(no subject)
I don't feel like myself these past couple of days. Part of me thinks I had too good of a time having a good time over the holidays, basking in the diagnosis that I had wrongly diagnosed myself with S.A.D. the past couple of years. I gloated about it to other people "oh, I used to get SO sad over the holidays, but it turns out it was just that shitty ass job. I'm totally fine this holiday season!" Which is true...but not.
I mean, I'm fine, but I'm not all of a sudden. I have all this time on my hands and I insist, INSIST, on wasting it almost completely. I don't want to do a damn thing. I don't want to do any of the things I was supposed to do this winter break. I'm supposed to be reaching for that internship in the stars, I'm supposed to be spicing up my resume and contacting people who can change my life with their magical fingers of destiny. But, honestly, I couldn't give less of a shit about any of those things right now. I don't really believe I'll end up in New York over the summer. Blasphemous! But there you go. Every time I've told someone (read: everyone) that I will *be* in NY this summer I have felt a little ashamed. Ashamed because I suspect I'm lying.
January is a stupid month. Maybe I just have January Affective Disorder. I know it's an arbitrary and completely imaginary slice of time created and defined by humans and their totally arbitrary calendars, but January makes me sick. I'm supposed to be all energetic about the new year and happy about a new beginning and sucka sucka sucka dick. Why can't I be stubborn and grumpy and hold on to the previous year like a kid who holds on to their pillow in the morning when you attempt to wake them up? That's how I goddamn feel.
I don't want to be proactive. I am a million light years away from people who are taking advantage of January to join bootcamps and start diets and enroll in Dreamweaver classes. I hate you, Time, so why would I want to take advantage of you? You lay there and spread yourself out like a nubile young thing and I'm supposed to rub my hands together and dive in. Well, Time, I'm going to let you go unused and I'm going to let you grow cold and bitter. I want to lay here and have a stare-off with you. I'll be asleep before you know it. Go bug someone else.
2011 is the start of a new decade, some say. What if I waste it. What if I waste the entire year. You realize there's no question mark there because I'm not really asking for an answer. Oh, I know I can't waste it. I'll go back to school in a couple of weeks and I'll work hard and I'll sweat and toil, as if this entry was never written. I'll get off this couch and make decisions and drive myself back and forth until every month falls off the goddamn tree.
2011 is going to do me dirty and I know it. I know it. I've lain here, hidden, under a pile of the previous decade's brown leaves for way too long. 2011 is the year of payback. 2011 will muster a mighty wind that will leave me with no cover. I have nowhere to run. This year will lay it all bare. I can feel it. I am scared to death, chilled to the bone. I can't go on living the way I do and my time has run out.
So. Fine. Fine. I'm going to roll up my sleeves and sweat and toil. But I will only sweat and toil when I am forced to sweat and toil. Only when there is no other recourse but to sweat and toil. Right now, nothing is forcing me, so I sit. I'm just going to sit. The rest of you can go out and take advantage of your precious time and go get things done like you so love to do. I don't give a shit. I'll lay here and rot for as long as I can go undisturbed.
I mean, I'm fine, but I'm not all of a sudden. I have all this time on my hands and I insist, INSIST, on wasting it almost completely. I don't want to do a damn thing. I don't want to do any of the things I was supposed to do this winter break. I'm supposed to be reaching for that internship in the stars, I'm supposed to be spicing up my resume and contacting people who can change my life with their magical fingers of destiny. But, honestly, I couldn't give less of a shit about any of those things right now. I don't really believe I'll end up in New York over the summer. Blasphemous! But there you go. Every time I've told someone (read: everyone) that I will *be* in NY this summer I have felt a little ashamed. Ashamed because I suspect I'm lying.
January is a stupid month. Maybe I just have January Affective Disorder. I know it's an arbitrary and completely imaginary slice of time created and defined by humans and their totally arbitrary calendars, but January makes me sick. I'm supposed to be all energetic about the new year and happy about a new beginning and sucka sucka sucka dick. Why can't I be stubborn and grumpy and hold on to the previous year like a kid who holds on to their pillow in the morning when you attempt to wake them up? That's how I goddamn feel.
I don't want to be proactive. I am a million light years away from people who are taking advantage of January to join bootcamps and start diets and enroll in Dreamweaver classes. I hate you, Time, so why would I want to take advantage of you? You lay there and spread yourself out like a nubile young thing and I'm supposed to rub my hands together and dive in. Well, Time, I'm going to let you go unused and I'm going to let you grow cold and bitter. I want to lay here and have a stare-off with you. I'll be asleep before you know it. Go bug someone else.
2011 is the start of a new decade, some say. What if I waste it. What if I waste the entire year. You realize there's no question mark there because I'm not really asking for an answer. Oh, I know I can't waste it. I'll go back to school in a couple of weeks and I'll work hard and I'll sweat and toil, as if this entry was never written. I'll get off this couch and make decisions and drive myself back and forth until every month falls off the goddamn tree.
2011 is going to do me dirty and I know it. I know it. I've lain here, hidden, under a pile of the previous decade's brown leaves for way too long. 2011 is the year of payback. 2011 will muster a mighty wind that will leave me with no cover. I have nowhere to run. This year will lay it all bare. I can feel it. I am scared to death, chilled to the bone. I can't go on living the way I do and my time has run out.
So. Fine. Fine. I'm going to roll up my sleeves and sweat and toil. But I will only sweat and toil when I am forced to sweat and toil. Only when there is no other recourse but to sweat and toil. Right now, nothing is forcing me, so I sit. I'm just going to sit. The rest of you can go out and take advantage of your precious time and go get things done like you so love to do. I don't give a shit. I'll lay here and rot for as long as I can go undisturbed.