(no subject)
moh. meants.
i think the saddest part about leaving the bookstore is the knowing that i was never good at my job. what a blow to my virgoian ego. things im not good at usually get designated to the category of things i give up or things i never bother to try in the first place. Usually. 4 years, man. Im really leaving, though. Really. It’s my last day of work today. Then it’s all poof like it never was.
i spent the whole last weekend home reno-ing, muchly (but not solely) in solitude. I hit a zone I used to love for after the third hour of peeling and chopping carrots, when that was my 8 to 4, 7 to 3, early mornings and hot hot afternoons. Coffee. Sweat. Deep shake up thoughts. My room looks glorious.
My dad is flying out here today and my nerves have been lively hot. Poor retsin has gotten the brunt of some really anxiety-riddled messed up angry shit the last couple of days. My dad makes me feel really unstable, and I think it’s for a lot of reasons but mostly because we’re a lot alike sometimes.