Do over. Now.
Jan. 8th, 2007 04:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impy...I demand a do over. I'm not sure when the do-over begins, but I want one, damn it. Yesterday sucked and every time I thought it was going to look up, it got worse. It didn't happen in big dramatic, sweeping epic melodrama that I could then pass around as a story that would either garner sympathy or laughter with a chaser of empathy. No, it just sucked in a thousand little ways.
First there was the little matter of having to clean my room. Which, for the most part, I've done. It still needs work, and we're not including the reconstructive work to the bathroom, and I'm totally ignoring Bob's room [Bob is the desk, remember?] but for the most part it isn't sucking my soul away every time I try to walk through the door. Wait, actually walking through the door is still tricky, but everything else is much better.
I loathe cleaning my room. LOATHE. Now, factor that in with the fact that there's a frickin' infestation of moths, and you've upped it to complete ick. Usually the best thing about cleaning my room is finding a bunch of stuff I'd completely forgotten about, so it's a bit like getting a bunch of gifts. Yay, right? Yeah. Did not happen this go round.
But I carried on. I demolished boxes, I dragged down dishes that had been there so long I couldn't even begin to guess when they'd originally made their way to my room, and I straightened my big black bookcase so my books would have a place to live once more. I threw out a couple of magazines, endless catalogues I kept for no good reason, and all sorts of junk. I declared war on the numerous plastic bags full of junk I just toss aside when I hit my room in the morning after work.
My 'reward' was the call to Ryan. I waited until late afternoon to give him a chance to be awake, possibly be there, and, uh, to give me time to get over my intense dislike of calling anyone. I should point out that he told me to call him Sunday. He never said when, and I did check my e-mail to see if he'd decided on a specific time. So we're all clear? He picked the day, not me.
So I call. His sister answers, hands the phone over to him, and immediately I realize two things: 1) He has no fucking clue who's on the phone and 2) he has company. But for all I know it's just the new family thing, so I don't say anything except yelling enough to be heard over the phone and his profound inability to hear very well, which sort of excuses realization number one. For about half the very, very short call.
Indeed he does have company. Which he has no intention of ignoring for the phone call he requested. Which is fine, I suppose, because I find it exceptionally rude when I'm visiting someone and they won't get off the damn phone.
Only he then launches into this tale of how he was at work sometime earlier, only they were sent home early, and then how he has to take some chick named Ashley home, and god, he should leave soon considering he wants to be back in time for dinner, but that won't happen as he has to take a shower and all I can think is, "then why the fuck did you tell me to call today?" Why the fuck when you had your whole fucking day planned around being busy?
But instead of saying this, all I could do was manage to shorten just about everything out of my mouth and get off the phone as soon as possible before I screamed. Not anything fun like a long list of obscenities, but just a long drawn out scream of frustration.
As I'm spitting out very short answers [all the better for you to hear, my dear], he asks if I'll be online later. I say I don't know, as I haven't slept at all. He seems disappointed, to which I again resist the urge to scream [mostly a rant on the joys of working overnight], and then he says he'll be on for quite awhile. Just in case I decide to show up.
Apparently quite awhile means leave before 2am, if one even showed in the first place.
Now, to be fair, perhaps I'm still mad because I was so worked up due to lack of sleep, lack of food, and my hatred of what I'd been doing prior, as well as the complete lack of brain cells being used on the other end of the phone. Or maybe I'm still mad because about half an hour after I finally did pass out [with alarm set for a little after one] the boy barges into my room with the phone. Tis Ari.
It appears I missed the bridesmaid luncheon. WTF, man. What the fuck? It was Saturday and she apparently tried calling a dozen times, only no one answered and well, they went anyway. Which is just fab-u-lous. Didn't occur to her that I might have been home anyway and to stop by and see if I could hop off and go. Nope, nuh uh. If I were attempting rational thought, I'd point out that I'm in the opposite direction of where they ended up. However, considering there are just three frickin' bridesmaids, how fucking hard is it to try to gather the third? Really, how hard?
That's right, apparently it's impossible.
And so I get a make-up date. Which I guess is nice, but as it is I feel like I'm missing most of the talk anyway, so this just kind of highlights it.
I'm also not feeling all that cheery, so my cynical side is muttering about how unlikely it'll be that two days before the wedding she'll take me out to lunch.
Then she tops off her call with this little gem. It appears a sort of mutual friend of hers and her sister's stopped by her apartment with a bit of news concerning Cassandra's drug of choice these days. Seems she's moved beyond the pot and headed into rainbow-land. Which is just fucking stupid if it's true. You're broke and you're buying drugs of any kind? How fucking stupid are you?
note: You know those cool people who don't care if you drink your liver away, or do enough drugs to render yourself completely insane? I'm not one of them. In general, if I don't know you, fine. Whatever. Or if you come to me with these presets, I'll try to only speak up if you're once again wrapping your car around a light pole. But if you're well into the land of stupid shit, I will want to bitchslap you until you either wake the hell up or I feel better. I'm just that uncool.
However, the source is a known ass. He delights in either making stuff up totally, or altering reality to suit his sadistic needs. So I don't know. I could just find a way to visit her and ask how true the rumours are, but... that would end badly either way. If they aren't, she'll be pissed that someone, somewhere, said it. If they are, I will have to grab the biggest book I can find and hit her upside the head with it. Repeatedly.
Yeah, I'm thinking my temper and I are going to go back to bed.
First there was the little matter of having to clean my room. Which, for the most part, I've done. It still needs work, and we're not including the reconstructive work to the bathroom, and I'm totally ignoring Bob's room [Bob is the desk, remember?] but for the most part it isn't sucking my soul away every time I try to walk through the door. Wait, actually walking through the door is still tricky, but everything else is much better.
I loathe cleaning my room. LOATHE. Now, factor that in with the fact that there's a frickin' infestation of moths, and you've upped it to complete ick. Usually the best thing about cleaning my room is finding a bunch of stuff I'd completely forgotten about, so it's a bit like getting a bunch of gifts. Yay, right? Yeah. Did not happen this go round.
But I carried on. I demolished boxes, I dragged down dishes that had been there so long I couldn't even begin to guess when they'd originally made their way to my room, and I straightened my big black bookcase so my books would have a place to live once more. I threw out a couple of magazines, endless catalogues I kept for no good reason, and all sorts of junk. I declared war on the numerous plastic bags full of junk I just toss aside when I hit my room in the morning after work.
My 'reward' was the call to Ryan. I waited until late afternoon to give him a chance to be awake, possibly be there, and, uh, to give me time to get over my intense dislike of calling anyone. I should point out that he told me to call him Sunday. He never said when, and I did check my e-mail to see if he'd decided on a specific time. So we're all clear? He picked the day, not me.
So I call. His sister answers, hands the phone over to him, and immediately I realize two things: 1) He has no fucking clue who's on the phone and 2) he has company. But for all I know it's just the new family thing, so I don't say anything except yelling enough to be heard over the phone and his profound inability to hear very well, which sort of excuses realization number one. For about half the very, very short call.
Indeed he does have company. Which he has no intention of ignoring for the phone call he requested. Which is fine, I suppose, because I find it exceptionally rude when I'm visiting someone and they won't get off the damn phone.
Only he then launches into this tale of how he was at work sometime earlier, only they were sent home early, and then how he has to take some chick named Ashley home, and god, he should leave soon considering he wants to be back in time for dinner, but that won't happen as he has to take a shower and all I can think is, "then why the fuck did you tell me to call today?" Why the fuck when you had your whole fucking day planned around being busy?
But instead of saying this, all I could do was manage to shorten just about everything out of my mouth and get off the phone as soon as possible before I screamed. Not anything fun like a long list of obscenities, but just a long drawn out scream of frustration.
As I'm spitting out very short answers [all the better for you to hear, my dear], he asks if I'll be online later. I say I don't know, as I haven't slept at all. He seems disappointed, to which I again resist the urge to scream [mostly a rant on the joys of working overnight], and then he says he'll be on for quite awhile. Just in case I decide to show up.
Apparently quite awhile means leave before 2am, if one even showed in the first place.
Now, to be fair, perhaps I'm still mad because I was so worked up due to lack of sleep, lack of food, and my hatred of what I'd been doing prior, as well as the complete lack of brain cells being used on the other end of the phone. Or maybe I'm still mad because about half an hour after I finally did pass out [with alarm set for a little after one] the boy barges into my room with the phone. Tis Ari.
It appears I missed the bridesmaid luncheon. WTF, man. What the fuck? It was Saturday and she apparently tried calling a dozen times, only no one answered and well, they went anyway. Which is just fab-u-lous. Didn't occur to her that I might have been home anyway and to stop by and see if I could hop off and go. Nope, nuh uh. If I were attempting rational thought, I'd point out that I'm in the opposite direction of where they ended up. However, considering there are just three frickin' bridesmaids, how fucking hard is it to try to gather the third? Really, how hard?
That's right, apparently it's impossible.
And so I get a make-up date. Which I guess is nice, but as it is I feel like I'm missing most of the talk anyway, so this just kind of highlights it.
I'm also not feeling all that cheery, so my cynical side is muttering about how unlikely it'll be that two days before the wedding she'll take me out to lunch.
Then she tops off her call with this little gem. It appears a sort of mutual friend of hers and her sister's stopped by her apartment with a bit of news concerning Cassandra's drug of choice these days. Seems she's moved beyond the pot and headed into rainbow-land. Which is just fucking stupid if it's true. You're broke and you're buying drugs of any kind? How fucking stupid are you?
note: You know those cool people who don't care if you drink your liver away, or do enough drugs to render yourself completely insane? I'm not one of them. In general, if I don't know you, fine. Whatever. Or if you come to me with these presets, I'll try to only speak up if you're once again wrapping your car around a light pole. But if you're well into the land of stupid shit, I will want to bitchslap you until you either wake the hell up or I feel better. I'm just that uncool.
However, the source is a known ass. He delights in either making stuff up totally, or altering reality to suit his sadistic needs. So I don't know. I could just find a way to visit her and ask how true the rumours are, but... that would end badly either way. If they aren't, she'll be pissed that someone, somewhere, said it. If they are, I will have to grab the biggest book I can find and hit her upside the head with it. Repeatedly.
Yeah, I'm thinking my temper and I are going to go back to bed.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-09 06:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-11 11:03 pm (UTC)Usually the best thing about cleaning my room is finding a bunch of stuff I'd completely forgotten about, so it's a bit like getting a bunch of gifts.
Yaay love that too! Or when you look into your wallet and you have more money than you'd thought you'd have.