It's been almost a month. Poor, neglected blog. Here's a little resuscitation.
[...I just spelled "resuscitation" right on the first try. Point!]
I went to Toronto. Someone on the street tried to convince me to do porn. [I didn't.] I visited Meredith and Josh. I saw a crazy Norwegian band and not much else, thanks to unnecessary bullshit. It was a nice weekend, filled with good food and lovely people. I drove home with Don, Nathan, and Jonah who were recording their new record with Ian Blurton that week. Even though we left Toronto at 3am, it was a lovely drive. I counted 8 dead things on the side of the road (well, I only really started counting once the sun comes up, so I'm sure there were more), and we had breakfast at Café Orange once we got to Montreal.
Since then, it's been a whole lot of nothing. Actually...that's not entirely true. I've got a new career idea, and it's called Avoiding People Who Want To Hang Out With Me. I assure you, I'm fantastic at it. If I could combine that for my love of the internet and bad sitcoms, I think I'd be a very rich girl. I've got a few key targets I'm avoiding, and any number of interchangeable weirdos besides those, so my plate is very full. Everything I do, from running out for groceries to going for a drink must be carefully considered: who could I run into? what are the possible side effects I'll have to put up with if I stay here for a while?
I've discovered something else: I have an incredibly low tolerance for most people these days. My conversation skills are severely lapsed as well, apparently, because I can't seem to keep my end up without resorting to inane classics like "so, where are you from?" Ugh. I hate it. It's probably because of my reliance on a lack of interpersonal contact as of late, and the fact that most of the people I meet these days are horribly uninteresting. And irritating. There, I've come full circle now, and still don't have an answer as to why I'm getting fed up so quickly. I used to be great at all of that conversation-with-strangers crap.
I've discovered something else: I have an incredibly low tolerance for most people these days. My conversation skills are severely lapsed as well, apparently, because I can't seem to keep my end up without resorting to inane classics like "so, where are you from?" Ugh. I hate it. It's probably because of my reliance on a lack of interpersonal contact as of late, and the fact that most of the people I meet these days are horribly uninteresting. And irritating. There, I've come full circle now, and still don't have an answer as to why I'm getting fed up so quickly. I used to be great at all of that conversation-with-strangers crap.
I know there was something I wanted to do on July 6th, and I'm blanking on it now. Shit. July 13th will see me getting an autographed copy of David Sedaris' When You Are Engulfed in Flames for my birthday (what? you don't give yourself presents?). I'm trying to decide on a plan for that oft-celebrated day, and I can't quite bring myself to just let it pass by. See, as with most people, I love birthdays. Especially my own. But every year in the past five or so has inevitably ended in disappointment. Last year had heaps of it - from making my own cake to working at 5am (and being sent home at 6, having made about 40 dollars) to having my boyfriend completely forget about it - so I can't help but be a little optimistic that this year will finally see me celebrating properly. Then again, I should just not think about it, but since I have hours on end available to muse about nothing I'm sure I will. I think I'll fill it up with Andrew W.K., The Cure, and booze. Sound good? Yeah, I think so too. Feel free to join me. I'm turning 21, so I might convince a friend to drive down to Plattsburgh for a drink with me.
Because we can.
Oh, by the way, that picture is around 5:30am on the drive home. I just thought a little bit of sunrise might be nice.
0 comments:
Post a Comment