At some point in my life, I'm going to stop writing in LJ at 4 a.m., but today isn't the day.
Well, my whole paycheck went to my damn car insurance and my phone bill, but such is being a boring ass fucker who talks about money, I guess. Still $270 bi-weekly is a lot more than $175. Yargh. I have an interview on Tuesday. I want to get my hopes up, but I'm really, really not going to.
Huntsville is boring. (Oh, yeah - that job offer in Atlanta never got back to me and we moved in with Bryan's dad due to overall brokeness...) All there really is to do here is drink and even that isn't really much of a night for me anymore. Too long of a nihilistic streak took care of any cheap drinking abilities I used to have. Bryan never wants to do anything like crash pools or terrorize parks full of geese, so I'm just doing it by myself now and I honestly don't really care. Actually, I suppose I kind of do, but I refuse to sit on my ass all day staring at a television screen full of things that don't really interest me. The only exception to this rule is Fallout, which somehow still holds my attention after a year, and the fact that The Twilight Zone is on Netflix instant. Either way, I'd still rather be throwing myself around maniacally into a body of water than much else. I miss Oak Mountain. Trashy as that lake-beach is, the water is always perfect and no one cares how ridiculous you are there. I know because I buried a dog up to its head in sand there last summer while I was unnaturally thrilled out of my damn mind. The dog did not care.
Power was out all last night due to a random thunderstorm full of nothing but death and destruction and evidently a shitload of electrostatic discharge because the house behind us had a big-ass 30-foot tree split down the motherfucking middle on top of the power line. I don't like to think about the fact that people before my time somehow survived summers in the South without air conditioning and also somehow managed not to turn into melted pile of human cheese.
This will probably be the first time I've actually had a room to myself for three days in fuck knows how long. I am fine with that. I like flailing out over the whole bed anyways.
Huntsville is boring. (Oh, yeah - that job offer in Atlanta never got back to me and we moved in with Bryan's dad due to overall brokeness...) All there really is to do here is drink and even that isn't really much of a night for me anymore. Too long of a nihilistic streak took care of any cheap drinking abilities I used to have. Bryan never wants to do anything like crash pools or terrorize parks full of geese, so I'm just doing it by myself now and I honestly don't really care. Actually, I suppose I kind of do, but I refuse to sit on my ass all day staring at a television screen full of things that don't really interest me. The only exception to this rule is Fallout, which somehow still holds my attention after a year, and the fact that The Twilight Zone is on Netflix instant. Either way, I'd still rather be throwing myself around maniacally into a body of water than much else. I miss Oak Mountain. Trashy as that lake-beach is, the water is always perfect and no one cares how ridiculous you are there. I know because I buried a dog up to its head in sand there last summer while I was unnaturally thrilled out of my damn mind. The dog did not care.
Power was out all last night due to a random thunderstorm full of nothing but death and destruction and evidently a shitload of electrostatic discharge because the house behind us had a big-ass 30-foot tree split down the motherfucking middle on top of the power line. I don't like to think about the fact that people before my time somehow survived summers in the South without air conditioning and also somehow managed not to turn into melted pile of human cheese.
This will probably be the first time I've actually had a room to myself for three days in fuck knows how long. I am fine with that. I like flailing out over the whole bed anyways.