In which I bitch.
Fuck yeah weekends.
Work changed my schedule three weeks ago when someone quit without notice; I’m now working 8 – 5 instead of 9 – 6. Adjusting my schedule by a single hour in the month of October literally kicked my ass and yes, I still loathe waking up before full light. Wednesday was the first day I woke up before my alarm, but I still stayed in bed too long to eat breakfast and had to take it with me to work and eat it cold because FUCK IT, IT’S STILL DARK OUT, I AM NOT GETTING UP YET. I kept going to bed early and waking up at five and then not being able to get back to sleep and blah blah blah REM cycles all fucked up and it sucked and now the clocks are going to change and I’ll be readjusting right back to where I started. So fuck DST.
The weather has turned cold and grey and rainy. Being cold makes me grumpy and inward. I hadn’t been to the bar in a couple of weeks before Thursday night because when I get off work all I want to do is get home before it gets any darker and colder. I spend my nights in my room drinking too much wine and either marathoning original ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ episodes or fucking off in IRC with a bunch of people half my age. Bitches have no idea how many millions of keystrokes I dump into multiplayer notepad every week. I will never finish any of my knitting projects.
Oh, yeah, and speaking of IRC, I’ll just go strait into shameless full-disclosure mode and admit that I have a brutal and enthralling internet crush on a 28-year-old IT guy from the east coast and yeah, perhaps I should grow up but fuck it he’s entirely too awesome. I mean, what’s wrong with being attracted to an agile intellect that isn’t also some Dawkins-worshipping pseudo-eurofag nihilist, I ask you. Such a beast is rare, no matter its chronological age. My friends are all giving me shit about my ‘irc bf’ because I actually check my phone now to see if he’s texted, which means they could actually get a response out of me in under 30 hours if they wanted, but none of them have wanted because I see zero texts from anybody that isn’t either sweet IRC bf or my debit card company. So keep on teasin’ me, assholes: at least I’m having more fun than you!
I have no gigs for the entire month of November and I cannot even begin to explain to you how happy that makes me so I will use bold for emphasis.
I need to get my hair done. I need to get my eyebrows waxed. The worst vanity of my life has set in now that my facial skin is losing its elasticity and I look fucking old in the mirror in the morning. (Midlife crisis crush, anyone?) (Hey, fuck you, man, I had no idea how old he was. It’s a text-only medium, your IRC chat room. Sheesh.)
My three week long panic attack seems to have abated, finally, the motherfucker. I have no idea what happened; I haven’t had symptoms like that in years. I just couldn’t calm the fuck down and was so adrenaline-saturated that I was having multiple PVCs per hour, which of course would feed my panic which would cause more adrenaline… it’s so weird witnessing yourself being utterly fucking crazy. Yesterday was nearly normal and today so far I feel mellow, so here’s hoping I’m out the other side of that bullshit, because smelling like stress-sweat all day for weeks on end gets old.
This weekend I intend to do laundry and buy groceries and cook Egyptian and Turkish recipes. There may also be wine and brie. I may nap a lot. Perhaps I will watch a movie or three. Perhaps I will go out and patronize live music instead of making it. Perhaps I will go eat chile rellenos at Rosita’s for the first time in a year. Perhaps I will take a bubble bath or go buy jeans at Goodwill. WHO KNOWS.
Like I said, fuck yeah freetime weekends.