4/29/08

I hate how "disappoint" and other related words are so loaded. They're so parently loaded. You just can't say to someone you're disappointed with them since parents say the same thing and suddenly the offspring's world comes crashing down. Not that I want to use the term disappoint with anyone in my life, but I'm just mentioning that if I wanted to, it would be difficult.

Outside of that, I'm slowly starting to realize and come to terms with the fact that it is highly unlikely that Bryan and I are ever going to speak again. In the rare instance that we do, I know that I can't be the one to start it. I guess if he were to call I wouldn't ignore the call, I'd just watch myself. Hopefully. I think I'll go listen to some Postal Service.

*Harry Potter*

4/21/08

Must get more sleep. Damn it. I love the roller-coasters I go on through out the day. There's that huge low at one point where everything that I think is going wrong converges in one moment and I feel like shit. And there's the late night stuff where I actually do work, accomplish shit, and re-plan my life every night. Ok, maybe not every night. But I'm constantly thinking about it. I just have a lot of thoughts about the future of my life that I still need to write down. And a lot of things that I still need to do, but I think I'm going to go to bed instead and I'll try to do them all tomorrow sometime before 4, which is when something starts but I'd have to look at my planner/Google Calendar to figure out what. And that UOAH fire thing. I should send out e-mails tomorrow. And check out Sam's Club. And hope Marques got back to me. That would be spectacular. I'd would truly welcome such a fabulous break.

Being Dumb Hurts.

Oh yeah, and Tonya Harding and Diana Ross are coming to talk to us. Yeah. I'm fucking dumb sometimes. So much that it hurts to point it out to others, but I feel that comic relief is so important, I should share my gift for dumb with the world. And when I say world, currently I mean Ashley.

4/20/08

I'm highly unmotivated right now. This is very rare for me. I think it's because I have lots of little things to do and then I have big things to do. I'm not doing the little things because I figure I can do them quickly any time. I'm not doing the big things because I feel like they're so big that I don't even know what to do!! Thus, I feel unmotivated to do anything since I don't really have anything in between. Rawr. All I want to do is not be here. I want to be done for the year. I'm generally stressed, but I feel like it's starting to wear on me in an unfavorable way. Maybe chocolate will help. I will test this theory momentarily. Actually I bet a tuna sandwich would help, but I don't have a can opener. This is a large problem; a problem I should be fixing very soon. **Ashley just made up a word: electronical.** It did not rhyme with anything particularly the word ergonmical...which might not be a word either. Damn. And I need $40. And I need to message Marques. OK, so I'm going to go get Bunny and the three of us are going to Wal-Mart. I don't like saying wal-mart and I like even less saying wally world. Moving on and when I say moving on I mean leaving.

Hi Zach.

I Love Mil Millington

Margret faking orgasms. I'm rather... um... not 'angry' - I'm hurt, yes, that's it - I'm rather hurt that Margret has never faked an orgasm. As it happens, I knew she was committed to this kind of behaviour even before I found myself going out with her.

Dispelling the mists of time by waving a big memory fan, I can recall her recently arrived in England and sitting with a couple of, female, friends of mine. I was across the room masking - as so often - the rapid, all-encompassing alertness of my mind by having fixed a faraway, stupidly vacant look upon my face but, slyly, I was listening. My friends, being English women, were naturally talking about sex. As part of the conversation, one of them asked Margret how often she'd faked an orgasm. Margret looked stunned and uncomprehending.

'Never,' she said, 'What's the point? Why on Earth would I fake one?'

'Well, to make your boyfriend feel better.'

The look of incomprehension on Margret's face increased ten-fold.

In the fourteen or so years since then, she's never felt the need to reassess her position and that's really quite wounding. It's a disquieting thing to get into bed every night with a woman who never fakes an orgasm with you - it plays on your mind. You're tenderly aware that any sexual engagement that might occur will be 'to the death'. There's no chance that, several hours in - my muscles cramping, my lungs rasping, every single extremity exhausted and numb - she'll take pity and just let out a token 'Ah', so I can crash down rubber-faced into the pillow and begin giving my body a chance to heal. How cruel, I ask you, how careless of my welfare is it never to have the charity to murmur 'Oh. Gosh. Thanks.' and allow me to gain peace with dignity?

No. It doesn't happen. The sun is beginning to rise, the birds are whistling in the new day, I am six pounds lighter than when I went to bed due to dehydration. The oxygen deficit and wishful thinking is affecting my brain:

'Phew...' I sigh.

'What? Why've you...?'

'Oh, I thought...?'

'No - I just coughed.'

'Right. Right, sorry, I'll... give me a second, OK?'

Not knowing, never knowing, if it'll be twenty minutes or next Thursday is hugely traumatic, psychologically. I mean, really, I find myself simply wanting to say 'Sometimes I'd be happy just to cuddle, you know?'

4/17/08

yay for turning AI projects an entire 12 hours early!!

4/13/08 (2)

I feel shitty right now. And my foot's asleep. It hurts, my foot that is. I'm tired of a lot of things right now. I don't want to deal them. They make me angry and sad and I can't help but think of them just about all the time. I've been having awful footage of my life playing in my head lately and I don't really appreciate it. Well Ashley just got here and we need to go over our allocations stuff.