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This weekend has been fucked.
I'd like to animate that sentence to march around the screen and glitter at you and shout, perhaps.
Lessee...
Car accident. My fault. Traffic ticket because I'm a fuckwit. Completely, utterly, irredeemably broke.
Holiday party. Why? I don't want to celebrate with my coworkers, especially when two glasses of wine have me drunk enough that I can't tell if I'm being boring or not. (Here's a hint. I was expounding on monotheism in Western culture, as opposed to the culture that gave rise to karaoke. It sounds a lot better sober and not covered in chocolate.)
Have amazing desire to be not-single, if only so I can cry on someone. The cop didn't drive away because I was crying. I sort of hope that he thought I was about to get out of the car with a gun, but I'm sure that's not the case. I don't want to be "in a relationship", and I don't want to be at someone else's beck and call (or, worse, have them at mine because I hate that shit) but I want to be not-single. Hell, what I need is a large dog.
I can't get out of the grind of daily tasks in any way that's meaningful. I did a puzzle all day today. Actually, two. Not the bit about cleaning the apartment like every week, but also not the bit about "If you're going to skive off, at least do so USEFULLY and write one of the roughly NINE shorts you have to write either for a deadline or because they are TRAPPED IN YOUR HEAD WITH NO WAY OUT OTHER THAN BY PEN."
This makes me happy, though. Well, sort of. Okay, more than I was.
My shitty mood is not helped by my shitty life at this point. And the worst part is that I keep thinking I have it so good. But by my Personal Standards Of Life, no I don't.
I want a nice English bloke like in The Truth About Cats and Dogs to come make it all better.
Also, I want the CD burner on this computer to WORK, GODDAMNIT, WORK AHGLJGLWJGOUJ.
I'd like to animate that sentence to march around the screen and glitter at you and shout, perhaps.
Lessee...
Car accident. My fault. Traffic ticket because I'm a fuckwit. Completely, utterly, irredeemably broke.
Holiday party. Why? I don't want to celebrate with my coworkers, especially when two glasses of wine have me drunk enough that I can't tell if I'm being boring or not. (Here's a hint. I was expounding on monotheism in Western culture, as opposed to the culture that gave rise to karaoke. It sounds a lot better sober and not covered in chocolate.)
Have amazing desire to be not-single, if only so I can cry on someone. The cop didn't drive away because I was crying. I sort of hope that he thought I was about to get out of the car with a gun, but I'm sure that's not the case. I don't want to be "in a relationship", and I don't want to be at someone else's beck and call (or, worse, have them at mine because I hate that shit) but I want to be not-single. Hell, what I need is a large dog.
I can't get out of the grind of daily tasks in any way that's meaningful. I did a puzzle all day today. Actually, two. Not the bit about cleaning the apartment like every week, but also not the bit about "If you're going to skive off, at least do so USEFULLY and write one of the roughly NINE shorts you have to write either for a deadline or because they are TRAPPED IN YOUR HEAD WITH NO WAY OUT OTHER THAN BY PEN."
This makes me happy, though. Well, sort of. Okay, more than I was.
My shitty mood is not helped by my shitty life at this point. And the worst part is that I keep thinking I have it so good. But by my Personal Standards Of Life, no I don't.
I want a nice English bloke like in The Truth About Cats and Dogs to come make it all better.
Also, I want the CD burner on this computer to WORK, GODDAMNIT, WORK AHGLJGLWJGOUJ.
