I've had all sorts of things to write about lately, and no time to do any writing. I've been drinking and doing every stupid thing I can think of and showing up to class ridiculously tired and hungover. Witness my decline into squalor and sloppy, unattractive alcoholism.
I had a little yelling moment this morning when I got lost on the way to a ballet class I wanted to take. It was raining and it seemed like there was no point in ever trying to do anything positive, because I'm completely incapable of doing anything that doesn't destroy me in some way. Why should I work out, eat right, study, spend time with friends, try out new hair styles, check items off my to-do list and read worthy tomes when it's so much easier to ruin my liver, binge on peanut butter, hand work in at the last minute, avoid people's phone calls, rock an ugly, ratty ponytail, achieve absolutely nothing of substance, and voraciously consume copies of Star and Us Weekly?
I think all the booze is messing with my meds. Or maybe the not remembering to take the damn things in the first place. That could be it, too.
Burn-out is getting a knee reconstruction later this week. I haven't seen him much lately. He says he's been sick, but I'm inclined to believe he's found someone more interesting than me to rail. I don't really feel bad about that, although I would have preferred to be the one to get bored with him rather than vice versa.
Same thing with Brick. He texts me here and there, saying how much he wants to see me and wanting to know when we can hang out. His idea of hanging out involves my trekking over to his house and staying over. At least Burn-out comes to me, rather than my having to go to him. I can't be bothered with lengthy CTA trips in the name of getting laid, for the most part. Although a sleepover at Brick's means I can play with his very cute Rottweiler while catching up on Teen Mom and Tosh.0 and eating cookie dough purloined from the fridge.
I went out with a new guy last week, Man-child. He's in the middle of an ugly divorce and has two small children. Neither of these fun-facts are on his OKC profile, and I don't think he'd intended on sharing them but for some reason did. He also looks about twenty, but not in a hot way. Inexplicably, it seemed like a good idea to bring him home, until he dropped the bomb about his ex-wife being the only person he'd ever slept with, How the fuck do I find these losers? Man-child rides a fucking razor scooter, for God's sake. Why did I not just head for the hills as soon as I saw that?
One small dumpling of awesomeness in the otherwise gloopy and burnt-tasting wonton soup of my life is the realization that I am capable of administering my own Brazilian waxes. Considering how much I like picking at things and pulling out stuff with tweezers, it's sort of surprising that it took me this long to figure this out. Also, that's sixty bucks a month I'm saving, yo. Sixty bucks that COULD be going towards the hefty bill that would go along with the smart phone I'm thinking about getting. My shitty-ass flip phone is on its last legs, and I'm sick of being the only person who doesn't get to play Angry Birds while riding the bus.
I miss Forthright. He's out of town this weekend and we didn't hang last weekend. I think I need to spend more time with him and less with the other harem members. In a slightly different mindframe, Forthright would be a very good boyfriend. Right now, he's a very good person to talk to about my dating exploits while we watch crappy movies and eat m and m's. We might be doing that tomorrow. I hope so. I need something good to happen right now.
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