Monday, October 15, 2007
It's all about me.
I have nothing specific. Just a need to maybe write through something. Or nothing. So here goes nothing...
Two years ago yesterday I moved into my house. My first house. Mine. Well, the bank's. This is the biggest thing I've ever done in my life. And the best (barring falling in love with a fat little puppy called "Moose" and deciding to bring him into my life).
Two years ago around this time (10.18), my brother died. I'm still pissed... for lack of a better word.
None of this means anything.
Today was really grey. The weekend was good. I had the home football game day OFF from the bar. I went to a party yesterday. Played yard darts. Had fun. All good. But still woke up this morning with a heavy, low feeling and I don't know why.
I realized tonight when I got home from work that I self-medicate my so-called depression with comedy shows. And yet still cried during a re-run of "Scrubs". How pathetic. Now I'm (not)watching "Friends" and thinking I should make dinner, but nothing sounds good.
Tomorrow is garbage day. I hope it doesn't rain. The garbage people throw the lid into the middle of the yard and the trash bin (upright) collects nice, fresh rainwater that turns rancid and gross and it really kind of pisses me off.
It's not very cold out but I turned my heat on... and up to 72. I'm wasteful. But the chill is gone.
There are two dead roses in a vase and the new one (from Saturday) is in my fridge because I'm too lazy to change them out. (For those who don't know, I get a rose every Saturday from a kind man who patronizes the bar in which I work).
My back is still fucked up from the hammock incident of JUNE. Yes, I went to the doctor (in July). He's a joke. I'm seeing my "real" doctor next month for a physical, so hopefully she can diagnose what the fuck is going on. Because it frikking hurts and I'm sick of bitching about it and I'm *really* sick of not being able to sleep through an entire night.
I may ask the doctor to prescribe an antidepressant. This shit has got to GIVE.
And this shit has been going on for awhile.
I apologize for swearing like an episode of "Deadwood"... except I'm not using the C word every five minutes.
I haven't been to the gym in three weeks.
I haven't seen my sister for almost a month. She lives across town, about six blocks from my mom and stepdad. But I go to my mother's house for dinner at least every other week. We're having dinner on Friday. She'll pick up Gus in the afternoon because I have lunch meeting. By the time I get to her house, she'll have fed him godknowswhat and he'll fart all night. Fun.
Last Thursday I learned how to make lasagna. Crazy, huh? For all my bluster about what a great cook I am, I can't make lasagna or a pot roast to save my life. I'm going to work on this lasagna thing. I'm not really a big fan of pot roast anyway.
I miss my friend Amy. And my friend Blake. I miss other people, too, but I see them.
I'm on a strange disconnect.
"Family Guy" is on now. Love this show. And just remembered that I have the entire collection of "The Oblongs" begging to be watched. And "Pan's Labrynth". And some Japanese flick... "The Shower" maybe. Why am I watching tv when I could pop something into the DVD?
Every single light in the house is turned on. Still seems dark.
My favorite cheap olive oil is Iliada.
I have a cell phone and don't know why. My friend Jessie uses it more than I do. In fact, she probably gets more phone calls on it than I do.
Gus. Ugh. He just farted something nasty.
I apologize for babbling all this nonsense. Warned you though: it means nothing.
I'm tired. And it's not even 8:30.
On that note, I'm going to boil up some mushroom gnocchi. There's marinara left from lasagana night. Marinara that I made the night before. A double batch. It turned out pretty damn good if I say so myself. And with that, I'll have another tupperware dish of crap in the fridge that I probably won't eat. I'll put it next to the chicken I made yesterday in the crockpot. And the jambalaya from last week. It might be wise to start freezing some of this shit.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Two years ago yesterday I moved into my house. My first house. Mine. Well, the bank's. This is the biggest thing I've ever done in my life. And the best (barring falling in love with a fat little puppy called "Moose" and deciding to bring him into my life).
Two years ago around this time (10.18), my brother died. I'm still pissed... for lack of a better word.
None of this means anything.
Today was really grey. The weekend was good. I had the home football game day OFF from the bar. I went to a party yesterday. Played yard darts. Had fun. All good. But still woke up this morning with a heavy, low feeling and I don't know why.
I realized tonight when I got home from work that I self-medicate my so-called depression with comedy shows. And yet still cried during a re-run of "Scrubs". How pathetic. Now I'm (not)watching "Friends" and thinking I should make dinner, but nothing sounds good.
Tomorrow is garbage day. I hope it doesn't rain. The garbage people throw the lid into the middle of the yard and the trash bin (upright) collects nice, fresh rainwater that turns rancid and gross and it really kind of pisses me off.
It's not very cold out but I turned my heat on... and up to 72. I'm wasteful. But the chill is gone.
There are two dead roses in a vase and the new one (from Saturday) is in my fridge because I'm too lazy to change them out. (For those who don't know, I get a rose every Saturday from a kind man who patronizes the bar in which I work).
My back is still fucked up from the hammock incident of JUNE. Yes, I went to the doctor (in July). He's a joke. I'm seeing my "real" doctor next month for a physical, so hopefully she can diagnose what the fuck is going on. Because it frikking hurts and I'm sick of bitching about it and I'm *really* sick of not being able to sleep through an entire night.
I may ask the doctor to prescribe an antidepressant. This shit has got to GIVE.
And this shit has been going on for awhile.
I apologize for swearing like an episode of "Deadwood"... except I'm not using the C word every five minutes.
I haven't been to the gym in three weeks.
I haven't seen my sister for almost a month. She lives across town, about six blocks from my mom and stepdad. But I go to my mother's house for dinner at least every other week. We're having dinner on Friday. She'll pick up Gus in the afternoon because I have lunch meeting. By the time I get to her house, she'll have fed him godknowswhat and he'll fart all night. Fun.
Last Thursday I learned how to make lasagna. Crazy, huh? For all my bluster about what a great cook I am, I can't make lasagna or a pot roast to save my life. I'm going to work on this lasagna thing. I'm not really a big fan of pot roast anyway.
I miss my friend Amy. And my friend Blake. I miss other people, too, but I see them.
I'm on a strange disconnect.
"Family Guy" is on now. Love this show. And just remembered that I have the entire collection of "The Oblongs" begging to be watched. And "Pan's Labrynth". And some Japanese flick... "The Shower" maybe. Why am I watching tv when I could pop something into the DVD?
Every single light in the house is turned on. Still seems dark.
My favorite cheap olive oil is Iliada.
I have a cell phone and don't know why. My friend Jessie uses it more than I do. In fact, she probably gets more phone calls on it than I do.
Gus. Ugh. He just farted something nasty.
I apologize for babbling all this nonsense. Warned you though: it means nothing.
I'm tired. And it's not even 8:30.
On that note, I'm going to boil up some mushroom gnocchi. There's marinara left from lasagana night. Marinara that I made the night before. A double batch. It turned out pretty damn good if I say so myself. And with that, I'll have another tupperware dish of crap in the fridge that I probably won't eat. I'll put it next to the chicken I made yesterday in the crockpot. And the jambalaya from last week. It might be wise to start freezing some of this shit.
