Nineteen

The flat mate will be leaving me for a nicer, more spacious home. My aunt needs a cat for her garden to keep mice and larger insects dead. The flat mate has proven her hunting skills with two cockroach carcasses to show for it, so she's moving on to better things. Which is good and sad for me: the former because I don't think I can handle any more scratches, and I've caught the ringworm; the latter because I've gotten used to having another living creature that's not insectoid hanging around me. I hate to admit it, but it's going to be a bit lonely without her.

Self pity.

Eighteen

I started writing this morning. I haven't had the urge in years. Many, many years. I haven't set down a plot, I didn't plan anything out, I just opened a fresh Word document and started typing. I'll be uploading each chapter onto a story sharing platform as soon as I'm done writing it. You have to do something to start wanting to do it. Maybe this will get me going again. 

Also, I found a dead cockroach in my toilet. My fourth one since the start of the summer. Where do they come in from? At least the flat mate is doing her job.

Seventeen

I might have jinxed myself the other day with all that talk about productivity. Yesterday was… horrible. Not because I didn't do much, but because I simply didn't. Period. I might have made my way from the couch to the fridge and back when the hunger got too bad, and then from the couch to the bathroom a couple of times. Then, very late at night, from the couch to my bed. Just, vegetated like I hadn't in a long while. Not since I'd moved out. Not since I'd stopped being depressed. And now I'm starting to feel down again. I know I should do something, anything, finish my grocery shopping, take out the trash, call mom, go out with Z and J. Anything. Heck, I should get my car washed. But I haven't got the inclination. Don't like myself when I'm this way.

Sixteen

I'm having a hard time getting up and being productive today. It's already 11:30am and so far I've had a sloppy, sad excuse of a turkey sandwich, fed the flat mate, used the bathroom, and read a lot of slash. I attempted sweeping the living room, but stopped halfway through in favor of reading more slash.

Feel like going back to sleep. Think I will. I can be productive afterwards.

The Innovation of Loneliness

Macklemore reacts to 'Same Love (Doggy style)' parody

Original:

Insanity Fit Test

God. 'Insanity' fit test. I stopped 15 minutes in. Never been this sweaty from physical activity before. Then again, I don't do much physical activity to start with. Must wait for stomach to unstick itself from heart and lungs. Feel like puking. What the hell, so out of shape.

 

Fifteen

I love weekends, I love being able to do nothing, be useless, and just de-stress. Nothing beats knowing that you don't have to do anything if you don't feel like it. It's… liberating. Except that since I've moved out I've started feeling guilty about these stints. I have things that need to get done, commitments that have to be met, and projects that I want to get started. That's good, right? I'm becoming a real human being, not a worthless blob. So even though today's Friday and I usually – pre moving out – dedicated this day to the pursuit of instant gratification, now I'm worried about getting my apartment cleaned, myself groomed, the favors I'd promised my friends done. Eh.

Fourteen

3am prank callers should be thrown off the edge of the planet. Can't go back to sleep. Why do they do it? What fuels them? And you know what the saddest part is? They're not just calling to be juvenile assholes, they’re actually calling to hook up, as if any sane human being would find some random stranger who wakes them at 3am sexy/hot/desirable/worth the air they breathe, or that they'd be so plain desperate that they'd be willing to give it a try.

Prank callers. …Can I even call this breed of douchebag that? A few months back I made the mistake of answering the phone a couple of times (each time from a different number) thinking it was an emergency. My one groggy "Hello?" and abrupt ending of the call hooked them for months after. I've got at least five numbers on my contact list saved under "Shit1", "Shit2", "Shit3" etc, that still call at various times of the day and week. It takes a lot of patience and perseverance to keep calling someone who ignores your calls for months.   

Makes no sense.

3:56am. Have to be up for work in two hours. So tired.

Thirteen

I'm not surprised that he didn’t call to get together this weekend to pay me back like he said he would. Things are probably going to be awkward now between us. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not going to be calling him anymore, and I don't plan on seeing him and his girlfriend anymore either. Leeches.