Went to the Boston concert with guitar-geek co-worker. Fell asleep again, something is wrong with me, I am getting old.
I keep forgetting how unbearable trips can be with this guy, I actually screamed at the guy twice:
"Why the fuck do you tell me you have 35¢ exact change for the toll, then when I get to the toll you give me a dollar, answer me that, you fucker!"
"NO! I can't pay with a dollar, look for 35¢ NOW! "
"NO! I can't back out of the toll, you see that car behind me? He will probably shoot me, by now. Look for 35¢, damnit!"
Thankfully, he falls silent whenever the needle hits more than 70 mph.
Paranoia kicks into high mode this week. I am always certain somebody has stopped talking to me because of some imaginary evil I have caused them. This has been so since eighth grade when my first best friend stopped talking to me for a week. It turned out she was trying to make me stop swearing so much, but she didn't tell me. So, she sulked, I continued swearing and it never worked out because she didn't say it outright. After that, we were too busy trying to salvage the friendship, making us incredibly polite toward each other for the rest of our lives.
Gotten really lazy at work. Not just lazy, suicidally controlling of my time, reclaiming it for myself and balking at the notion that I must live any experience that I do not choose to. (That sounds like some kind of self serving psycho-babble, but I cannot phrase it any other way). For example, this week is Furniture Seller Week. This doesn't exactly rock my boat. So I silently boycott all interviews, research, non fiction writing having anything to do with furniture. Little problem is: I have until tomorrow to turn in the interviews, pictures and other minutia concerning my Furniture Seller Week articles. That means if I am lucky and no hitches arise, I will be cramming interviews, picture taking and writing for tomorrow morning, arriving two hours late to work. ARRRGHH! Kick me in my lazy ass, somebody... Thanks.
Ozzfest: I need you.
I keep forgetting how unbearable trips can be with this guy, I actually screamed at the guy twice:
"Why the fuck do you tell me you have 35¢ exact change for the toll, then when I get to the toll you give me a dollar, answer me that, you fucker!"
"NO! I can't pay with a dollar, look for 35¢ NOW! "
"NO! I can't back out of the toll, you see that car behind me? He will probably shoot me, by now. Look for 35¢, damnit!"
Thankfully, he falls silent whenever the needle hits more than 70 mph.
Paranoia kicks into high mode this week. I am always certain somebody has stopped talking to me because of some imaginary evil I have caused them. This has been so since eighth grade when my first best friend stopped talking to me for a week. It turned out she was trying to make me stop swearing so much, but she didn't tell me. So, she sulked, I continued swearing and it never worked out because she didn't say it outright. After that, we were too busy trying to salvage the friendship, making us incredibly polite toward each other for the rest of our lives.
Gotten really lazy at work. Not just lazy, suicidally controlling of my time, reclaiming it for myself and balking at the notion that I must live any experience that I do not choose to. (That sounds like some kind of self serving psycho-babble, but I cannot phrase it any other way). For example, this week is Furniture Seller Week. This doesn't exactly rock my boat. So I silently boycott all interviews, research, non fiction writing having anything to do with furniture. Little problem is: I have until tomorrow to turn in the interviews, pictures and other minutia concerning my Furniture Seller Week articles. That means if I am lucky and no hitches arise, I will be cramming interviews, picture taking and writing for tomorrow morning, arriving two hours late to work. ARRRGHH! Kick me in my lazy ass, somebody... Thanks.
Ozzfest: I need you.
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