empty glass
02.01.04 @ 4:13 p.m.
I'm trying to be good, trying not to get angry, but sometimes I get really frustrated with my living situation. First, we have new roommate Bonnie, who I've hardly spoken to. Shyness on all fronts I think, and I've been entertaining Jodi all Friday and Saturday. She left this morning around 10 and I went back to bed, which I really shouldn't have done. My concept of time is utterly fucked because I didn't really wake up all the way until noon and then I stayed in bed for two and a half hours reading Jump-Off Creek which is why I have little tolerance for the glorious cowboy history of Oregon and outrageously feminist characters who lack realism due to their setting. Actually, this character isn't so bad. Bizarrely formal about everything, which almost feels like the author couldn't decide on her character so she just sprayed her with starch until she could hardly move and then never says a thing. Maybe I'm overly critical. I'm probably just as bad, seeing as I usually have most of a character's life nicely played out in my head, but I don't necessarily put all that down.
This is not meant to be a writing rant/pretentious ramble, so I'll stop now. I'm angry because our kitching is a hole. It's awful. Today the stove was covered in a jumble of clean and dirty pots wallowing in rinsewater that won't evaporate before things grow in it and the counter was drenched. Everything on the counter was sitting in a pool of water, and it just was so frustrating. I don't even know what to make of it. So I gave a little lecture, feeling simultaneously guilty for being a little condescending and furious that I should even have to tell these things.
What the fuck, people? Weren't you raised to be self-reliant one day?
And then, AND THEN, Ena dropped my cookie sheet on the floor, didn't pick it up for a few minutes, and subsequently ended up stepping on it. I had to hammer out this sharp crease in the edge.
I suppose part of the reasons I get so ticked off about it all is that I'm very minimalist in the kitchen. I hardly use any dishes when I cook or when I eat. Also, I tend to only make a production of one meal in the day, which means I use one bowl if I so much as eat breakfast, and usually a saucepan and a bowl at lunch. Hardly any dishes. But every morning when I leave for school there are at least two food encrusted pans on the stove and a bowl filling with tepid water in the sink. And spilled food fucking everywhere. Hardly a day goes by that I don't wipe dried coffee and shreds of Romano cheese of the fucking counter.
Another thing that's making me feel a little guilty: I suspect that I'm misinterpreting Ena's frustration with ME as a sort of bemused incomprehension. It's really wrong of me to feel like she's stupid, but I do. It's not that she doesn't have intellectual comprehension, because obviously her horrible philosophy friends (I'm sorry, I hate everyone today) think she's bright. I don't know if they could live with her, though, because she's apparently had whatever part of the brain that holds common sense surgically removed.
Why the fuck do we need empty wine bottles? Why the fuck do you put apples in the cold drawer in the fridge? Why the fuck do you have a problem drying dishes with a towel when there's an inordinate amount of them when, if I remember correctly, that's how you did it when I first moved in here? Why the fuck do you have a problem with a damp clean towel but want to wash the dishes with the same manky sponge that's been there the entire time I've lived here? Why the fuck are you completely blind to the fact that surfaces like counters and tables get dirty even when you don't actually spill something huge across them?
It's been a tense weekend. Jodi came down even though I didn't really want her to, but she's going to Australia for a year and I won't see her again before she leaves, so ultimately I'm fairly glad she came. I only wish she left yesterday afternoon. Bonnie moved in and I still haven't adjusted. And I fucking wanted Andrew to come, but no. Not even stopping by to say hi. Which is depressing. And I don't know how I can still feel lonely when I can't get a minute to myself, but there you are. I'm so glad that Ena and Bonnie have left for the store because a) I need a goddamn break from hideously awful Chinese ballads that are apparently on constant play now and b) the frustration has once again finally manifested in tears, which just makes me angrier. There's a character in Ben Elton's Blast from the Past who has the same problem/complaint with tears coming perversely easily, even in situations that, intellectually, don't warrant it. Or maybe not writing for a couple of days has made me tense and physical emotional catharsis is combining with the basic function of this diary, which is to get all this shit out of my system.
I have a feeling that I'm going to start holing up in my room more. Usually the living room is my domain, just because I bother to hang out in here. I'm practically surgically connected to my computer and the internet, which is out here (well, not now, I'm using Ena's again and being cautious not to leave the address of this place in her history) and I'm pretty much the only one who watches TV.
Today is just a lousy, lousy day.
[Title: Townshend song from his solo album of the same name.]
My life's a mess, I wait for you to pass
I stand here at the bar, I hold an empty glass...
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
