The chai coffee at 9:30 was a bad idea.
I can't sleep, so I'm going to write on the internet. Makes sense to me, guys.
Why do all the men in my life seem to be completely incapable of owning up to their problems? I'm sorry for making a sweeping generalization, but seriously, dudes, seriously.
Case study #1: my dad. In the entire month before I left Edmonton, he was completely miserable. When my dad gets miserable, he thinks everything is stupid, and he doesn't talk to anyone, but communicates his general displeasure through grunts and grumbles. My mom, my brother and I couldn't figure out why - indeed, we laughed at how absolutely ridiculous he was - but then I realized that he did the same thing last year, and at that time, my mom and I decided it was because he was sad I was leaving. Now, tell me, friends. How is being completely antisocial going to make me feel bad about leaving? Because, in all honesty, if my dad was going to be like that forever, then hell, I would be counting down the seconds until I left. If he were just able to say "Erin, I'm sad that you're leaving and I'm going to miss you a lot," I would feel more inclined to talk with him and spent some time with him before I left. As it was, he and my mom drove me to the airport in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, and as he was hugging me goodbye, he had tears in his eyes and said he wished we could have spent more time together this summer. Well, gee, dad, if you hadn't been such a grumpy, miserable, anti-social asshole, I might have been inclined to initiate such things. Jerk.
Case study #2: Douchebag, from the beginning of summer (see here for details), henceforth to be known as "DB", because it's easy to type, and it stands for "douchebag". 'Cause he's a douchebag, see? Well. I think, last I left you faithful LJ readers, DB still hadn't spoken a word to me about anything all summer. It was mid-August when I received a Facebook message from him, saying he wanted to try to work things out between us, even though we weren't going to be living together anymore, and he totally deserved to be yelled at, and he was sorry he was an asshole, &c., &c. I found out through some quick-and-dirty Facebook-stalking that this message, incidentally, came on the very day that his summer fuck-buddy (who he Facebook-dumped me for, remember?) skipped town for the school year. Interesting, no? I politely did not reference this, and told him that if this reparation conversation was to take place, it couldn't take place on The Online, because tone and intent can oh, so easily be misread. I told him to call me, and that I wouldn't call him because I'd done that several times already, and I was sick to death of his answering machine message. And guess what? I haven't heard from him. My armchair-psychoanalysis of his behaviour says that he thought, after saying all those apologetic words about how he deserved to be yelled at, that I'd say something along the lines of "Oh, DB, don't be silly, of course I forgive you, let's jump into bed." However, that was obviously not how it worked - was he seriously expecting me to forget he treated me like shit for the entire goddamned summer? - and now, he's back to his old way of not talking to me at all, i.e. avoiding his problems. And the worst of this is that I still, somehow, in the back of my mind, want to make reparations with him. I can see that he's a total douche, and I can see that he treats his friends like shit, and I can see that he does not walk his talk. These are all things that I know. And I want him to call me, and I want him to care that he hurt me, and I want an answer to why he is such an ass. Something along the lines of "Erin, I still love you but I'm a gigantic pussy who can't deal with confrontation, so I can't speak to you ever again," or "Erin, I actually hate your guts, so stop whining and move the hell on," or "Erin, I'm actually just indifferent to everything that you say or do, so don't even bother." Is that really so hard? I guess it must be. Douche.
N.B. I do realize that there's a slim chance that DB himself is going to see this. It worries me a bit, to be honest, but it's nothing he hasn't heard before, or couldn't have inferred from my messages to him, and if it scares him away from calling me - if he was even going to in the first place - then he's not worth any more time and energy from me.
I feel like I have to make a bit of a disclaimer now. I've just moved back to Boston, and the first thing you hear from me is a horridly depressing account of craptasticness. However, that's just a part of why I can't sleep tonight, and I think that by writing it somewhere, I'll be able to get at least a little bit of the ol' shut-eye. My Boston experience has so far been pretty sweet for the most part, so I'm going to tell you about that, too, just to balance things out.
I've ridden my bike a lot these past couple of days. Apart from the fact that said bicycle was in a much more run-down state than I left it in (we're not going to get into that, sorry dudes), the riding has been great. Yesterday, I made two separate trips from my house to Berklee, and then I went down the other side of the B-line train. I'd never been down there before, and didn't realize that it was almost completely uphill. It was pretty intense. Today, Josh, Kael, and I took a leisurely bike ride down through Cambridge, across the Longfellow bridge to the Charles Street area, walked through the Boston Common, and rode down Newbury Street to Berklee for some Steve's pizza (oh, yes, the infamous Steve's), then through Cambridge again to get home. It was a great ride, and I kept up with those speedy dudes a lot better than I expected I might - even though I'm pretty sure they were riding slower for me, because they know I'm kind of a slow-ass - but I still felt good about myself.
My registration at Berklee went smoothly. This deserves its own paragraph because it's never happened to me before ever. I actually don't think I've had a school registration that's gone this smoothly since grade 6. Like, what the crap. I was stunned when I got my schedule instead of a "you owe us a gazillion more dollars" statement. It was a euphoric feeling, I tell you. Euphoric.
My new roomies are all pretty sweet. They're taking the place of DB and two other ones that decided to move out. I was nervous coming back to Franklin-stein in case I might find it half-filled with people I didn't like, but I suppose if I trust the judgment of the friends who I already live with (I mean, Pete's impossible to satisfy, so if they meet his approval...) then I'll be okay all the way. It was a relief.
I'm also singing again this semester. I went to a choir rehearsal last night (it was my second Berklee round-trip) and it's wonderful to sing with people who can sing, which I always say. Tomorrow night, there is a Filipino choir coming through Boston, playing at a church in West Roxbury (not to be confused with Roxbury, folks!) who we're opening for. We're singing three beautiful pieces, and I can't wait to go. Singing really helps me not be mope-y. This is definitely a good thing.
Other than that... I guess I don't have all that much to say. I am looking forward to starting school - partly because I'm a gigantic dork, and partly because I love meeting people, making new friends, and seeing my old friends again. It's all going to be good, for reals, dudes.
Why do all the men in my life seem to be completely incapable of owning up to their problems? I'm sorry for making a sweeping generalization, but seriously, dudes, seriously.
Case study #1: my dad. In the entire month before I left Edmonton, he was completely miserable. When my dad gets miserable, he thinks everything is stupid, and he doesn't talk to anyone, but communicates his general displeasure through grunts and grumbles. My mom, my brother and I couldn't figure out why - indeed, we laughed at how absolutely ridiculous he was - but then I realized that he did the same thing last year, and at that time, my mom and I decided it was because he was sad I was leaving. Now, tell me, friends. How is being completely antisocial going to make me feel bad about leaving? Because, in all honesty, if my dad was going to be like that forever, then hell, I would be counting down the seconds until I left. If he were just able to say "Erin, I'm sad that you're leaving and I'm going to miss you a lot," I would feel more inclined to talk with him and spent some time with him before I left. As it was, he and my mom drove me to the airport in the wee hours of Tuesday morning, and as he was hugging me goodbye, he had tears in his eyes and said he wished we could have spent more time together this summer. Well, gee, dad, if you hadn't been such a grumpy, miserable, anti-social asshole, I might have been inclined to initiate such things. Jerk.
Case study #2: Douchebag, from the beginning of summer (see here for details), henceforth to be known as "DB", because it's easy to type, and it stands for "douchebag". 'Cause he's a douchebag, see? Well. I think, last I left you faithful LJ readers, DB still hadn't spoken a word to me about anything all summer. It was mid-August when I received a Facebook message from him, saying he wanted to try to work things out between us, even though we weren't going to be living together anymore, and he totally deserved to be yelled at, and he was sorry he was an asshole, &c., &c. I found out through some quick-and-dirty Facebook-stalking that this message, incidentally, came on the very day that his summer fuck-buddy (who he Facebook-dumped me for, remember?) skipped town for the school year. Interesting, no? I politely did not reference this, and told him that if this reparation conversation was to take place, it couldn't take place on The Online, because tone and intent can oh, so easily be misread. I told him to call me, and that I wouldn't call him because I'd done that several times already, and I was sick to death of his answering machine message. And guess what? I haven't heard from him. My armchair-psychoanalysis of his behaviour says that he thought, after saying all those apologetic words about how he deserved to be yelled at, that I'd say something along the lines of "Oh, DB, don't be silly, of course I forgive you, let's jump into bed." However, that was obviously not how it worked - was he seriously expecting me to forget he treated me like shit for the entire goddamned summer? - and now, he's back to his old way of not talking to me at all, i.e. avoiding his problems. And the worst of this is that I still, somehow, in the back of my mind, want to make reparations with him. I can see that he's a total douche, and I can see that he treats his friends like shit, and I can see that he does not walk his talk. These are all things that I know. And I want him to call me, and I want him to care that he hurt me, and I want an answer to why he is such an ass. Something along the lines of "Erin, I still love you but I'm a gigantic pussy who can't deal with confrontation, so I can't speak to you ever again," or "Erin, I actually hate your guts, so stop whining and move the hell on," or "Erin, I'm actually just indifferent to everything that you say or do, so don't even bother." Is that really so hard? I guess it must be. Douche.
N.B. I do realize that there's a slim chance that DB himself is going to see this. It worries me a bit, to be honest, but it's nothing he hasn't heard before, or couldn't have inferred from my messages to him, and if it scares him away from calling me - if he was even going to in the first place - then he's not worth any more time and energy from me.
I feel like I have to make a bit of a disclaimer now. I've just moved back to Boston, and the first thing you hear from me is a horridly depressing account of craptasticness. However, that's just a part of why I can't sleep tonight, and I think that by writing it somewhere, I'll be able to get at least a little bit of the ol' shut-eye. My Boston experience has so far been pretty sweet for the most part, so I'm going to tell you about that, too, just to balance things out.
I've ridden my bike a lot these past couple of days. Apart from the fact that said bicycle was in a much more run-down state than I left it in (we're not going to get into that, sorry dudes), the riding has been great. Yesterday, I made two separate trips from my house to Berklee, and then I went down the other side of the B-line train. I'd never been down there before, and didn't realize that it was almost completely uphill. It was pretty intense. Today, Josh, Kael, and I took a leisurely bike ride down through Cambridge, across the Longfellow bridge to the Charles Street area, walked through the Boston Common, and rode down Newbury Street to Berklee for some Steve's pizza (oh, yes, the infamous Steve's), then through Cambridge again to get home. It was a great ride, and I kept up with those speedy dudes a lot better than I expected I might - even though I'm pretty sure they were riding slower for me, because they know I'm kind of a slow-ass - but I still felt good about myself.
My registration at Berklee went smoothly. This deserves its own paragraph because it's never happened to me before ever. I actually don't think I've had a school registration that's gone this smoothly since grade 6. Like, what the crap. I was stunned when I got my schedule instead of a "you owe us a gazillion more dollars" statement. It was a euphoric feeling, I tell you. Euphoric.
My new roomies are all pretty sweet. They're taking the place of DB and two other ones that decided to move out. I was nervous coming back to Franklin-stein in case I might find it half-filled with people I didn't like, but I suppose if I trust the judgment of the friends who I already live with (I mean, Pete's impossible to satisfy, so if they meet his approval...) then I'll be okay all the way. It was a relief.
I'm also singing again this semester. I went to a choir rehearsal last night (it was my second Berklee round-trip) and it's wonderful to sing with people who can sing, which I always say. Tomorrow night, there is a Filipino choir coming through Boston, playing at a church in West Roxbury (not to be confused with Roxbury, folks!) who we're opening for. We're singing three beautiful pieces, and I can't wait to go. Singing really helps me not be mope-y. This is definitely a good thing.
Other than that... I guess I don't have all that much to say. I am looking forward to starting school - partly because I'm a gigantic dork, and partly because I love meeting people, making new friends, and seeing my old friends again. It's all going to be good, for reals, dudes.