pushed-over, put upon
Okay, is it just me, but is this really fucking annoying?: I came home from a day or two of working and working out and engaging in illicit activity to find my roommate’s non-rent paying live-in boyfriend installing DSL on my computer. Um, maybe other people would be pleased by this, but why not fucking ask first? So does this mean you should be allowed to use my computer all the fucking time now or what?
I mean, it would be far better if the internet actually ran faster now, but it doesn’t, as he’s also somehow managed to download viruses and shit and do god knows what. I just want to record my music and check my email, is that too much to ask? I never had problems with viruses until other people started using my computer. They download stupid chat programs and look at porn and in the end my whole hard drive gets wiped out.
I said that to him flat out. I was getting super pissy because I kept getting all kinds of “massive error” messages. He’s never really asked to use my computer anyway. He just reformatted the hard drive when it was fucked up before (not that I asked him to) and I guess that’s carte blanche for him to use it all the time. Buy a laptop, dumbass.
And stop eating my food. Jesus.
I am such a pushover, how did I get to be such a fucking pushover?
December, December, sweet, sweet December. I will live on my own. I’ll be able to sing whenever I want. No one will break my shit or eat my food or subject me to their Obsessive-Compulsive Disordered cleaning habits. I won’t have to listen to anyone have short, unsatisfying sex.
I don’t know what to do about WHN. I can’t decide if maybe our problems are just actually based upon the fundamental differences between men and women. I sometimes feel like he doesn’t give a shit about me at all. Here is a perfectly apt paragraph I just read from Steve Martin’s “Shopgirl”.
“His interest in Mirabelle comes from the part of him that still believes he can have her without obligation. He believes he can exist with her from eight to eleven and enter a private and personal world that they will create that will cease to exist in the off hours or off days. He believes that this world will be independent of other worlds he might create on another night, in another place, and he has no intention of allowing it to affect his true quest for a mate. He believes that in this affair, what is given back and forth will be exactly eve, and that they will both see the benefits they are receiving. But because he picked Mirabelle out by sight alone, he fails to see that her fragility, which he smelled and sensed and is lured by, runs deep in her heart and is part of her nature, and cannot be separated out for him to fuck.”
It’s not really fair to conclude, from the behavior of one guy, the faults of all men. But I feel I deserve a bit more at this point. I feel like I should be able to leave objects at his apartment without feeling that I am impeding on his space. I feel like I should get more than his half-assed attempts at communicating.
Shit, the apartment is empty! This will last for like, five minutes, so I better write a song.
I mean, it would be far better if the internet actually ran faster now, but it doesn’t, as he’s also somehow managed to download viruses and shit and do god knows what. I just want to record my music and check my email, is that too much to ask? I never had problems with viruses until other people started using my computer. They download stupid chat programs and look at porn and in the end my whole hard drive gets wiped out.
I said that to him flat out. I was getting super pissy because I kept getting all kinds of “massive error” messages. He’s never really asked to use my computer anyway. He just reformatted the hard drive when it was fucked up before (not that I asked him to) and I guess that’s carte blanche for him to use it all the time. Buy a laptop, dumbass.
And stop eating my food. Jesus.
I am such a pushover, how did I get to be such a fucking pushover?
December, December, sweet, sweet December. I will live on my own. I’ll be able to sing whenever I want. No one will break my shit or eat my food or subject me to their Obsessive-Compulsive Disordered cleaning habits. I won’t have to listen to anyone have short, unsatisfying sex.
I don’t know what to do about WHN. I can’t decide if maybe our problems are just actually based upon the fundamental differences between men and women. I sometimes feel like he doesn’t give a shit about me at all. Here is a perfectly apt paragraph I just read from Steve Martin’s “Shopgirl”.
“His interest in Mirabelle comes from the part of him that still believes he can have her without obligation. He believes he can exist with her from eight to eleven and enter a private and personal world that they will create that will cease to exist in the off hours or off days. He believes that this world will be independent of other worlds he might create on another night, in another place, and he has no intention of allowing it to affect his true quest for a mate. He believes that in this affair, what is given back and forth will be exactly eve, and that they will both see the benefits they are receiving. But because he picked Mirabelle out by sight alone, he fails to see that her fragility, which he smelled and sensed and is lured by, runs deep in her heart and is part of her nature, and cannot be separated out for him to fuck.”
It’s not really fair to conclude, from the behavior of one guy, the faults of all men. But I feel I deserve a bit more at this point. I feel like I should be able to leave objects at his apartment without feeling that I am impeding on his space. I feel like I should get more than his half-assed attempts at communicating.
Shit, the apartment is empty! This will last for like, five minutes, so I better write a song.