Burn me down and still more shall rise from the ash; my flesh is but temporary lodging, my existence no more than an excited matrix of atoms. You cannot kill configurations of matter so easily replicated by ghosts and approximations.
When you're depressed, alcohol fills you with sadness.
Yes. You know, since it's a depressant.
Ha ha. It slows everything down, including the production of the chemicals that make you happy and give you energy. That why depressants do not help your mood when you aren't feeling good. They remove your motivation.
I'm less than 1/3 done my essay, running out of ideas and it's due tomorrow. Also, finals start the next day. Edit: That topic was going nowhere. I had to restart. Wish me luck.
Well, no more barefoot running until I get proper shoes for it. Not that I could if I wanted to, what with how I peeled back the skin on my big toe and all.
I've said it before, but it bears repeating. Vibrams are nice, but you don't need them. If you want, you can make your own running sandals out of a piece of tire and a bit of rope following these instructions. Or you can get the $20 kit, but any protection is better than none. Also, if you are hitting your toe on the ground, you might want to look at your form. Make sure you are landing on the balls of the feet, and are using your calf muscle as a spring as you pick your foot back up. Your steps should be very light, the less noise the better, so make sure you are actually picking your feet up, and aren't just shuffling along.
I was actually referring to those sandals specifically, not Vibrams. And I hurt my toe because I stumbled (after jumping off a couple-foot ledge from a run to a run on sidewalk, so it was my own stupidity, really).
Failed making Short Ribs today, made the ribs I got were ridiculously fatty, yet it was 5 pounds. Made twice as much marinade, did my process as usual, but they were WAY too salty. I acknowledged I made a mistake, but what sucks is that my brother, who only cooks with beef when it's ground and doesn't make marinades at all, was giving me shit saying "I would have known what to do, why didn't you ask me?" I had confidence in myself, just made an error. But he's completely bashing me, and I had to wash every piece of equipment I used, plus several dishes he left from two days ago.
I recently ordered some new T-shirts. I went to work today with one of them, and it had the following motive:
I had to explain to some of my coworkers what Schrödinger's Cat is. Yesterday I had to explain what the Flying Spaghetti Monster on my shirt was. Please keep in mind that all of them are computer programmers, except for one who is a web designer.
I figure, hey, it's been a long time, I might as well pick up the guitar again, and try learning to play better than a few disconnected chords again. I left my guitar with my mother(and sister, so you can see where this is going) while I was away, because I figured my mother would take good care of it - and it gave her an "Important job" in regards to my stuff, just like my old man had, so that nobody would feel that I didn't trust them with my things, and nobody was going to start any arguments about it.
So, I look around her place, nothing there, not even a trace. That's odd. It was still with her when I got back, so I look around a bit more, conclude it's not here, so I ring up my old man, make sure I didn't transfer it over to his place(since he's got a shitload of guitars and the like between himself and his girlfriend). Nope, not there. So, I head over to my mother's shop, where I borrow a bit of storage space, when she moved house, it might have ended up there. Nope, not there.
So I ask as to it's whereabouts.
Turns out, when my sister moved out of mum's place and in with her boyfriend, she took my guitar with her, because I "Wasn't using it" and she thought it would look nice in her living room. Oh, that's fair enough, I figure - she didn't ask, so I'll have to have a word to her about that, but whatever, she can bring it back tomorrow when she comes in to work for mum.
Oh no, she can't do that. "Why not?" I ask.
"Oh, because she got drunk at her housewarming party, because this rum she found in the guitar case was stronger than she thought, and she was dancing around with it while she was playing singstar and pretending to play guitar, and she fell over and broke it."
That's alright, I guess. I repaired it in the first place when I got it, I should be able to do it again. I'm a bit pissed that she broke it after taking it without asking, but whatever, she's never really been that careful with other people's stuff, it was kinda expected when she took it.
Oh no, you can't repair it. She broke the neck on the coffee table and smashed the "big bit" (she meant the body) when she fell over, and it cut her arm and bruised her chest when she fell on it, and she got really angry when she was drunk, stuffed it in the brazier in the backyard, and cried the rest of the night about how her big housewarming party was ruined.
Wat.
Are you meaning to tell me, honestly, that she took my guitar without asking, because it would look pretty in her lounge, drank my homemade rum, got too drunk because of that - which I don't believe for a second, since she has a long history of getting stupidly black-out drunk for no fucking reason - smashed the guitar that I rebuilt myself from a wreck, and then stuffed it in a fire, because it ruined HER night because SHE was being a drunken idiot and fell over on it, and nobody thought to tell me about this? Well, yes, it was a bit silly of her, but she told me that she told you and apologized.
At that point, I had to walk away, because if I heard another word, I was probably going to simply going to keel over from a fucking rage induced stroke.
Problem room mate is at it again. She's up late drinking with the girl next door. I don't care what she does late at night. She can burn the candle at both ends as much as she wants just as long as I don't have to do it with her. Well tonight I am. She was up at 2 am with someone sitting at the kitchen table. The kitchen is right above my room for reference and the chairs on the tile floor make a really loud noise on my ceiling. She's been informed of this before, politely. So I text her.
Me: Too late to be sitting at the kitchen table. 2:21 AM
About 2:56 AM I get a call.
Her: Who is this? Me(in my head): Who the fuck do you think would text not to sit at the kitchen table at 2 in the morning? You used to have my number saved in your phone, what happened? Me: This is George. Her: (hangs up.)
Then she texts me. Her: Illl be out of your hair soon enough. 3:01 AM
So now she's inciting drama when I have a problem with her behavior. Awesome! So here I am, up at some god awful fucking hour cause I can't sleep. I think I might go for a drive.
Comments
Edit: That topic was going nowhere. I had to restart. Wish me luck.
Dick move brother, dick move.
I had to explain to some of my coworkers what Schrödinger's Cat is. Yesterday I had to explain what the Flying Spaghetti Monster on my shirt was. Please keep in mind that all of them are computer programmers, except for one who is a web designer.
I figure, hey, it's been a long time, I might as well pick up the guitar again, and try learning to play better than a few disconnected chords again. I left my guitar with my mother(and sister, so you can see where this is going) while I was away, because I figured my mother would take good care of it - and it gave her an "Important job" in regards to my stuff, just like my old man had, so that nobody would feel that I didn't trust them with my things, and nobody was going to start any arguments about it.
So, I look around her place, nothing there, not even a trace. That's odd. It was still with her when I got back, so I look around a bit more, conclude it's not here, so I ring up my old man, make sure I didn't transfer it over to his place(since he's got a shitload of guitars and the like between himself and his girlfriend). Nope, not there. So, I head over to my mother's shop, where I borrow a bit of storage space, when she moved house, it might have ended up there. Nope, not there.
So I ask as to it's whereabouts.
Turns out, when my sister moved out of mum's place and in with her boyfriend, she took my guitar with her, because I "Wasn't using it" and she thought it would look nice in her living room. Oh, that's fair enough, I figure - she didn't ask, so I'll have to have a word to her about that, but whatever, she can bring it back tomorrow when she comes in to work for mum.
Oh no, she can't do that. "Why not?" I ask.
"Oh, because she got drunk at her housewarming party, because this rum she found in the guitar case was stronger than she thought, and she was dancing around with it while she was playing singstar and pretending to play guitar, and she fell over and broke it."
That's alright, I guess. I repaired it in the first place when I got it, I should be able to do it again. I'm a bit pissed that she broke it after taking it without asking, but whatever, she's never really been that careful with other people's stuff, it was kinda expected when she took it.
Oh no, you can't repair it. She broke the neck on the coffee table and smashed the "big bit" (she meant the body) when she fell over, and it cut her arm and bruised her chest when she fell on it, and she got really angry when she was drunk, stuffed it in the brazier in the backyard, and cried the rest of the night about how her big housewarming party was ruined.
Wat.
Are you meaning to tell me, honestly, that she took my guitar without asking, because it would look pretty in her lounge, drank my homemade rum, got too drunk because of that - which I don't believe for a second, since she has a long history of getting stupidly black-out drunk for no fucking reason - smashed the guitar that I rebuilt myself from a wreck, and then stuffed it in a fire, because it ruined HER night because SHE was being a drunken idiot and fell over on it, and nobody thought to tell me about this? Well, yes, it was a bit silly of her, but she told me that she told you and apologized.
At that point, I had to walk away, because if I heard another word, I was probably going to simply going to keel over from a fucking rage induced stroke.
Seriously, what the fuck, man?
Me: Too late to be sitting at the kitchen table. 2:21 AM
About 2:56 AM I get a call.
Her: Who is this?
Me(in my head): Who the fuck do you think would text not to sit at the kitchen table at 2 in the morning? You used to have my number saved in your phone, what happened?
Me: This is George.
Her: (hangs up.)
Then she texts me.
Her: Illl be out of your hair soon enough. 3:01 AM
So now she's inciting drama when I have a problem with her behavior. Awesome! So here I am, up at some god awful fucking hour cause I can't sleep. I think I might go for a drive.
And remember when I said that, I was feeling much more kindly disposed to her, by virtue of not having seen her for more than a year.