|You said it.
||[Aug. 20th, 2004|07:57 pm]
|||||"Mad World" by Gary Jules, from Donnie Darko||]|
So I'm sitting at home in front of the computer playing pirated music with the lights low enough that my mom would yell at me if she saw it. I'm by myself, drinking Smirnoff and waiting for the mac and cheese in the microwave to cool.
I don't know if tonight is about being utterly pathetic or reveling in a rare cozy night to myself.
I guess I haven't updated, since, what, bunny acquisition?
Went to Ocean City with the Liz for most of the past week. Yay for no tan-like proof of the beach, way to much Blockbuster for a vacation, Dunkin Donuts/Baskin Robins combination stores, and tropical storms that prove that god, does, in fact, hate Liz and I.
So I exaggerate. It was a good time, and nice to see her family and have more than twenty four hours at a time to spend with my girl. I am, by the way, a chapstick lesbian. In case you were wondering. Chesapeake Chicken, and amazing comfort food place on route 50 on the way to, or from depending on how you look at it, the ocean was the grand finale. They have the white neon light outline of a chicken outside. Perfect. As are Old Time Photos that make us look serious and plotting but really just reveal that is dark-oclock when we got them done. That's right, it was past my bedtime, apparently. Saltwater taffy also falls under "perfect". (Except for the green dotted ones.)
By the way, make sure Senora works, ok?
Got back on Wednesday afternoon, to see the boy for a few hours before he departed for Savannah. ::sigh:: Is it bad that I'm uber-jealous that my boyfriend got to go home? Here's the thing... I'm not jealous of his family and friends there for having him to themselves this week... I'm jealous of him because I want nothing more right now than to be there in Savannah with him and his family and my "any friend of yours is a friend of mine" friends there.
So I decided to take advantage of the time to myself to explore the social life that, well, I'm not positive, but I may once have had. This has amounted to seeing Herman last night for a few hours for the first time in years. We also concluded that I am a senior citizen.
The macaroni is probably cool by now. Humph. That means I have to get up.
So sleep hasn't been coming easily lately. I've never been an insomniac. And this may be the first time in my life that having stuff on my mind actually kept me up instead of making me sleep it away. I've been in this place, on and off for the past week or two, where just someone looking at me crosseyed would likely make me burst into tears. Everyone keeps telling me how understandable it is, how much I have going on. Oh, do I? I sincerely didn't notice it. I go to work, I come home. Ho Hum. Maybe they're right. I suppose there has been a good bit of ::ahem:: adjustment in my life the past month or so.
I have the undying urge to post song lyrics in my journal. Maybe not.
I can't get home for Jordan's birthday. Again. Tell me why I moved to DC? Sometimes I think, proudly, that I escaped Baltimore. (Not to say that I don't love it, you know my Baltimore pride... but just that, it tends tends to keep people longer than it has a right to.) Sometimes, I realize, instead, that Baltimore escapes me.
I thought that not defining and not admitting would be my armor. Turns out that's all I had to do. For the moment at least.
Mmmm, cryptic and moody. How every semi-honest but purposefully-not-too-revealing online journal entry sounds. Dammit.
I've been reading Atlas Shrugged. For the past three months. I'm nearly through. And my that I mean only a few more weeks and seven more chapters. Why do I find myself comparing myself to these characters the way any other person might to *real* fucking people.