Monday, February 27, 2006
"I am here for you if you'd only care" - James Blunt
Today was a strange day. I realized a lot of things.
a) I am lonely. A lot. I have lots of friends, and I have a very attentive boyfriend. Not only that, but I do quite well at entertaining myself most of the time. For some reason though, my home makes me feel desperately lonely sometimes.
b) I felt insanely guilty for using the time between my classes today productively. Because Crystal and I always vowed to be productive, and never were because we would talk and drink coffee the whole time.
c) The rules of grammar and syntax are becoming mind-numbingly clear to me. I hadn't anticipated that. It just sort of snuck up on me.
Yesterday, was a fantastic day. For some reason, I felt like a million bucks. I mean, that isn't to say that I don't feel pretty good today, but man, I had a great day yesterday. Everyone at work was in a good mood, and talkative, which is not a Sunday that I'm used to.
And yes, some store stories:
I. If you feel the need to roll a twenty into a tube and sniff a line of cocaine with it- please clean it off afterwards instead of unrolling it for the clerk to pay for cigerettes (they'll kill you) and causing copious amounts of your cosmetic drug to fall onto the counter. It's disgusting, but admittedly, funnier then hell too.
II. Talking about beating someone up on your cellphone because they have "been pulling some shady, shady shit on me," isn't shady at all.
III. Please don't use our phone to call your dealer.
IV. Mr. Enigma came in frequently this weekend. He is the man that lent me $50, no questions asked, last month. Of course I have since repaid him, just including the money owed into his change one day. However, he keeps coming in, and being completely random. He came in twice yesterday, which always makes my day, because I get to puzzle over what he's about with every scarce clue gained. Yesterday's random acts of churlish affection were, "what kind of cigerettes do you smoke? Do you have baking soda?" One thing said for each trip. It kills me, because for every one thing he says, I say three, and get no answers out of him. I don't pepper him with questions, just really vague pleasantries, but yes, he is Mr. Enigma.
T-2 days!
¶ 7:28 PM
Today was a strange day. I realized a lot of things.a) I am lonely. A lot. I have lots of friends, and I have a very attentive boyfriend. Not only that, but I do quite well at entertaining myself most of the time. For some reason though, my home makes me feel desperately lonely sometimes.
b) I felt insanely guilty for using the time between my classes today productively. Because Crystal and I always vowed to be productive, and never were because we would talk and drink coffee the whole time.
c) The rules of grammar and syntax are becoming mind-numbingly clear to me. I hadn't anticipated that. It just sort of snuck up on me.
Yesterday, was a fantastic day. For some reason, I felt like a million bucks. I mean, that isn't to say that I don't feel pretty good today, but man, I had a great day yesterday. Everyone at work was in a good mood, and talkative, which is not a Sunday that I'm used to.
And yes, some store stories:
I. If you feel the need to roll a twenty into a tube and sniff a line of cocaine with it- please clean it off afterwards instead of unrolling it for the clerk to pay for cigerettes (they'll kill you) and causing copious amounts of your cosmetic drug to fall onto the counter. It's disgusting, but admittedly, funnier then hell too.
II. Talking about beating someone up on your cellphone because they have "been pulling some shady, shady shit on me," isn't shady at all.
III. Please don't use our phone to call your dealer.
IV. Mr. Enigma came in frequently this weekend. He is the man that lent me $50, no questions asked, last month. Of course I have since repaid him, just including the money owed into his change one day. However, he keeps coming in, and being completely random. He came in twice yesterday, which always makes my day, because I get to puzzle over what he's about with every scarce clue gained. Yesterday's random acts of churlish affection were, "what kind of cigerettes do you smoke? Do you have baking soda?" One thing said for each trip. It kills me, because for every one thing he says, I say three, and get no answers out of him. I don't pepper him with questions, just really vague pleasantries, but yes, he is Mr. Enigma.
T-2 days!
¶ 7:28 PM
