..
I should write more. Not necessarily update more, just write more. I used to keep a print journal, and looking back I think everything I wrote then is incredibly simplistic and childish-as I'll probably see these musings in six months. But at least I was writing. Expressing myself, being somewhat creative and gosh darn it, making somewhat of an effort to be polished and funny.
I'm thinking of having another surgery on my knee. The thought of being in the hospital again and going through that again terrifies me. What if it doesn't get any better? What if it's not any improvement over the sorry state it is in now after this next surgery? Do I have another one? At what point do I throw in the towel and accept the fact that it's probably not going to get any better?
You know, living with the people I do doesn't really help. No, not at all. There's also the fact that my erstwhile sister, whom everyone pats on the head and tells her what a good pretty girl she is, is putting almost three hundred dollars a month on Grandma's credit card. I'm of the mind that if she can't make it on her wages she shouldn't be living so well. She works a minimum wage job at a gas station, part time, and is perfectly happy with doing so. She has no ambition beyond finding the next man to support her. I am also of the opinion that if you are at 7-11 and want a slurpee, but don't have the money, don't get one, instead of putting 3.23 on the credit card. It's ludicrous. And on top of that she recieves Dad's broadly affectionate affirmations every time she calls, often with Ashley sitting right there listening to it.
But I digress. Often.
With Ryan out of town I just don't seem to take pleasure in anything that we did together. I'm perpetually restless and discontent. It's not a nice feeling, but I think I'm adjusting. Maybe.
Interesting. That was neither polished, nor funny.
I'm thinking of having another surgery on my knee. The thought of being in the hospital again and going through that again terrifies me. What if it doesn't get any better? What if it's not any improvement over the sorry state it is in now after this next surgery? Do I have another one? At what point do I throw in the towel and accept the fact that it's probably not going to get any better?
You know, living with the people I do doesn't really help. No, not at all. There's also the fact that my erstwhile sister, whom everyone pats on the head and tells her what a good pretty girl she is, is putting almost three hundred dollars a month on Grandma's credit card. I'm of the mind that if she can't make it on her wages she shouldn't be living so well. She works a minimum wage job at a gas station, part time, and is perfectly happy with doing so. She has no ambition beyond finding the next man to support her. I am also of the opinion that if you are at 7-11 and want a slurpee, but don't have the money, don't get one, instead of putting 3.23 on the credit card. It's ludicrous. And on top of that she recieves Dad's broadly affectionate affirmations every time she calls, often with Ashley sitting right there listening to it.
But I digress. Often.
With Ryan out of town I just don't seem to take pleasure in anything that we did together. I'm perpetually restless and discontent. It's not a nice feeling, but I think I'm adjusting. Maybe.
Interesting. That was neither polished, nor funny.