Scary realization.
I could buy a new fucking car with the amount of money I'm going to spend on books this semester. I'm seriously considering dropping a science class just to save the $250 on the books. Sad.
Thursday, January 13, 2005 @ 09:12 a.m.





So close
Ten minutes till I get to go home. It's odd, but until I really started working for a living I thought it was so impoverished a view to define oneself by what work one does. Now, though, I see that to tell someone that I work nights really does say a remarkable lot about me. I'm at the very end of a nine hour shift now and then I have a 10-13 minute drive home, depending on the always fantastic Miami traffic. I will watch some television and then curl up in bed with my beautiful and absolutely fucking crazy kitty Endora and sleep till I have to work again tomorrow night/tonight. It sounds boring, yes, but working and paying my own way is the only thing other than being sociable and crafty that I really enjoy at all anymore. I have a pretty good job, but it's not great. However, I still love coming to work because I know that no matter how boring it is to sit here and stare at the wall, every minute I spend here allows me to be a little more comfortable in my self-sufficiency.

(Goddamn am I old.)

Lately I've been giving thought to the fact that a starting salary for a teacher is more than three times what I make now, and I manage to get by pretty well on less than ten thousand a year (I don't pay for gas or my cell phone, but otherwise it's all me), and I can't even imagine the charge I'll get from a real, above-the-poverty line paycheck. I don't even know what I'd do with all that money, and really, less than thirty thousand a year seems like a pittance to some people, but it's a fortune to me, so much so that I have all these grandiose plans for what to do when I strike it rich (read: start slaving away all day in one of the worst school systems in the country, in the poorest big city in the country). I'm thinking jet skis. And whores. And a house, clearly, to keep the jet skis and whores.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004 @ 06:46 a.m.





Back, again.
In trying to find the new webbish location for one Suzen Green, I found the site of one Sam, whom I also used to love, two years and counting ago. It got me thinking about how much of a different person I am now than I was then. And they aren't just differences that can be chalked up to the disparities between an eighteen year old living with her parents and in love with a boy a million miles away versus a twenty year old who works nights to pay the rent on her own place and unsure that anyone is really worth getting worked up over. I am different, less thoughtful (not in the sends greeting cards to ill friends way, but in the literal sense) and pensive, and a hell of a lot more cynical. Certainly some of that happens in the aging process, but I'd put money on it that a good deal of the difference has to do with the fact that I don't have an outlet (like this one) that I've commited to. I think that I need, for my own sake, to get back to this sort of thing and at least try and get part of the way back to who I was at eighteen and stupid.

Feel free to hold me to it.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004 @ 06:32 a.m.






Back to pitas, because I can't get WS_FTP to work with any regularity, and also this is much easier than hand-fixing every entry, so I think I will write more.

I absolutely loathe my roommate. I know this is a typical and tired college complaint, but it's true. We're just coming off spring break, and the ten days without her was indescribably beautiful. Tonight I was more tired than I honestly have any memory of having been in years, and moderately disappointed for something so stupid I won't lower myself by explaining it. I came back to my room from Susan's at, I think, 9:30 and took a shower in preparation for a long, glorious sleep kicked off by reading George Eliot while listening to Philip Glass. A good plan. Snobby, I know: stuff it. I was excited. I didn't even start reading, just listened to a few tracks off my new Glass CD and fell blisfully asleep at, by my calculations, 10:15. What should happen but one tiny hour later but that my roommate should come back, turn on every light she has access to, as well as her enormous television and computer, with its impossibly bright screen. I wanted to fucking hurt her, quite honestly, and I am a person hardly ever given to sincere violent urges. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I didn't even say hello to her, because I was entirely unsure I'd be able to keep my voice below a yell.

I managed to get back to sleep, though it was an angry and shallow sleep, until at 3:00 I woke with a start. I was facing the wall, away from that goddamned television (the very same into which I threaten, with some regularity, to heave a brick). Looking at the bright bluish light reflected on the wall before me, I assumed her monolith of a television was on, as it often is when she falls she into her narcoleptic-style sleep. I turned over, didn't have my glasses on, and could see little enough movement that I knew she was sleeping. I charged out of bed (not the best idea being that my bed is five feet off the floor), determined to turn off the television, not minding if I damaged it in the process. When I got to the floor, I found it was her computer, a laptop, which had the whole room bathed in an eerie and infuriating glow. I slammed it shut, half-hoped I broke one of the hinges, got back into bed and was so hopped up on the adrenaline with which I was apparently preparing to challenge her to a duel that I couldn't sleep.

That brings me to 4:40 a.m. and my triumphant return to pitas after having wilfully neglected snobhair elsewhere. Nice to be back. I'm going to try to read, or something other than choking my moron roommate in her sleep.
Monday, March 22, 2004 @ 04:25 a.m.










Millions of thanks to Daniel, Future Boy.