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From the ghost land of the easy life.

21 February 2007

love is all around you :
In a vain effort to put off going to work way early, but not actually starting until my designated time, I am blogging. I am blogging a wee bit out of guilt because I've been absent and really haven't cared. I've been thinking a lot about the idea that the things you pursue are changed by your pursuance and noticing that I'm slipping back into being one of the guys. What that means is that my most interesting times and conversations are now happening with the guys I know. The girls didn't die, they've just kind of lost interest in my affability I guess.

Work is boring because the people are predictably rude and stupid. Things at home are precariously weird. Kid N and J went away, but not before Texas left and are making sure to get back before he does. In the mean time I've been told to feed the cat if he gets too annoying. There's this giant note on the whiteboard that is addressed not to me as if I ceased to exist after being told they were leaving. As if to make the point that I'm not a thought they made enough noise leaving Monday to make me wonder if the closing of the closet door was a vain attempt to take out the fucking wall. Assholes - why yes they are.

And they expect me to do the dishes they left, and that Kid M is continuing to add to. I'm probably responsible for making sure the recycling and garbage go out tonight too and I just don't care. I haven't and refuse to do the dishes sitting in the sink and I'm not going to touch the garbage either. Why? Because the note on the board doesn't have my name on it, so that means it's not for me. Any of it. And the dishes? Well I hate to say this, but I rarely eat here, at least anything I had to go into the kitchen for so I'm not doing the damn dishes either. I haven't used any and therefore haven't contributed to the pile.

Is there going to be a note? Probably. Usually someone would break down and do the dishes. Me, Kid E, Texas - but not Kid M. He's too important. Maybe he'll get his girlfriend over here to do them, I don't care. I don't care what kind of bullshit note I get either because I'm moving out. It's a done deal, signed on the dotted line of my mind and they can go straight to the unmitigated hell of whatever perverse experiment they think they are running on us here.

Yes I'm cranky, I hate the thought of moving and I never wanted to do it again, ever. But this was too good to last, cheap and enough fucked up crapola to make you suicidal. Everyone I know gets fucking psychotic hearing about it, even the really nice people. I'm also cranky because I'm allergic to the dye in my vitamins so I can't take them any more and I had just really gotten into the habit too. In an effort to break with my pack rat ways I am giving a lot of stuff to charity, stuff I don't need to move. I'm at a loss as to what to do with this crappy desk tho. It's put together obviously wrong and it's total shit but if I move without it then I have to buy a desk. I wanted a new desk too, but that's not the point. Do I get rid of what I do have to wait until I get the one I actually like?

Ah the ceaseless conundrum of me. That and the weird freaking dreams I've been having. I'm left wondering why I'm all about blondes all of a sudden and why I'm dreaming about sex with particular people, who I don't even know and who seem indifferent. It's easy for me to spot all the obvious familial issues that points to, but unlike Meredith Grey I've not been trying to die and I disappeared a long time ago and really no one did notice.

From the ghost land of the easy life. Keep blogging.
ghost writer Ambrrrr at 11:39 AM

MenTal fUrbAll