Plans
I found out today that my boss, the guy everyone assumed would never leave that place, will be departing in three weeks or so. What does that mean for me? I don't know. If the higher-ups decide to refill that position, and I can't see how they couldn't, then I have a more than decent chance of being the fellow who fills it. ... I've already as much as given up on the thing with the other hotel anyway.
Once again, having this journal has come and bitten me in the ass. The first time, Lauren freaked because I ended one of my entries with "discontent". This time, my mother has run across it somehow, and is shocked to find out that her 20 year old son drinks on occasion and uses foul language. Great. God, I hate being 20... It's stuff like this that really makes me wish I could move out, which I can afford to do, but then I wouldn't have the money to go back to school this august, and that is not something that I am able to compromise.
Now, I sit here, and the only thing I can think of doing is picking up this keyboard and smashing it against the wall. I don't of course, because that would be silly. Instead, I think of how much I like that new Kelly Clarkson song. Good for her. Definitely the best American Idol success story. Whatever happened to that Ruben guy? It doesn't matter that he won Idol, it was really just a farce. Mainstream America, at least the demographic that would buy that sort of stuff, is too shallow for the poor guy's weight. Unless he were an r&b artist. Then, it would be ok. (<-- rambling).
This is the second time that I've seriously considered giving this thing up. I think I might do it this time, too. The next time I have an urge to put my thoughts in writing I should just write them in a little book and shove em under my bed so that in 50 years my grandkids can find it and laugh about how fucked up grandpa was. That sounds like a plan. That laughter can be my concrete contribution to future generations.
Now the cat shows up because it is already early morning and he wants his breakfast soon. I'm going to bed. Good night.
Once again, having this journal has come and bitten me in the ass. The first time, Lauren freaked because I ended one of my entries with "discontent". This time, my mother has run across it somehow, and is shocked to find out that her 20 year old son drinks on occasion and uses foul language. Great. God, I hate being 20... It's stuff like this that really makes me wish I could move out, which I can afford to do, but then I wouldn't have the money to go back to school this august, and that is not something that I am able to compromise.
Now, I sit here, and the only thing I can think of doing is picking up this keyboard and smashing it against the wall. I don't of course, because that would be silly. Instead, I think of how much I like that new Kelly Clarkson song. Good for her. Definitely the best American Idol success story. Whatever happened to that Ruben guy? It doesn't matter that he won Idol, it was really just a farce. Mainstream America, at least the demographic that would buy that sort of stuff, is too shallow for the poor guy's weight. Unless he were an r&b artist. Then, it would be ok. (<-- rambling).
This is the second time that I've seriously considered giving this thing up. I think I might do it this time, too. The next time I have an urge to put my thoughts in writing I should just write them in a little book and shove em under my bed so that in 50 years my grandkids can find it and laugh about how fucked up grandpa was. That sounds like a plan. That laughter can be my concrete contribution to future generations.
Now the cat shows up because it is already early morning and he wants his breakfast soon. I'm going to bed. Good night.