(no subject)
OK, so I have this problem: I keep coming up with ideas for LJ posts, but then I figure "Wait, I can't write that, until I've written this other, bigger thing that I was going to write...at some point".
So I've been meaning to write all about my erstwhile boyfriend's 17 year-old little slut-tard, but that's kind of a long post, and, well, I haven't been working at all for the last few weeks, and I've been staying at the erstwhile boyfriend's place for that time, and he doesn't have online connection, and whenever I'm home I think about updating, but then-hey!- there's privacy and internet porn, so why fucking bother?
So I think about talking about the state of my room, or the fact that it took about 5 hours of work to improve my room to 'disaster area' status (up from 'uninhabitable discard pile'); I think about talking about how I'm moving out of my place in a week, and I hope I will take better care of my new room; I think about talking about the roomates I am leaving behind, particularly the excessively stupid, naked roomate who exists as the singularly most irritating person I have ever met in my fucking life (yes, Mapman7, I do not like my current apartment); I think about talking about autumn, or the lack of jobs, or my brother finding me on Friendster, or going off paxil, or these naked pictures of me that found their way onto the internet, and on and on.
But fuck it. I haven't talked about the 17 year-old tart yet, so i can't address anything else, can I?
Now that I've gone off Paxil (there was going to be a post about that...) I need to start medicating myself with some god damned ritalin. That way I can start doing all the meaningless chores I continually put off till tommorrow-- today.
Slacker, heal thyself.
So I've been meaning to write all about my erstwhile boyfriend's 17 year-old little slut-tard, but that's kind of a long post, and, well, I haven't been working at all for the last few weeks, and I've been staying at the erstwhile boyfriend's place for that time, and he doesn't have online connection, and whenever I'm home I think about updating, but then-hey!- there's privacy and internet porn, so why fucking bother?
So I think about talking about the state of my room, or the fact that it took about 5 hours of work to improve my room to 'disaster area' status (up from 'uninhabitable discard pile'); I think about talking about how I'm moving out of my place in a week, and I hope I will take better care of my new room; I think about talking about the roomates I am leaving behind, particularly the excessively stupid, naked roomate who exists as the singularly most irritating person I have ever met in my fucking life (yes, Mapman7, I do not like my current apartment); I think about talking about autumn, or the lack of jobs, or my brother finding me on Friendster, or going off paxil, or these naked pictures of me that found their way onto the internet, and on and on.
But fuck it. I haven't talked about the 17 year-old tart yet, so i can't address anything else, can I?
Now that I've gone off Paxil (there was going to be a post about that...) I need to start medicating myself with some god damned ritalin. That way I can start doing all the meaningless chores I continually put off till tommorrow-- today.
Slacker, heal thyself.