This is going to be a very wank-heavy post. I'm sorry. Sometimes I give a shit about the people reading this, sometimes I just want a good whinge.
I'm sunburned, and not good enough. I move around too much, Tara told me, like a nervous ant. I twitch randomly and constantly worry. If I'm perfectly content I'll invent something to worry about. I can't tell if I move because I'm worrying or if I create things to worry about to account for my twitching and twisted awkward posture. I'm trying to take up the littlest space possible.
I'm working every night at Burger King. Hopefully I will work every day somewhere else. I had a terrible interview for a real job in Providence the other day. It was shocking when I realized that the only thing I was going to do until the fall was make money, and that was the only sensible thing for me. It is worth it. It's a penance for not listening to Iggy when she told me what to do months ago and for putting too much trust into other people, even loved one's. I think I've learnt, no matter how romantic it isn't, that love does not imply trust. More likely, love implies disapointment. Expectations are such a bastard in the face of reality.
Nadja is fine and going to be in Vermont with friends. I'm going to spend the money I had allocated to his boarding on spending each weekend in Jersey with Iggy. So I'll still have to live with my mother longer than I want to, but I'll be able to see Iggy.
I am bored and lonely. I am talking to my best friend's ex-boyfriend just for human contact. I miss actual human voices. I probably spend about an hour a day actually talking to people (though, "would you like fries with that" will soon change that statistic ...). I miss my life more than anything else. Tonight I am drinking warm Pabst that I'm hiding in my backpack next to me because my mother would yell at me for drinking. I sort of had plans but they were superceeded. I can't really concentrate on anything because it's so humid in here so I'm just sort of sitting around listening to music.
Let me reiterate: I am twenty-three and working at Burger King, sneaking beer into the house so that I can spend my Saturday night listening to London After Midnight and keeping myself awake for things I know wont happen.
I'm sunburned, and not good enough. I move around too much, Tara told me, like a nervous ant. I twitch randomly and constantly worry. If I'm perfectly content I'll invent something to worry about. I can't tell if I move because I'm worrying or if I create things to worry about to account for my twitching and twisted awkward posture. I'm trying to take up the littlest space possible.
I'm working every night at Burger King. Hopefully I will work every day somewhere else. I had a terrible interview for a real job in Providence the other day. It was shocking when I realized that the only thing I was going to do until the fall was make money, and that was the only sensible thing for me. It is worth it. It's a penance for not listening to Iggy when she told me what to do months ago and for putting too much trust into other people, even loved one's. I think I've learnt, no matter how romantic it isn't, that love does not imply trust. More likely, love implies disapointment. Expectations are such a bastard in the face of reality.
Nadja is fine and going to be in Vermont with friends. I'm going to spend the money I had allocated to his boarding on spending each weekend in Jersey with Iggy. So I'll still have to live with my mother longer than I want to, but I'll be able to see Iggy.
I am bored and lonely. I am talking to my best friend's ex-boyfriend just for human contact. I miss actual human voices. I probably spend about an hour a day actually talking to people (though, "would you like fries with that" will soon change that statistic ...). I miss my life more than anything else. Tonight I am drinking warm Pabst that I'm hiding in my backpack next to me because my mother would yell at me for drinking. I sort of had plans but they were superceeded. I can't really concentrate on anything because it's so humid in here so I'm just sort of sitting around listening to music.
Let me reiterate: I am twenty-three and working at Burger King, sneaking beer into the house so that I can spend my Saturday night listening to London After Midnight and keeping myself awake for things I know wont happen.
fenianone:
what a place for us to be on a saturday night.