May 18, 2003 :: 10:11 p.m.
whatever happened to being able to amuse myself?
I'm bored, dammit. Like "wow, watching paint peel sounds incredibly appealing right now" bored. "Look how fast the grass is growing" bored. "I sincerely can't believe a human being can survive boredom of this magnitude and thus fully expect my heart to stop at any second" bored. It's bad. Oh, is it ever bad. Huh. You have NO IDEA.
I was kinda sorta supposed to hang out with Amanda tonight, but she never called me, and when I called her house Sandy told me that she was at work and then going over to her dad's house. And as it is now after 10, I'm going to assume nothing's happening. Dammit. Adam's hanging out with Pat, after being much too ill to hang out with me. Grr, argh. Yes, I realize that sounds petty and bitter. I don't really mean it that way, as I saw for myself how unwell he was feeling and totally encourage rest and juice consumption if it leads to a speedy recovery, but I can't help feeling a little shunned. Because everyone on the freaking planet is out having a grand old time while I sit here in my 5,000-degree room and contemplate trying to suspend myself from the ceiling with suction cups. It's too bad we don't have any lying around, really. That could make for some quality "smash your face into the floor" time.
Every desk setup I've ever had has made my shoulders hurt like a mofo when I sit at the computer for more than half an hour or so. I can't quite pinpoint the common thread between them all... I thought it had something to do with chair height in relation to keyboard height, but the current arrangement seems like a logical one in that sense. And yet. Maybe it's just my body's way of sending a message that goes something like this: "Hey, fat ass! Get off the internet and go run 12 miles before your arteries explode like a blocked hose and you die."
It occurs to me that when I write here, it's partially as if I'm talking to myself and partially as if I'm talking to someone else. A friend, perhaps. But mostly it's as if I'm writing whatever my inner monologue dictates, because that's the part of me that never shuts the hell up. I'm generally a very quiet person, despite what this here diary may lead you to believe.
I really just said "this here diary," didn't I? I'm not entirely sure what region of the country my inner monologue is from sometimes. Or what level of education or mental stability it has, actually.
I sort of feel like playing my guitar, but since I suck in an incredible way I'm not going to bother. I'd have to shut my door, also, since I'm definitely not okay with people hearing my craptacular efforts, and the door is down so many stairs which I will then have to climb up to get back into my room. Speaking of - I came up the stairs on all fours this afternoon, in some strange homage to my childhood self's preferred method of stair-climbing. It was interesting.
La la la... I'm sorry, little journal, but you're not doing much to take away this monstrous boredom. I enjoy prattling on about random things as much as the next person, but right now I just want something to doooooo. Blaaaargh. Insert lots of other irritated noises here. I think I'm going to watch an episode of Buffy to keep myself occupied, or possibly put some more clothes away in my newly acquired (from my parents' room) dresser. I really need to get this room into some kind of livable condition soon. It's very sad.
Anyway... end.
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005