic. Actually, that's extremely dramatic, and is probably just the result of watching too much American prime time television. I would never do that (scream at him, I mean.)
But I did want to tell him, "You have absolutely no idea."
My life has turned into a routine. It goes like this:
- Wake up and dick around on the computer for an hour or so.
- Eat a small meal that we'll call breakfast.
- Sit in kitchen for a few hours, either revising or journaling (I've been writing a lot lately.)
- Eat again, a larger meal this time, bearing some resemblance to lunch, but by now it's around 2:00 so who can be certain?
- Retreat back into room, get dressed for the day and run whatever errands I need to.
- Return to Waveney, eat (again), this time dinner, with the same people that I had lunch with.
- Go on an evening walk around the lake or dorm, depending on the weather.
- Come back, retreat into a room where Mark can't find us, and watch 2-3 episodes of Grey's Anatomy off his TV network program, which he doesn't know we're using. We have watched 20 some odd episodes in less than a week. I'll come back to that though.
- Return to kitchen for tea time (how many times have I eaten now... nobody knows for certain.) Sit up until midnight or one (basically whenever Maria sends Robin and me to bed.)
It's the same every day and has been ever since I got back from Scotland. There are occasional things that change the routine, like Teen Movie Night, but otherwise, it's the same thing every day. Don't get me wrong, I quite like it. It's nice to have so few responsibilities to attend to, and to be surrounded each day by people I genuinely like, and who make me laugh. It's just that...
Grey's Anatomy is definitely my new favorite show. I hadn't seen it before last Friday, and when Maria suggested we watch it because we had never seen it before (but for some reason I own Season 1), then I said "Okey doke." And so it began...
It's an addiction. I love the show. The biggest problem, though, is that it makes me... I don't want to say depressed because that is much too strong a word. But it does do something. Opens wounds that I've been trying to close for weeks, perhaps. Or just makes me think, "You know, that stupid drama stuff that's on TV--there's a reason so many people tune in..."
Basically, you should never watch a show and be able to relate to it that much.
Jon told me I need to stop watching it. But it's kind of like a car accident, where there is obvious pain, and you should look away, but you can't. Plus, I have to know what's going to happen next.
I yell at the TV a lot when I'm watching it. I imagine it must get quite annoying to Robin, who apparently can hear me yelling through the walls, and Maria, my Grey's Anatomy partner in crime, and the "slutty mistress." I'm the "pregnant whore." It's from an episode.
Coincidentally, Jon asked me the other day if I was pregnant. Though I have put on some weight in these last couple of weeks (come on, look at my "routine"), I assumed he was joking. I yelled at him anyway though, claiming mood swings and all that jazz, then said it was Chuck's baby and that I hadn't told him yet. I only said that because there has been a lot going around about Chuck and me lately, which I definietly do not understand at all. I'm flattered though. Chuck's a cool guy.
He came back from his travels yesterday. I didn't even realize that I had missed him until he walked into the kitchen. It took me a moment to even register that it was him. Not because he looked different or anything (come on, it's only been a week). But in a week, so much happens, and the time passes so slowly, and so quickly at the same time. And I looked at him, and his now parted, much too long hair, and that's when it hit me--I was really happy he was back.
I hate that he's leaving again in a week, and that this time, he won't be back. I hate that Maria's leaving on the 6th and won't be back until the 15th. I hate that Robin's leaving from the 11th to the 14th. I hate that Emily leaves on the 3rd and doesn't know if she'll be back.
I hate that everything is about to change yet again. People are leaving. People that I really care about and miss when they're gone and who make me smile just by walking into the room. I try not to think about it, but I do. I try to live in the moment and enjoy my time with them now as much as possible, but I get so worked up about the future. Or the past.
With all the journaling I've been doing in the kitchen lately, I suppose I've been spaced out a lot during others' conversations in there. I make faces when I think apparently. You know, when you think of something funny, you smile a little bit--possibly even laugh if the thought is humorous enough. Or if you're thinking of someone who hurt you... and then you're snapped back to reality when someone in the kitchen is asking if you're okay.
Robin said a funny thing today. He said he can always tell what I'm thinking just by the look on my face. I told him I didn't know how I felt about that, and said I didn't actually think he could do that. Gosh, I can't be that much of an open book, right? "Oh, no, you are a completely open book," he said. "Like when I walked into the kitchen. You gave me a look like, 'What the hell are you doing here?'" I proceeded to tell him I thought his final today was at 12:15 (it was around 1:00 at the time of this discussion). So, essentially, yes, I had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing there. "See? Your face tells everything."
I wanted to scream at him. Okay, that's a little dramatic. Actually, that's extremely dramatic, and is probably just the result of watching too much American prime time television. I would never do that (scream at him, I mean.)
But I did want to tell him, "You have absolutely no idea."