1. To travel. I want to go to London, Paris, Botswana, Phuket, Reykjavik, Mexico City, Costa Rica, Lombok, Berlin, and about eighty-five other places. I suspect I was meant to do this in my early 20s, but whatever. Honey badger don't give a fuck.
2. To be a writer of some description. This will necessitate writing something outside of rants and sonnets to pudding and bad TV. I should get on that.
3. To have kids. I believe we've discussed this.
4. To not have The Problem any more. I am already working on that, and will be working on it to an even greater degree come this Thursday.
5. To help people. I want to shuffle off this mortal coil knowing that some people's lives sucked somewhat less due to my actions.
6. To be proficient at kickboxing.
7. To live in my own goddamn apartment. I don't want to own it (maybe one day), but Jesus tapdancing Christ, I have had it up to HERE with roommates.
8. To get my mother-fucking American drivers' license. Soooooon.
9. To be sedated. Bam bam bam bam bah, ba-bam bam bam bah, I wanna be sedated.
Monday, September 17, 2012
A little, not much
I am reading a book about emotional eating and the overcoming thereof. For those of you blessed with stable brainpans and no interest in things psychological, emotional eating is when you cram a bunch of food into your face instead of dealing with whatever it is that's making you upset. Eating your feelings, so to speak. Here's the part where you can roll your eyes and make some kind of "first world problems" joke, because obviously if it's an issue you've never experienced, it must be completely lacking in weight, if it exists at all. Perhaps you'd like to make fun of some people with bi-polar next?
While I'm digressing, I would like to tell everyone on the goddamn planet that telling someone with major depressive disorder to "cheer up" helps exactly no one, least of all the depressed person. The only thing that will result from sharing your little misguided ray of sunshine will be a mental line crossing out your name on a list of people the recipient knows they can count on.
I was going to write more, but now I'm tired. I believe I will lay on the couch and wait for Sunshine and Roses to come over so Roses can reclaim her boots. Dys sort of stole them and then deviously pretended to be giving them to Goodwill when she moved out. Good thing I compulsively seize people's cast-off clothes, or Roses might have cold and unstylish feet this fall.
While I'm digressing, I would like to tell everyone on the goddamn planet that telling someone with major depressive disorder to "cheer up" helps exactly no one, least of all the depressed person. The only thing that will result from sharing your little misguided ray of sunshine will be a mental line crossing out your name on a list of people the recipient knows they can count on.
I was going to write more, but now I'm tired. I believe I will lay on the couch and wait for Sunshine and Roses to come over so Roses can reclaim her boots. Dys sort of stole them and then deviously pretended to be giving them to Goodwill when she moved out. Good thing I compulsively seize people's cast-off clothes, or Roses might have cold and unstylish feet this fall.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
What's new, pussycat?
Hey, hey, hey! You really have to say that in the Fat Albert voice for it to be funny. Please to comply, or run the risk of failing to appreciate my hilarity.
So what's up, non-existent readers? What's new? How y'all BEEN? I have been absent because...because fuck you, that's why. I've been in places that are not this blog for the last...three months? I don't know. However the hell long it's been, I'm here now, so let's all celebrate by going out for frosty chocolate milkshakes.
I took the fall semester off from school because I hated everything and everyone and I had a crisis of confidence and also I really, REALLY didn't want to fill out any more forms. Did you know that a lot of higher education involves filling out paperwork? Because it totally does. So now I am in an idle, sinful state of sloth, only working three different jobs and taking on one or two new exciting projects. Whatever will become of me?
There are ever so many new things to share, but because I made the executive decision to have vodka and diet Dr Pepper for dinner, I am in no mood to concisely sum up the activities of the recent past in an orderly fashion. Instead, I will tell you some things about me, sequenced according to however the hell they may choose to fall into my brain.
Thing the 1st: I am allergic to penicillin.
We found this out when I was 15 and had glandular fever. That's mono, to all you Yankee types. They gave me antibiotics to make my neck un-puff, which resulted in my feet (along with various other body parts) swelling up and itching like a motherfucker. I have an unpleasantly clear memory of kicking the walls in a vain attempt to make said itching stop. Cher maman took a look at my inflamed, glowing extremities and noted that her sister (Aunty Beth, who is rad...I will write a whole post about her sometime) had the same reaction to penicillin...right before her throat swelled up and prevented her from being able to breathe. So off we toddled to the nearby hospital, where they gave me a particularly painful injection in the derriere (heh...insert anal sex joke here...heh...insert...heh...), whereby the itching ceased, the swelling went down, and my mother started hassling me to get one of those medic alert bracelet things. Flash forward thirteen years...still no bracelet. Fuck that noise. Maybe I'll just get "allergic to penicillin" tattooed on my ass?
Thing the 2nd:
I will never not love wearing Converse all-stars. Also combat boots.
Thing the 3rd:
I just read True Grit. That shit was fucking rad. Mattie is right up there with Scout, Lizzie Bennett, Katniss, and Anne Shirley as one of my all-time favorite strong female protagonists. Of all time.
Thing the 4th:
I am not good at running. My body does not like to run. Events of the previous week have made this abundantly clear. I will not be put off, however. I'm going to see a running coach (yeah, that's a thing. I didn't know about it either, so don't feel too out of the loop) and get my gait analysed (gait is an awesome word. Just saying) and figure out how to run so it doesn't fuck my shit up. And then I will run All The 5k's! Also the half marathon! And then you will hail me as your cardiovascular god!
...but right now, I'm fucking hungry. Time for a veggie scramble, suckers.
So what's up, non-existent readers? What's new? How y'all BEEN? I have been absent because...because fuck you, that's why. I've been in places that are not this blog for the last...three months? I don't know. However the hell long it's been, I'm here now, so let's all celebrate by going out for frosty chocolate milkshakes.
I took the fall semester off from school because I hated everything and everyone and I had a crisis of confidence and also I really, REALLY didn't want to fill out any more forms. Did you know that a lot of higher education involves filling out paperwork? Because it totally does. So now I am in an idle, sinful state of sloth, only working three different jobs and taking on one or two new exciting projects. Whatever will become of me?
There are ever so many new things to share, but because I made the executive decision to have vodka and diet Dr Pepper for dinner, I am in no mood to concisely sum up the activities of the recent past in an orderly fashion. Instead, I will tell you some things about me, sequenced according to however the hell they may choose to fall into my brain.
Thing the 1st: I am allergic to penicillin.
We found this out when I was 15 and had glandular fever. That's mono, to all you Yankee types. They gave me antibiotics to make my neck un-puff, which resulted in my feet (along with various other body parts) swelling up and itching like a motherfucker. I have an unpleasantly clear memory of kicking the walls in a vain attempt to make said itching stop. Cher maman took a look at my inflamed, glowing extremities and noted that her sister (Aunty Beth, who is rad...I will write a whole post about her sometime) had the same reaction to penicillin...right before her throat swelled up and prevented her from being able to breathe. So off we toddled to the nearby hospital, where they gave me a particularly painful injection in the derriere (heh...insert anal sex joke here...heh...insert...heh...), whereby the itching ceased, the swelling went down, and my mother started hassling me to get one of those medic alert bracelet things. Flash forward thirteen years...still no bracelet. Fuck that noise. Maybe I'll just get "allergic to penicillin" tattooed on my ass?
Thing the 2nd:
I will never not love wearing Converse all-stars. Also combat boots.
Thing the 3rd:
I just read True Grit. That shit was fucking rad. Mattie is right up there with Scout, Lizzie Bennett, Katniss, and Anne Shirley as one of my all-time favorite strong female protagonists. Of all time.
Thing the 4th:
I am not good at running. My body does not like to run. Events of the previous week have made this abundantly clear. I will not be put off, however. I'm going to see a running coach (yeah, that's a thing. I didn't know about it either, so don't feel too out of the loop) and get my gait analysed (gait is an awesome word. Just saying) and figure out how to run so it doesn't fuck my shit up. And then I will run All The 5k's! Also the half marathon! And then you will hail me as your cardiovascular god!
...but right now, I'm fucking hungry. Time for a veggie scramble, suckers.
When the hell did I write this?
There's no good way to say to someone, "I like you but I don't want to date you". When someone says "I just want to know what you think of me", there's no good way to say "I think you're a really great dude but I don't want you to be my boyfriend". There's no good way of saying "I think we should just be friends" because if that person wanted to just be your friend, they wouldn't be asking you to date them.
My room mates are watching a documentary about origami. I can't make anything except for a paper plane, but if someone had taught me geometry by getting me to fold colored bits of paper in nifty ways, I might not have developed such a deep and abiding loathing for math back in Year 5.
I am procrastinating. I need to clean the detritus of last night's party off the back deck, take out the trash, shower, go grocery shopping, run my speech, and get organized for this week. I am doing none of those things, preferring instead to just lie on my bed, contemplating the mysterious soreness of my legs.
My room mates are watching a documentary about origami. I can't make anything except for a paper plane, but if someone had taught me geometry by getting me to fold colored bits of paper in nifty ways, I might not have developed such a deep and abiding loathing for math back in Year 5.
I am procrastinating. I need to clean the detritus of last night's party off the back deck, take out the trash, shower, go grocery shopping, run my speech, and get organized for this week. I am doing none of those things, preferring instead to just lie on my bed, contemplating the mysterious soreness of my legs.
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