halfway home
jesus fucking christ.
a minute ago i imagined myself possibly starting this entry with "i wrote a bunch of heart-felt stuff and my browser crashed!" and i figured that probably wouldn't happen so i didn't copy it or anything... greeeaaaaaat.
my mother gave me a journal with a van gogh painting on the front. i hate recieving journals as gifts again and again. it's the quinessential present from a parent to a girl who grew into something they weren't expecting. "here honey, you can expressss yourself within this journal's lined pages!" i like to express myself by throwing up on the cat. i should do that again sometime.
i erased all the Indian hiphop off a stolen ipod and filled it up with that 70's buttrock that my brother likes, and gave it to him for christmas. "it's yooouuurr neeeewww I-POOOD!," i said, in a dick clark voice. i thought it was funny. anyway.
i've been drinking all day, but i'm not at all drunk. it's very aggrivating.
i hate these quick phone conversations i have with my boyfriend. i hate how our lives coincide for a fraction of the day, just long enough for me to hear about the sun setting over the gulf of mexico, and the cruise he's taking the next day. what am i doing? i'm staring at a hole in the wall. seriously. it's kind of like a sunset, except it doesn't go in a circle. how can you talk about an expanse of owned property, an automobile, a vacation, or a mortgage-free home so casually? since, for you, that's how it's always been...
am i a fucking yokel?
i think it's so quaint when people complain about tax cuts for the rich, and republicans say "oh, that's just old-fashioned classism!" that's like saying, "a broken arm? that's just old-fashioned pain and injury!"
like capitalism up and went and fixed itself.
i could have a can of peas and a cardboard box to my name, but i'm only really poor if i envy someone.
and i do. so i am.
i miss mike. a fucking lot. my best friend, and it's true. but i can't be his best friend because he has like 12 siblings and they would all have to die first. and the rest of those girls and boys i know, god bless them. they're all either coupled up or just a little too distant for me to get anywhere with them emotionally other than a drunken stupor.
it's taking every ounce of willpower i have not to call the boyfriend right now. problem is, once he answers the phone, i have nothing to say. then i'm left to my drunken conversational devices, which is bad since i'm trying to cut down on the unexplained, heavy sense of embarrassment i've had in the mornings lately.
this is the first time i've ever experienced "holiday blues"--HAHAAAA that clever euphamism. it's the first time i've been bored and angry long enough to get Moe Syzlak syndrome (well, except for when I was in high school, but I blame that on sleep deprivation and PMS)
i just really want to see ryan now. this shit simply isn't healthy for me. when i'm telling him that i miss him, i miss him, i miss him, i miss him, the last thing i want to hear about is the warm weather, and the beach, and the condo, and the nice family that functions normally. what am i supposed to say in return? "oh yeah baby, we got TWO kinds of hot dog buns tonight. you know that kind they serve at dairy queen? the kind that's like a piece of bread folded in half? yeah, we got those, plus the regular hot dog buns." that just doesn't cut it.
whenever i say to my dad, "What are you going to do today?" if it's any time after 3pm, he always says "The day's over!" WELL THEN WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO TO BED??!!
i only keep writing because once i stop, i'll be left to wander around in the quiet and the dark, without the thought-organizing-filter that is livejournal. hey amanda, shut up and be happy. okay.
i so badly want to talk to someone...
a minute ago i imagined myself possibly starting this entry with "i wrote a bunch of heart-felt stuff and my browser crashed!" and i figured that probably wouldn't happen so i didn't copy it or anything... greeeaaaaaat.
my mother gave me a journal with a van gogh painting on the front. i hate recieving journals as gifts again and again. it's the quinessential present from a parent to a girl who grew into something they weren't expecting. "here honey, you can expressss yourself within this journal's lined pages!" i like to express myself by throwing up on the cat. i should do that again sometime.
i erased all the Indian hiphop off a stolen ipod and filled it up with that 70's buttrock that my brother likes, and gave it to him for christmas. "it's yooouuurr neeeewww I-POOOD!," i said, in a dick clark voice. i thought it was funny. anyway.
i've been drinking all day, but i'm not at all drunk. it's very aggrivating.
i hate these quick phone conversations i have with my boyfriend. i hate how our lives coincide for a fraction of the day, just long enough for me to hear about the sun setting over the gulf of mexico, and the cruise he's taking the next day. what am i doing? i'm staring at a hole in the wall. seriously. it's kind of like a sunset, except it doesn't go in a circle. how can you talk about an expanse of owned property, an automobile, a vacation, or a mortgage-free home so casually? since, for you, that's how it's always been...
am i a fucking yokel?
i think it's so quaint when people complain about tax cuts for the rich, and republicans say "oh, that's just old-fashioned classism!" that's like saying, "a broken arm? that's just old-fashioned pain and injury!"
like capitalism up and went and fixed itself.
i could have a can of peas and a cardboard box to my name, but i'm only really poor if i envy someone.
and i do. so i am.
i miss mike. a fucking lot. my best friend, and it's true. but i can't be his best friend because he has like 12 siblings and they would all have to die first. and the rest of those girls and boys i know, god bless them. they're all either coupled up or just a little too distant for me to get anywhere with them emotionally other than a drunken stupor.
it's taking every ounce of willpower i have not to call the boyfriend right now. problem is, once he answers the phone, i have nothing to say. then i'm left to my drunken conversational devices, which is bad since i'm trying to cut down on the unexplained, heavy sense of embarrassment i've had in the mornings lately.
this is the first time i've ever experienced "holiday blues"--HAHAAAA that clever euphamism. it's the first time i've been bored and angry long enough to get Moe Syzlak syndrome (well, except for when I was in high school, but I blame that on sleep deprivation and PMS)
i just really want to see ryan now. this shit simply isn't healthy for me. when i'm telling him that i miss him, i miss him, i miss him, i miss him, the last thing i want to hear about is the warm weather, and the beach, and the condo, and the nice family that functions normally. what am i supposed to say in return? "oh yeah baby, we got TWO kinds of hot dog buns tonight. you know that kind they serve at dairy queen? the kind that's like a piece of bread folded in half? yeah, we got those, plus the regular hot dog buns." that just doesn't cut it.
whenever i say to my dad, "What are you going to do today?" if it's any time after 3pm, he always says "The day's over!" WELL THEN WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO TO BED??!!
i only keep writing because once i stop, i'll be left to wander around in the quiet and the dark, without the thought-organizing-filter that is livejournal. hey amanda, shut up and be happy. okay.
i so badly want to talk to someone...