Been sick the last few days. I only seem to catch horrible sinus or respiratory infections. I'm not sure what mine is yet, but it's not fun. I'd rather be stuck in a bathroom barfing every few minutes, than have my sinuses leak so bad that my face is raw from blowing my nose. I'm using aloe to try and minimize the rawness. But the need to blow makes it a losing battle.
To make matters worse, I'm in the middle of moving and cleaning my old apartment, which I have to vacate by this upcoming Thursday. And I've been doing all the moving and cleaning by myself, while sick, and while working. I'd like to just be able to sit at home and convalesce, and get better, but I can't. And that is the cherry on top of this particular shit sundae.
*sigh*
With most of my stuff here at the new place, I already miss the quiet solitude of the old one. I miss the privacy. I don't feel like I can do what I want, when I want. I have this vibe that this whole arrangement is not going to go well. And my being sick is not exactly helping my morale.
I hope I feel better tomorrow. I really need to get shit done.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Dazed and Confused
I'm tired and I can't sleep. It could have something to do with the fact that I'm pissed right off.
I've learned a harsh lesson. I've been courting a few women online, off the Plenty of Fish website (and again, I'm not linking it).
Yes, I caved. Yes, I feel kind of ashamed about it. I'm lonely, sue me.
The lesson is based on a certain realization I had concerning the "rules of engagement" while attempting to connect online. The new rule was to "move fast, strike hard, close the deal". That is to say chat quick, be concise, go out. Why? Because whenever you chat online (or phone, or even in person) for a prolongued period of time with a woman, the more protracted the courting is, the greater the chance that things will go wrong. Either you, or she, will say something or do something wrong. Emotions become involved, attachments formed, and then when something finally does go wrong, people get hurt. Like myself, for instance. I've broken the rule on a few occasions recently. And here are the results.
Both this Wednesday, and Saturday, I had a tentative plan (mutually-agreed) to go out with a particular woman. Said woman hasn't contacted me since Tuesday. Never followed up on said plans, and has been unresponsive to the single e-mail I sent her. Maybe there's been a personal emergency, maybe not. But how hard is it to shoot someone an e-mail? I should also mention, she has my phone number, too. So I'm left frustrated and hurt, and with no sense of closure. I have no idea what the Hell happened.
Woman #2, a great woman to chat with. I've been chatting with her slightly longer than the other. All told, about 2 weeks or so. But when I prodded about meeting, and going out, nothing came of it. She, too has been incommunicado for the last 3-4 days. For someone who genuinely seemed to like me, the avoidance is irritating. I know people get busy, but like Woman #1, I ask a similar question: "how hard is it to fire off an e-mail?". Sheesh. She knows I'm interested in her, she knows I want to meet her. I feel kind of stuck in this limbo, where I just don't know where I stand with her. She has the power and the clarity or my position, while I've got Jack Shit concerning hers. I just realized how wishy-washy that stance is. I would've been better off not having spoken to her in the first place.
Because of emotional investment nursed along by women who extended the courting process, I'm left angry, frustrated and hurt. I can accept some of the blame, as I foolishly let myself develop an attachment. Actually, it's not "attachment", it's "expectation". I expected them to value me the same way I valued them. And that scenario never turns out well for me. Ever.
If things went quickly, we chatted, made arrangements to meet, and got it over with (for good or bad), I would least have my peace of mind.
Unlike now.
*sigh*
I've learned a harsh lesson. I've been courting a few women online, off the Plenty of Fish website (and again, I'm not linking it).
Yes, I caved. Yes, I feel kind of ashamed about it. I'm lonely, sue me.
The lesson is based on a certain realization I had concerning the "rules of engagement" while attempting to connect online. The new rule was to "move fast, strike hard, close the deal". That is to say chat quick, be concise, go out. Why? Because whenever you chat online (or phone, or even in person) for a prolongued period of time with a woman, the more protracted the courting is, the greater the chance that things will go wrong. Either you, or she, will say something or do something wrong. Emotions become involved, attachments formed, and then when something finally does go wrong, people get hurt. Like myself, for instance. I've broken the rule on a few occasions recently. And here are the results.
Both this Wednesday, and Saturday, I had a tentative plan (mutually-agreed) to go out with a particular woman. Said woman hasn't contacted me since Tuesday. Never followed up on said plans, and has been unresponsive to the single e-mail I sent her. Maybe there's been a personal emergency, maybe not. But how hard is it to shoot someone an e-mail? I should also mention, she has my phone number, too. So I'm left frustrated and hurt, and with no sense of closure. I have no idea what the Hell happened.
Woman #2, a great woman to chat with. I've been chatting with her slightly longer than the other. All told, about 2 weeks or so. But when I prodded about meeting, and going out, nothing came of it. She, too has been incommunicado for the last 3-4 days. For someone who genuinely seemed to like me, the avoidance is irritating. I know people get busy, but like Woman #1, I ask a similar question: "how hard is it to fire off an e-mail?". Sheesh. She knows I'm interested in her, she knows I want to meet her. I feel kind of stuck in this limbo, where I just don't know where I stand with her. She has the power and the clarity or my position, while I've got Jack Shit concerning hers. I just realized how wishy-washy that stance is. I would've been better off not having spoken to her in the first place.
Because of emotional investment nursed along by women who extended the courting process, I'm left angry, frustrated and hurt. I can accept some of the blame, as I foolishly let myself develop an attachment. Actually, it's not "attachment", it's "expectation". I expected them to value me the same way I valued them. And that scenario never turns out well for me. Ever.
If things went quickly, we chatted, made arrangements to meet, and got it over with (for good or bad), I would least have my peace of mind.
Unlike now.
*sigh*
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sweet dreams are made of these...
As general rule, I don't dream. And when I do, they're somewhat prophetic. Odd little snippets of the future that are hard to interpret, up until I catch up with the moments portrayed in my dream. It's one of many, many weird things about me.
Meh.
As a child, teen, and young adult, I remember dreaming frequently. I even used to have a recurring dream. It was an extremely vivid dream. The kind of dream that has every detail punched-up. Colors were extreme, as were sounds, voices, etc.. I suppose I'd go so far as to say that it was hyper-real. A real hi-def, better-than-Blu-ray experience.
The dream, itself, is a bit hard to describe. Waxing metaphorically, it felt like love. Which is, of course, what the dream was about. I dreamt of falling in love and being loved. Not the kind we see in movies, read about in magazines, or in romance novels. Definitely not the kind I've experienced in what passes for my life. If love could be purified, boiled-down, concentrated, laced with something potent, and multiplied by a factor of a million. That's what I felt in these dreams. The uber-cocaine of love.
I can still remember the golden hair, heart-shaped face, the blue eyes, and the cadence of her voice. I can even remember the touch of her fingertips. She was almost too beautiful to look at. Glowing bright, like staring at the sun.
I can also remember the soul-crushing sadness at waking up from these dreams. The dreams were so bright, the feelings so pure and positive, that when I awoke, I would feel as if my psyche was t-boned by a fully-loaded semi-truck doing 100 MPH. It was jarring. And not to be melodramatic, but I would literally break down and weep at the realization that it was only a dream. To wake up to the world I know, as opposed to the world I had, even as a dream. Whenever I hear the Cure's "Just Like Heaven" (one of my favorite songs), I think of these dreams.
I miss them.
I think at this point in my life, I don't so much sleep, as fall insensate from exhaustion. I think that after having those dreams for so long, on some level I just decided to stop having them. They were too...traumatizing. But with the current state of my life right now, I really would like to wrap myself up in one of those dreams again.
Meh.
As a child, teen, and young adult, I remember dreaming frequently. I even used to have a recurring dream. It was an extremely vivid dream. The kind of dream that has every detail punched-up. Colors were extreme, as were sounds, voices, etc.. I suppose I'd go so far as to say that it was hyper-real. A real hi-def, better-than-Blu-ray experience.
The dream, itself, is a bit hard to describe. Waxing metaphorically, it felt like love. Which is, of course, what the dream was about. I dreamt of falling in love and being loved. Not the kind we see in movies, read about in magazines, or in romance novels. Definitely not the kind I've experienced in what passes for my life. If love could be purified, boiled-down, concentrated, laced with something potent, and multiplied by a factor of a million. That's what I felt in these dreams. The uber-cocaine of love.
I can still remember the golden hair, heart-shaped face, the blue eyes, and the cadence of her voice. I can even remember the touch of her fingertips. She was almost too beautiful to look at. Glowing bright, like staring at the sun.
I can also remember the soul-crushing sadness at waking up from these dreams. The dreams were so bright, the feelings so pure and positive, that when I awoke, I would feel as if my psyche was t-boned by a fully-loaded semi-truck doing 100 MPH. It was jarring. And not to be melodramatic, but I would literally break down and weep at the realization that it was only a dream. To wake up to the world I know, as opposed to the world I had, even as a dream. Whenever I hear the Cure's "Just Like Heaven" (one of my favorite songs), I think of these dreams.
I miss them.
I think at this point in my life, I don't so much sleep, as fall insensate from exhaustion. I think that after having those dreams for so long, on some level I just decided to stop having them. They were too...traumatizing. But with the current state of my life right now, I really would like to wrap myself up in one of those dreams again.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
(Un)Righteous Indignation...
This last week has been, as with ANY week, kind of peculiar. As I'm getting ready to move at the end of this month (to a bigger, better place), my landlords showed my apartment. I didn't think I'd be terribly bothered by this, but I was. The landlords gave me a days notice, which was nice. But the really annoying issue was the fact that the time they listed were 9AM-6PM. Pretty standard stuff, I suppose. It wouldn't have been so bad, had I been able to sleep the previous night, and hadn't had that day off. So I basically made it a point to set my alarm for 9AM, whether I got sleep or not, and waited. AND waited. And waited some more. Until about 5:30PM. When a 20-something couple came a-knockin', with Resident manager in tow.
Now I'm only vaguely aware of Norman Rockwell and his paintings, other than they're considered to be, by many, anthemic images of their times. So much so, that a great many consider them to be perfect examples of Americana. The couple that walked into my apartment, that evening, looked like they stepped out of Rockwell painting. I kid you not.
And I hated them immediately.
They were generically attractive, in their mid-to-late-20's, dressed well, and polite. Add to that, friendly, curious, and more than a little enthusiastic. To see a couple like this, happy, and ready to move on with their lives with positivity, literally made me want to stove their heads in. Thank God I'm good at suppressing those impulses, or I'd have ended up on the 11 o'clock news.
They had a look around, and the Manager commented to me that she was surprised at how well I took care of my apartment. I wasn't sure if I should take that as a compliment or not. By the time they all left 15 minutes later, I was literally shaking with a combination of anger, indignation, and jealousy. What a combo. I was left feeling miserable for the remainder of the night.
I know exactly why I felt as I did. Ultimately, I was jealous, I felt I was more deserving of what real, or imagined, things they had. I want that happy relationship. I want that sense of accomplishment. I want that feeling like things are moving on to better things. I want that positive feeling.
I just have no idea how to get any of that.
Yesterday, I finally got all of the ex's junk out of the apartment. I thought things would be more awkward between us than they were. She was friendly, chit-chatted with me. Told me a bunch of things I really didn't care too much to hear about. And I tried to keep things simple, and not share too much of what I was thinking or feeling. I didn't want to start anything, basically. When her sister showed up, along with a friend with a trailer to help move the larger stuff, I was in for a treat. True to form, "Sisterzilla" (as good a name as any, to refer to her as) did more complaining, pouting, whining, bitching, than any actual moving. And in about an hour-and-a-half, things were organized, packed, and incrementally taken out and moved. Ex is now fully, and completely gone.
Fun times.
NOT!
Now I'm only vaguely aware of Norman Rockwell and his paintings, other than they're considered to be, by many, anthemic images of their times. So much so, that a great many consider them to be perfect examples of Americana. The couple that walked into my apartment, that evening, looked like they stepped out of Rockwell painting. I kid you not.
And I hated them immediately.
They were generically attractive, in their mid-to-late-20's, dressed well, and polite. Add to that, friendly, curious, and more than a little enthusiastic. To see a couple like this, happy, and ready to move on with their lives with positivity, literally made me want to stove their heads in. Thank God I'm good at suppressing those impulses, or I'd have ended up on the 11 o'clock news.
They had a look around, and the Manager commented to me that she was surprised at how well I took care of my apartment. I wasn't sure if I should take that as a compliment or not. By the time they all left 15 minutes later, I was literally shaking with a combination of anger, indignation, and jealousy. What a combo. I was left feeling miserable for the remainder of the night.
I know exactly why I felt as I did. Ultimately, I was jealous, I felt I was more deserving of what real, or imagined, things they had. I want that happy relationship. I want that sense of accomplishment. I want that feeling like things are moving on to better things. I want that positive feeling.
I just have no idea how to get any of that.
Yesterday, I finally got all of the ex's junk out of the apartment. I thought things would be more awkward between us than they were. She was friendly, chit-chatted with me. Told me a bunch of things I really didn't care too much to hear about. And I tried to keep things simple, and not share too much of what I was thinking or feeling. I didn't want to start anything, basically. When her sister showed up, along with a friend with a trailer to help move the larger stuff, I was in for a treat. True to form, "Sisterzilla" (as good a name as any, to refer to her as) did more complaining, pouting, whining, bitching, than any actual moving. And in about an hour-and-a-half, things were organized, packed, and incrementally taken out and moved. Ex is now fully, and completely gone.
Fun times.
NOT!
Friday, January 1, 2010
New Years...erm...stuff?
I was contemplating writing something along the lines of "Crappy New Year", but decided against it. After all, it's just the first day of the new year, maybe it's a tad too early to tell. Not getting a good vibe from it, though. I never do.
I suppose I'll just roll with a "week-in-review"-type scenario. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Since Christmas day, thankfully the intercom music at work has returned to the normal, non-denominations, non-provoking, lull-you-into-a-coma, easy-listening style. My first day back after Christmas, the first song I heard while I was getting ready was "Betty Davis Eyes" by Kim Carnes. For a moment I thought I was going to cut myself falling out of my time machine, having travelled back to 1981. It's funny, though, I actually like the song. I just didn't expect to be hearing it at that moment. I will say one thing, whomever is responsible for the music now, is less of an ass than whomever it was before. The music, overall, sucks about 35% less. Maybe that's my Christmas present from work.
Last night I spent with my soon-to-be roomies. We had some dinner and spent the night playing Wii Sports (golf) and Rock Band. You know you're a little drunk when the "booOOO!" and "BOOoo!" sounds from the Wii Golf menus make you laugh hysterically. Even after we stopped playing, some of us were still randomly making the menu noise, and loving every minute of it.
When I finally got home, sobered some, and curled up with a movie, I felt that familiar malaise set in.
Maybe stuff will be more exciting when I finally move in with all of 'em. Just got to tough out this month.
I suppose I'll just roll with a "week-in-review"-type scenario. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Since Christmas day, thankfully the intercom music at work has returned to the normal, non-denominations, non-provoking, lull-you-into-a-coma, easy-listening style. My first day back after Christmas, the first song I heard while I was getting ready was "Betty Davis Eyes" by Kim Carnes. For a moment I thought I was going to cut myself falling out of my time machine, having travelled back to 1981. It's funny, though, I actually like the song. I just didn't expect to be hearing it at that moment. I will say one thing, whomever is responsible for the music now, is less of an ass than whomever it was before. The music, overall, sucks about 35% less. Maybe that's my Christmas present from work.
Last night I spent with my soon-to-be roomies. We had some dinner and spent the night playing Wii Sports (golf) and Rock Band. You know you're a little drunk when the "booOOO!" and "BOOoo!" sounds from the Wii Golf menus make you laugh hysterically. Even after we stopped playing, some of us were still randomly making the menu noise, and loving every minute of it.
When I finally got home, sobered some, and curled up with a movie, I felt that familiar malaise set in.
Maybe stuff will be more exciting when I finally move in with all of 'em. Just got to tough out this month.
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