(no subject)
The primary item of my concern right now is not strangling my roommate in the next six weeks. I actually came pretty close a few days ago; we had a bit of a row after he got back from spring break, and it ended with me having an arm wrapped around his neck telling him to knock it the fuck off before I killed him. This doesn't bode well. This evening he was on the verge of tears because I wouldn't fix his back for him. I gave him a backrub, but it still wasn't sufficient and still ended in tears on his part.
Now, I may have an overdeveloped sense of sympathy. I'm more inclined to give someone a hug and a pep talk than I am to tell them to suck it up. I'm finally at the end of my rope, however, and one more episode is going to degenerate into a "Man the Fuck Up" session.
I understand that he's going to have a fairly rough time of it in the coming months, as he's joining the Peace Corps and going to Mongolia. On the other hand, I'm not at all willing to indulge in a pity party about his fear of death and his whining about having lost his "true love." Sorry, chief. Yeah, I've been there.
Yeah, it's no fun. MAN THE FUCK UP. You have nothing - let me repeat, NOTHING - to complain about. You have no bills to pay, you don't have a job to go to every day. You hardly have schoolwork to do. You don't have a care in the world except reading about spherical triangles. The only things you have to complain about are muscle tension, not getting laid, and your fear of death. You wrote your senior paper, you had your oral. You got your PC assignment: exactly where you wanted to go. You have no FUCKING reason to complain. I understand the fear of leaving your life to serve in another country for three years, and there isn't a damn thing I can say against that. But for fuck's sake, cry about something worthwhile.
In other news, I've fallen back into bad habits. I'm drinking quite a lot again, facilitated by my coming of age and the presence of Jonathan. However, with his departure and the return of my pussy (beg pardon) of a roommate, things are about equal. Ah, escapism.
But on the bright side, I'm quitting my job July 10th, 2009. I WILL BE GONE FROM THIS PLACE. For six weeks, anyway. I am shocked at my desire for Home. But now that the date is set, I dream about Home. I spend every day in the interest of the next and the next.
So in the meantime, I'll drink Jameson whiskey and dream.
Oh, my own melodrama.
Fuck off. I love you all.
Also: Alaska has become a possibility. If I disappear in the near future, it's likely because I ran away to Glennallen with Jonathan.
Also also: I didn't cry when he left. Am I heartless, or completely lost?
Now, I may have an overdeveloped sense of sympathy. I'm more inclined to give someone a hug and a pep talk than I am to tell them to suck it up. I'm finally at the end of my rope, however, and one more episode is going to degenerate into a "Man the Fuck Up" session.
I understand that he's going to have a fairly rough time of it in the coming months, as he's joining the Peace Corps and going to Mongolia. On the other hand, I'm not at all willing to indulge in a pity party about his fear of death and his whining about having lost his "true love." Sorry, chief. Yeah, I've been there.
Yeah, it's no fun. MAN THE FUCK UP. You have nothing - let me repeat, NOTHING - to complain about. You have no bills to pay, you don't have a job to go to every day. You hardly have schoolwork to do. You don't have a care in the world except reading about spherical triangles. The only things you have to complain about are muscle tension, not getting laid, and your fear of death. You wrote your senior paper, you had your oral. You got your PC assignment: exactly where you wanted to go. You have no FUCKING reason to complain. I understand the fear of leaving your life to serve in another country for three years, and there isn't a damn thing I can say against that. But for fuck's sake, cry about something worthwhile.
In other news, I've fallen back into bad habits. I'm drinking quite a lot again, facilitated by my coming of age and the presence of Jonathan. However, with his departure and the return of my pussy (beg pardon) of a roommate, things are about equal. Ah, escapism.
But on the bright side, I'm quitting my job July 10th, 2009. I WILL BE GONE FROM THIS PLACE. For six weeks, anyway. I am shocked at my desire for Home. But now that the date is set, I dream about Home. I spend every day in the interest of the next and the next.
So in the meantime, I'll drink Jameson whiskey and dream.
Oh, my own melodrama.
Fuck off. I love you all.
Also: Alaska has become a possibility. If I disappear in the near future, it's likely because I ran away to Glennallen with Jonathan.
Also also: I didn't cry when he left. Am I heartless, or completely lost?