And whine incessantly like a shallow, utterly self-absorbed loon.
After a melodramatic breakdown of “holy crap—I finally looked at my bank account, I clearly can’t hack college and thus have no future in any of the careers that hold my interest, the Psych Spectacular is gone for two weeks, AND IT’S ALL THE END OF THE WOOOOOOOORLD” last night, I spent the day in front of my computer doing absolutely nothing but web surfing and watching really crappy SVU reruns while munching Starbursts and drinking diet Coke. Seriously. I found myself still parked on the floor of the living room at 4:30 in the afternoon and still in my pajamas, having previously only accomplished pulling a cat off of death row, getting my car’s oil changed, and washing my hair. In that order, actually. And no, being in my pajamas all day is not at all as glorious as it sounds, not when it’s fueled by sheer life-exhaustion and involves the avoidance of all of the three hundred appallingly simple things that I need to get done (slug days like yesterday are another story entirely, though).
However, Rhapsody’s “free song of the day” feature makes me very happy, especially now that there are more than corny, overplayed summer songs for the taking.
Also, I brought home the fourth installment to my “my-cat-hung-himself-and-I-CANNOT-fucking-deal-so-yes-I’m-talking-about-it-again-and-now-I’m-collecting-grey-cats-like-it’s-really-going-to-fix-anything” insanity. The Brindle Brothers are beyond thrilled, at least; Louis is doing his clever impression of a happy snuffaluffagus, while Napoleon is following the kitty around the room waving to her oh-so-hopefully. I, on the other hand, fear that I have become a crazy cat lady at the ripe old age of 20. Now to decide which of the fantastic four is/are permanent and which really and truly are fosters.
On a related note, I realized this morning that living here and dealing with the emotional repercussions has made me incredibly impulsive (see previous paragraph), and not in a “spontaneity-is-the-stuff-of-life-yay-for-living-on-a-whim!” kind of way. More like, I look in the mirror and wonder what the hell possesses me to do half the stuff I’m doing (or not doing, lately). Just a random thought that found its way across my mind’s widescreen today.
In keeping with the impulsive, say-whaaaaa…? theme, I want a do-over for California. One that does not involve “outside-looking-in-holy-shit-I-don’t-know-ANY-of-you” syndrome, crass come-ons, or a small army of roaches, but one that definitely involves great heights, great risks, and one great fucking rush. I just can’t decide whether I want to do this alone or gather a few friends for the occasion. Sadly, I have a feeling that those on my “preferred company” list are likely all either too broke or too chickenshit to partake in the insanity—not that I am not either of those things, of course. I’m just wanting to do it anyway (once again, see previous paragraph). Ridiculously, the one worry currently holding me back? I’m afraid of renting a car by myself. No joke. Irrational, insignificant fears that could actually make or break something of equally irrational but considerably greater significance? Check! Oh yes, yes indeed.
I didn’t make it to photography class today (usually the highlight of my week) because, of all reasons, I didn’t put my laundry on in time. Because—again, of all reasons—I’m too suffocated by my own avoidance of life to get off the living room floor. Literally. Woo-flipping-hoo, I’m such a riot!
I did however leave the house again (wonder of wonders!) in pursuit of cat food before the day ended. And, after my sister cheerfully provided me with more vodka and a generous kick in the ass offer to tackle the task with me, I also signed up for fall classes with the undying optimism that this semester will be different than summer’s semester-that-wasn’t. It has to be—I have happy pills now, dammit!
Thus concludes this week’s episode of completely pointless, rambly crap that is better out than in but by the same token, of absolutely no use to the community at large. Methinks tomorrow calls for another round of Fifteen Seconds of Cute, or something equally warm-fuzzy-ish (emphasis on the fuzzy, mayhaps) to offset the doom and gloom that seems to be making itself so very much at home in my head. So here’s to being all ambitious and productive and actually getting up off the damn living room floor tomorrow. Yeeeeeeah boy!
