Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Untitled hoo-ha
What is going on? I'm stumped. If I didn't know any better, I'd think the universe was hurling spitballs at me. But the universe has bigger and better things to do.
It's only Tuesday and I'm wondering how in the hell I'm going to get through the rest of the week. The viking is in town for the night. But after tomorrow morning when we go our seperate merry ways, I don't know when I'll see him again. And this time it may be for a long time... not just a few weeks here or a week there. It might be months. And instead of trying to find words for how I feel about it, I am tied up a thousand different ways... all of which are not allowing me the uncluttered mind necessary for sorting through it all. Maybe it will all become 'unmuddy' tonight when we talk...
Tomorrow after work, Blake, Meg and I are hooking up for a vicious game of Scrabble. Love, love, LOVE that game. It will be a pleasant diversion from all the other needles of reality.
Lest you all think I'm in a deep depression, worry not. Funk, with me, is waaaay different. And the only way out of a funk is to THINK your way out... at least in my world. But I need to be the troglodyte I am at heart and burrow my way into Mother Earth for a little grounding. It's times like these I really really wish I had my own home. Come to think of it, that's part of the funk. I need quiet. My own space. Not a space shared with a bar full of loud, obnoxious fucktards who think the next shooter is the best damn idea they've had all night.
Last night, for instance, I was sitting with a few friends after work. One of these friends, bless her soul, just happens to have a rather loud voice at times. I was unequivocally rude to her at one point when I mentioned, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't appreciate her screeching into my ear. I feel like shit about that. It is possible to have quiet conversation, even in a bar, but there was no reason for me to snap at this poor woman.
I need silence. In my book, it is platinum.
It's only Tuesday and I'm wondering how in the hell I'm going to get through the rest of the week. The viking is in town for the night. But after tomorrow morning when we go our seperate merry ways, I don't know when I'll see him again. And this time it may be for a long time... not just a few weeks here or a week there. It might be months. And instead of trying to find words for how I feel about it, I am tied up a thousand different ways... all of which are not allowing me the uncluttered mind necessary for sorting through it all. Maybe it will all become 'unmuddy' tonight when we talk...
Tomorrow after work, Blake, Meg and I are hooking up for a vicious game of Scrabble. Love, love, LOVE that game. It will be a pleasant diversion from all the other needles of reality.
Lest you all think I'm in a deep depression, worry not. Funk, with me, is waaaay different. And the only way out of a funk is to THINK your way out... at least in my world. But I need to be the troglodyte I am at heart and burrow my way into Mother Earth for a little grounding. It's times like these I really really wish I had my own home. Come to think of it, that's part of the funk. I need quiet. My own space. Not a space shared with a bar full of loud, obnoxious fucktards who think the next shooter is the best damn idea they've had all night.
Last night, for instance, I was sitting with a few friends after work. One of these friends, bless her soul, just happens to have a rather loud voice at times. I was unequivocally rude to her at one point when I mentioned, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't appreciate her screeching into my ear. I feel like shit about that. It is possible to have quiet conversation, even in a bar, but there was no reason for me to snap at this poor woman.
I need silence. In my book, it is platinum.
Comments:
<< Home
Who dat snappin' back? |
No one will play Scrabble with me because I'm a big logophillic freak who is also a Triple Word Score whore...
I long to be paid in Qats and go the the animal sanctuary to sate my zooic tendencies.
I long to be paid in Qats and go the the animal sanctuary to sate my zooic tendencies.
Thomas, the next time you're in Iowa City, you'll have to drop in for a friendly game or two. But qats won't pay the bar bill. (And I think, mayhaps, you need sated in other ways...)
Post a Comment
<< Home
