Tired, I am. I stayed up too late online. I almost never go online outside of work anymore, unless it’s to talk to C– or answer e-mail. It was both, tonight. And I’m still not caught up on my e-mail.
C–‘s back from his trip, which I may or may not have mentioned in the past. I only talked to him for a few moments, as he was rather badly burnt-out from traveling – and other things that he wouldn’t classify beyond simply not being happy.
Sometimes I try too hard.
Sit back and pretend, for a second, that I devoted a couple paragraphs to the things my imagination comes up to scare me with. I’m not going to do that, but pretend I did anyway.
Instead, a few words about the Colorado massacre: that could have been me, if I wasn’t so eternally worried about hurting people’s feelings. And if people had picked on me at all. They left me alone in high school – I’m given the impression, from talking to people, that I was sort of intimidating. Apparently, I looked pissed off most of the time, and there were odd rumors circulating about my temper and what I was capable of.
I wasn’t trying to make a point, except to say that I heard that all of these massacres have been done by guys. Is this a sign that the women’s lib movement is dead, or what? Why aren’t we represented here? I knew I should have worked harder to develop a dysfuntional personality when I was in High School. Do you think it’s too late to start?
Don’t whine at me, I might be kidding. Anyway, the media’s eating it up, doing all sorts of interviews with the survivors. The survivors are sucking it up, too, talking about meeting the departed in heaven and how the departed were inspirations to them all. Bull.
I had classmates die when I was in High School. I wasn’t particularly moved either way. One of them was one of those cheerleader types, very popular. She died in a car accident. She was going too fast, lost control of the car, and hit something. Her neck snapped like a twig. Her best friend was riding in passenger seat, but she wasn’t injured, because she was so short.
The best friend did the whole speech about learning the value of life from this tragic accident. She cried, publicly, over the loss of her friend. The best friend drives like a psychotic drunk. Reckless is a kind way of describing her driving.
Remember the lessons you are learning here, grasshopper: people are assholes. Stupid, hypocritical assholes. The fact that someone goes through some sort of tragedy doesn’t exempt them from being an asshole.
Face it, I’m not a people person.
The lilacs are blooming, and the temperature is gradually starting to hold steady in the higher registers. The ends of days are drawn out like half-melted taffy; spent in a drowsy haze of conversation, preparation, and plans laid out in infinite detail. The fan drones in the background, always, because the upper floors always trap far too much heat.
I’m starting to miss the cold already. Even the promise of cherry tomatoes in growing in large planters isn’t enough to persuade me. Part of the problem is the fact that I need more warm weather clothes.
Dirk’s been sick, I think he damaged himself from all the drinking he did after his birthday. He says he’s going to give up smoking cloves, but I rather hope he doesn’t. Too much pressure on me.
Something interesting: apparently, Miranda (Greg’s girlfriend) tried to kill herself by OD’ing last week sometime. She only told me, because I started asking pointed questions about how she lost her job at the porn shop. She said that she did it because she felt bad about the way she treats Greg. I told her that if it was really a problem in his eyes, he’d leave.
We had sort of a bonding experience....that happens with me at the oddest times, with the oddest people. I gave her relationship advice (aka “How not to be your boyfriend’s second mother.”), and she talked about her pregnancy and what it was like to have a baby and give it up for adoption. Girl stuff.
Please, please let me get this other job. You have no idea how badly I want it. I hate working with Alex, Claire, and all the other bastards in this office.