Get A Life
Okay... so...
I really hate being neurotic.
So, I met these two girls. That never happens, right? I took the first one grocery shopping on a Thursday. I hung out with the second one at the mall on Sunday. Later that day, I went to dinner with the first one. Since then, I took the first one out for sushi... on another Thursday.
...And I don't know how either feels about me.
I'd like to put how I feel about where I am these days in a metaphor, but that would be over-stating it. I'll just say it: nobody talks to me and I don't know why not. I've been nice to people, I've been there for people, I've been entertaining and witty, but people just don't care. Two of my friends from high school -- they live in Pittsburgh, too -- won't call me, even though I've called them both several times. The two girls I met recently won't talk to me online unless I speak to them first, and the second one won't carry a conversation at all. She's like a wall. Nobody will text message me back. And how are you supposed to know how people feel about you when they won't talk to you? Or won't even seek you out? It makes you feel worthless.
I realized recently that my life is like a poem that I had written in high school. My bed is how and where I had imagined the bed in my poem, my life is how I imagined the life of the subject in my poem, and the street where I imagined the subject meeting the rainbow girl... that's in Oakland... though I may have placed it there retroactively.
Damnit... where am I going?
Neurosis... often called "thinking too much", as in the phrase, "You think too much". Just how can someone "think too much" anyway? I think (there's that word again) that people don't think enough, and that too many people get away with too much crap because they know others won't think things through. I really don't think I need to put forth any kind of example here, but I will anyway. My roommate... has terrible taste. You name it, and he has terrible, if not at least questionable, taste in it. He holds absolute shit movies (like Equilibrium) as high art. He actually LIKED Underworld! Do you see what I'm getting at here? I asked him how he could like (let alone watch) those movies. He would then go off on some kind of pseudo-intellectual rant about some minute detail of the movie, as if that one detail made it a masterpiece. Then he'll go on and on about the fucking "aesthetic" of this, that, and every other goddamn thing. It pisses me off to no end. He's so full of shit.
I can't believe my life has come down to this.
We now return you to your previously scheduled hiatus, already in progress.
I really hate being neurotic.
So, I met these two girls. That never happens, right? I took the first one grocery shopping on a Thursday. I hung out with the second one at the mall on Sunday. Later that day, I went to dinner with the first one. Since then, I took the first one out for sushi... on another Thursday.
...And I don't know how either feels about me.
I'd like to put how I feel about where I am these days in a metaphor, but that would be over-stating it. I'll just say it: nobody talks to me and I don't know why not. I've been nice to people, I've been there for people, I've been entertaining and witty, but people just don't care. Two of my friends from high school -- they live in Pittsburgh, too -- won't call me, even though I've called them both several times. The two girls I met recently won't talk to me online unless I speak to them first, and the second one won't carry a conversation at all. She's like a wall. Nobody will text message me back. And how are you supposed to know how people feel about you when they won't talk to you? Or won't even seek you out? It makes you feel worthless.
I realized recently that my life is like a poem that I had written in high school. My bed is how and where I had imagined the bed in my poem, my life is how I imagined the life of the subject in my poem, and the street where I imagined the subject meeting the rainbow girl... that's in Oakland... though I may have placed it there retroactively.
Damnit... where am I going?
Neurosis... often called "thinking too much", as in the phrase, "You think too much". Just how can someone "think too much" anyway? I think (there's that word again) that people don't think enough, and that too many people get away with too much crap because they know others won't think things through. I really don't think I need to put forth any kind of example here, but I will anyway. My roommate... has terrible taste. You name it, and he has terrible, if not at least questionable, taste in it. He holds absolute shit movies (like Equilibrium) as high art. He actually LIKED Underworld! Do you see what I'm getting at here? I asked him how he could like (let alone watch) those movies. He would then go off on some kind of pseudo-intellectual rant about some minute detail of the movie, as if that one detail made it a masterpiece. Then he'll go on and on about the fucking "aesthetic" of this, that, and every other goddamn thing. It pisses me off to no end. He's so full of shit.
I can't believe my life has come down to this.
We now return you to your previously scheduled hiatus, already in progress.