I can make you satisfied in everything you do
Morning routine of the past few days:
1. "H'OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKING COLD. FUCK NEW ENGLAND SO MUCH" interspersed with "oh, fuck, it's 8 o'clock, fuck everything"
2. gnawing on shoulder of partner and deciding that it is not worth it to leave the warmth and sleeping convenience of current position
3. getting up anyway, because fuck capitalism and work
4. playing Choking Victim really loudly to stick it to Josh boomboxing opera on the porch at 7:30 in the morning
5. realizing that there may actually be a reason for my sickness as I'm buying Jujubes and disgusting coffee: my diet has been egregious lately
Got dosed with slippery elm lozenges (for those with experience of getting mommy-medicined by my mother on the onset of a cold: the slippery elm is even worse than those disgusting chalky zinc tablets) and goldenrod-cum-mullein tea at 1am the other night, woke up even more congested. Pete said recently: "I've decided that the theme to this week is Fuck Everything." I'm inclined to agree.
Anyway, my strange nostalgia has been manifesting itself quite aptly as anxiety recently. (Listening to "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins? Or am I really drinking tons of "very vanilla" soy milk and mango nectar and going to see Patrick Miller's weird-ass play in Arlington and eating at the Lebanese Taverna in Tysons Corner and volunteering at the animal shelter every weekend and falling in love with heaven-sent Foxhounds?) I'm feeling really agro about the way that Joey has most recently fucked me over. Not even gonna write about it, but it's sig. Nevertheless, I'm thinking about roads I haven't taken, and I'm thinking about driving through 17th and 18th Street (northwest, no less), going into my characteristic high-pitch mode (the kind in which I interact with Fidget, and the kind which also seems to take over when I drive in a city) trying to navigate Adams Morgan looking for a goddamn parking spot.
I need to get out of New England for reasons that may not be valid enough to express to other people: this house isn't insulated nor prepared for winter; I'm tired of feeling the need to hole myself up in my room full of triggers and fetal positioning because everyone is getting drunk downstairs (a recurring problem). The thought of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" keeps ringing through my head, but fuck that. The idea of a sober radical house in Brookland is starting to sound ever more enticing, and plus, I can do that. I can do D.C. winters. I've been doing that forever. But I don't want to sit down! I don't want to do the whole root-down thing right now. I want a best friend of a Schnauzer and I want continuity, but I also want to experience ever-changing scenery; I want to go experience (humane) beekeeping; I want to find a life outside of white East Coast suburbia and broken cityscapes for just a while. But fuck, I also don't want for cute anarchists to complicate my life the way that they are currently doing. How do you tell someone whom you barely know that you don't want to move away from them because their presence in your life is one of the best things that has happened to you in a while? Through a fucking text message, apparently.
Just not sure what I'm doing, but right now I need to call Pete.
And I'm serious, "You're the One That I Want" by Jets to Brazil is such a fucking intense song: "what's best for everyone is bound to hurt somebody / what's best for everyone is killing me"
It seems as good a time as any.
1. "H'OH MY GOD IT'S SO FUCKING COLD. FUCK NEW ENGLAND SO MUCH" interspersed with "oh, fuck, it's 8 o'clock, fuck everything"
2. gnawing on shoulder of partner and deciding that it is not worth it to leave the warmth and sleeping convenience of current position
3. getting up anyway, because fuck capitalism and work
4. playing Choking Victim really loudly to stick it to Josh boomboxing opera on the porch at 7:30 in the morning
5. realizing that there may actually be a reason for my sickness as I'm buying Jujubes and disgusting coffee: my diet has been egregious lately
Got dosed with slippery elm lozenges (for those with experience of getting mommy-medicined by my mother on the onset of a cold: the slippery elm is even worse than those disgusting chalky zinc tablets) and goldenrod-cum-mullein tea at 1am the other night, woke up even more congested. Pete said recently: "I've decided that the theme to this week is Fuck Everything." I'm inclined to agree.
Anyway, my strange nostalgia has been manifesting itself quite aptly as anxiety recently. (Listening to "Disarm" by the Smashing Pumpkins? Or am I really drinking tons of "very vanilla" soy milk and mango nectar and going to see Patrick Miller's weird-ass play in Arlington and eating at the Lebanese Taverna in Tysons Corner and volunteering at the animal shelter every weekend and falling in love with heaven-sent Foxhounds?) I'm feeling really agro about the way that Joey has most recently fucked me over. Not even gonna write about it, but it's sig. Nevertheless, I'm thinking about roads I haven't taken, and I'm thinking about driving through 17th and 18th Street (northwest, no less), going into my characteristic high-pitch mode (the kind in which I interact with Fidget, and the kind which also seems to take over when I drive in a city) trying to navigate Adams Morgan looking for a goddamn parking spot.
I need to get out of New England for reasons that may not be valid enough to express to other people: this house isn't insulated nor prepared for winter; I'm tired of feeling the need to hole myself up in my room full of triggers and fetal positioning because everyone is getting drunk downstairs (a recurring problem). The thought of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" keeps ringing through my head, but fuck that. The idea of a sober radical house in Brookland is starting to sound ever more enticing, and plus, I can do that. I can do D.C. winters. I've been doing that forever. But I don't want to sit down! I don't want to do the whole root-down thing right now. I want a best friend of a Schnauzer and I want continuity, but I also want to experience ever-changing scenery; I want to go experience (humane) beekeeping; I want to find a life outside of white East Coast suburbia and broken cityscapes for just a while. But fuck, I also don't want for cute anarchists to complicate my life the way that they are currently doing. How do you tell someone whom you barely know that you don't want to move away from them because their presence in your life is one of the best things that has happened to you in a while? Through a fucking text message, apparently.
Just not sure what I'm doing, but right now I need to call Pete.
And I'm serious, "You're the One That I Want" by Jets to Brazil is such a fucking intense song: "what's best for everyone is bound to hurt somebody / what's best for everyone is killing me"
It seems as good a time as any.