My life is like an Etch-a-Sketch that gets shaken about every 5 minutes.
I'm currently OFF my Lexapro until I can afford to get it refilled. I've given up on university. I'm going to get a full time job and start paying off my ridiculous sum of debt while perhaps attending community college or an art/technical school. I've been thinking about some sort of IT position or perhaps even Web Design or Graphic Design. I'm fucking SICK of "college". The lifestyle is sort of fun, but there's nothing here that's of true value to me! I want to learn something useful and actually BE useful. I want to get a job that I can hate during the day so I can LOVE my free time off. It's a numb kind of awesomeness being a jobless bum. You have nothing pressing and nothing stressing, but at the same time it's both a relief and a bore. Sometimes you NEED something stressing you out to help you rise to the challenge and become more than you are. I would love to have a job that pays me, that I wake up and go to every day, that assures me the creditors won't wake me up at 8 every morning from their call centers, their automated voices informing me that my bill is overdue. If I could work for up to 5 years, I have no doubt that I could wipe out at least half my debt. I'd do any and EVERYTHING to pay it off. I'd hold three jobs simultaneously if I found that many and could reasonably juggle them. I'm tired of focusing energy on school. I am at the point where I want a job - not for the work, but for the cash. Next month's rent is NEVER guaranteed for me. In fact, it's never assured in the least.
This is one of my more lucid drunk blogs. I'm pretty positive I won't remember blogging this when I wake up, at least until I see it. But I'm saying things exactly the way that I'm thinking them. I'm satisfied with the speed of my thoughts and of my typing. For once, they seem to be matching up in a way that allows me to express them rather nicely. Let me tell you bout tonight.
I went to several different bars in celebration of Green Beer Day. Alone, as usual. (P.S. If you're in Dallas and reading this, I need a drinking buddy!) At one, I excused myself past a couple of ladies near the bar and heard them whispering about me afterward (in a positive way). One girl said something and her friends were kind of cheering her on. I knew it was me, and in a couple of seconds she was pretend-pushing her way up against my back saying "Oops! So crowded!" and so on. I turned around and started talking to her and her two friends. They told me it was her birthday while simultaneously commenting on how hot it was (and it was SWEATY). I meant to ask how old she was, but instead asked how hot she was. But I went with it instead of correcting myself. After feeling kind of foolish, I then asked how OLD she was. She said 22. I said a few more empty words, then turned back to the bar. I was meaning to close my tab, so I turned and asked if I could buy her a birthday shot. She said no. I said okay. Couple minutes later, she tapped me and thanked me for the offer. That's all I needed. This was officially my first single bar experience. The second one happened not long after.
I went to another bar and caught an empty seat at a high table right off the main walkway. Somehow, a guy and a girl came walking in and got caught up talking to me about something. I think the girl complimented my Bowling for Soup hat (not a fan; ask me if you want the story). Anyway, I was drunk enough to let another conversation ensue and we started talking about the Toadies (who should have been playing today! Goddammit!) and suddenly like 4 of her dude friends showed up. I introduced myself to everybody and started making some drunken small talk. At some point, I mentioned that it was my first legal St. Patty's Day. This dude named Brandon freaked out and whipped out his wallet, plucking out a handful of bills. He put them in my hand and said something to the effect of, "I'm Irish. This is my holiday. Go buy the strongest drink you can get." I promised I would, after asking the names of some other good bars to hit up. When I got to the bar, I counted my cash...FIVE BUCKS! Seriously! I got five fucking dollars from a drunk dude!
So I got reasonably drunk, met 4-5 different chicks, and made it home to a puppy who miraculously had not shat or pissed the carpet.
St. Patty's 2008. You have been a night to remember.
I'm currently OFF my Lexapro until I can afford to get it refilled. I've given up on university. I'm going to get a full time job and start paying off my ridiculous sum of debt while perhaps attending community college or an art/technical school. I've been thinking about some sort of IT position or perhaps even Web Design or Graphic Design. I'm fucking SICK of "college". The lifestyle is sort of fun, but there's nothing here that's of true value to me! I want to learn something useful and actually BE useful. I want to get a job that I can hate during the day so I can LOVE my free time off. It's a numb kind of awesomeness being a jobless bum. You have nothing pressing and nothing stressing, but at the same time it's both a relief and a bore. Sometimes you NEED something stressing you out to help you rise to the challenge and become more than you are. I would love to have a job that pays me, that I wake up and go to every day, that assures me the creditors won't wake me up at 8 every morning from their call centers, their automated voices informing me that my bill is overdue. If I could work for up to 5 years, I have no doubt that I could wipe out at least half my debt. I'd do any and EVERYTHING to pay it off. I'd hold three jobs simultaneously if I found that many and could reasonably juggle them. I'm tired of focusing energy on school. I am at the point where I want a job - not for the work, but for the cash. Next month's rent is NEVER guaranteed for me. In fact, it's never assured in the least.
This is one of my more lucid drunk blogs. I'm pretty positive I won't remember blogging this when I wake up, at least until I see it. But I'm saying things exactly the way that I'm thinking them. I'm satisfied with the speed of my thoughts and of my typing. For once, they seem to be matching up in a way that allows me to express them rather nicely. Let me tell you bout tonight.
I went to several different bars in celebration of Green Beer Day. Alone, as usual. (P.S. If you're in Dallas and reading this, I need a drinking buddy!) At one, I excused myself past a couple of ladies near the bar and heard them whispering about me afterward (in a positive way). One girl said something and her friends were kind of cheering her on. I knew it was me, and in a couple of seconds she was pretend-pushing her way up against my back saying "Oops! So crowded!" and so on. I turned around and started talking to her and her two friends. They told me it was her birthday while simultaneously commenting on how hot it was (and it was SWEATY). I meant to ask how old she was, but instead asked how hot she was. But I went with it instead of correcting myself. After feeling kind of foolish, I then asked how OLD she was. She said 22. I said a few more empty words, then turned back to the bar. I was meaning to close my tab, so I turned and asked if I could buy her a birthday shot. She said no. I said okay. Couple minutes later, she tapped me and thanked me for the offer. That's all I needed. This was officially my first single bar experience. The second one happened not long after.
I went to another bar and caught an empty seat at a high table right off the main walkway. Somehow, a guy and a girl came walking in and got caught up talking to me about something. I think the girl complimented my Bowling for Soup hat (not a fan; ask me if you want the story). Anyway, I was drunk enough to let another conversation ensue and we started talking about the Toadies (who should have been playing today! Goddammit!) and suddenly like 4 of her dude friends showed up. I introduced myself to everybody and started making some drunken small talk. At some point, I mentioned that it was my first legal St. Patty's Day. This dude named Brandon freaked out and whipped out his wallet, plucking out a handful of bills. He put them in my hand and said something to the effect of, "I'm Irish. This is my holiday. Go buy the strongest drink you can get." I promised I would, after asking the names of some other good bars to hit up. When I got to the bar, I counted my cash...FIVE BUCKS! Seriously! I got five fucking dollars from a drunk dude!
So I got reasonably drunk, met 4-5 different chicks, and made it home to a puppy who miraculously had not shat or pissed the carpet.
St. Patty's 2008. You have been a night to remember.