Such a Perfect Day
Today, I woke up feeling disappointed in both the weather and my bed sheets.
Seeing as how this IS Los Angeles, and I haven't been the tidiest person (recently), it seems like a lost cause to hope for a grey sky, cold/crisp air, and starched bed sheets.
I can't figure out what to do with my days.
It seems as if whenever I build a task list in my head, it becomes obliterated by the fact that I am far too lazy and unhealthy to get on the proverbial 'ball.' I wake up - muttering a few lines of discontent (at either myself or someone I am mad at), roll around for...oh three hours, smoke a half a pack of cigarettes while listening to 'Doctor My Eyes' on repeat (hoping to find some sort of horrible parallel in my life to that song), then head to work - where I have to face Manny. After which, I go home to watch all of the movies I have on fast-forward to wash away the horrors of alpha male to male conversation, go to Brite Spot for dinner, type a few lines of script, top off a few glasses of wine - then to make things cyclical - listen to 'Doctor My Eyes' on repeat, smoke the other half of my cigarettes, go to bed muttering a few lines of discontent (at either myself or someone I am mad at), roll around for...oh three hours -- then pass the fuck out.
Furthermore; there's nobody here who I dare try to impress or fancy. If there was, perhaps I would feel as if that extra 'jump kick' in my day would be necessary. A healthy summer obsession is often a good thing (it gives me focus, energy, and passion). But alas, there is not a single soul who I can verbally abuse and stalk. I've become limp, sarcastic, and blind. It's come to the point where I'm beginning to delete all my Savage Garden tracks from itunes. How tragic!
Other disappointments - Star Wars is over. The appeal of giggling over toys has gone stale. I've decided to take on tailoring my own x-wing pilot costume (ha ha), but even that seems to be...rather drab.
NEXT on my NETFLIX QUEUE -
Glengarry Glen Ross
The Fog of War
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
Seeing as how this IS Los Angeles, and I haven't been the tidiest person (recently), it seems like a lost cause to hope for a grey sky, cold/crisp air, and starched bed sheets.
I can't figure out what to do with my days.
It seems as if whenever I build a task list in my head, it becomes obliterated by the fact that I am far too lazy and unhealthy to get on the proverbial 'ball.' I wake up - muttering a few lines of discontent (at either myself or someone I am mad at), roll around for...oh three hours, smoke a half a pack of cigarettes while listening to 'Doctor My Eyes' on repeat (hoping to find some sort of horrible parallel in my life to that song), then head to work - where I have to face Manny. After which, I go home to watch all of the movies I have on fast-forward to wash away the horrors of alpha male to male conversation, go to Brite Spot for dinner, type a few lines of script, top off a few glasses of wine - then to make things cyclical - listen to 'Doctor My Eyes' on repeat, smoke the other half of my cigarettes, go to bed muttering a few lines of discontent (at either myself or someone I am mad at), roll around for...oh three hours -- then pass the fuck out.
Furthermore; there's nobody here who I dare try to impress or fancy. If there was, perhaps I would feel as if that extra 'jump kick' in my day would be necessary. A healthy summer obsession is often a good thing (it gives me focus, energy, and passion). But alas, there is not a single soul who I can verbally abuse and stalk. I've become limp, sarcastic, and blind. It's come to the point where I'm beginning to delete all my Savage Garden tracks from itunes. How tragic!
Other disappointments - Star Wars is over. The appeal of giggling over toys has gone stale. I've decided to take on tailoring my own x-wing pilot costume (ha ha), but even that seems to be...rather drab.
NEXT on my NETFLIX QUEUE -
Glengarry Glen Ross
The Fog of War
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid