Que sera sera
Sep. 23rd, 2000 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kitsplutI am bored. I should be studying DBMS or working on my Java assignment for Thursday, but Saturday nights never turn out to be productive. I have a nice big glass of water with which I am attempting to counteract the approximately 48 oz of diet Coke I have had today. I just took my calcium supplement, and I'm afraid it will make me sick. I think it only does because my mother was surprised it didn't. I think she just has a strange metabolism.
WAH I am destroying people I love again. I was consumed with jealousy when that boy got a new pookie and got to take Japanese, and then the motherboard died and they made him drop the class because he had too many hours. It's like Linda McCartney and the parakeet. I should run away to Italy and be a nun before everyone's lives go further to hell.
I don't do it on purpose.
sigh. It just seems like it's so much harder than it has to be for us. We prly make it that way ourselves, but I'd love a hint as to how to STOP. I need to be more patient with him, but I am stressed about as far as I can take right now, which is really pathetic considering I'm sitting here on my butt in the dorm room my parents are paying for, chatting with people on the pookie he bought me, and so full of food I could be sick. It's just that I'm all too aware that, after about May 20, the parental lifeline gets cut. Not like they'd ever kick me out on my arse or anything, but really. I can't justify living off them forever. Even though I guess I'm two years younger than most everyone else at this point, so I can chalk it up to immaturity? heh. It's learned helplessness, Biskit and I decided. They led me around by my hair for eighteen years, and now they want me to take initiative and do everything on my own, and I just kind of roll over and whimper. I was such a daddy's little girl when I got here that I thought my first roommate was DEAD IN A GUTTER somewhere when she stayed out all night the first time. My little brain is like...Dammit. If you pushed me this far, you'd freakin better well push me the rest of the way, cause God knows this isn't where I wanted to be or what I wanted to be doing anyway. if they let me start calling the shots NOW, heaven knows where I'll run.
oh well. And so it goes.
I think we left my car window down, and it rained chunks. sigh. I think it only rains on the rare occasions I take the car anywhere, on the off chance we'll do that. Some putz left a flyer for something under my windshield, too, and I'll be picking neon yellow shreds of wet paper off the poor thing for days.
Lordisa. And now he wants to call, and I am nothing on the phone, especially after about nine thirty. I have no voice. I told Punker today that I'd rather lose my tongue than a finger, because I type more than I talk. Realspace conversations I can handle, but telephones are inhuman and evil. Except when I call Biskit. But then, she's like the honorary quadruplet or something.....
fuck. If Biskie is the DEAD TRIPLET, that explains SO MUCH that I have to go to bed RIGHT NOW.
hee. "it's peachy."
WAH I am destroying people I love again. I was consumed with jealousy when that boy got a new pookie and got to take Japanese, and then the motherboard died and they made him drop the class because he had too many hours. It's like Linda McCartney and the parakeet. I should run away to Italy and be a nun before everyone's lives go further to hell.
I don't do it on purpose.
sigh. It just seems like it's so much harder than it has to be for us. We prly make it that way ourselves, but I'd love a hint as to how to STOP. I need to be more patient with him, but I am stressed about as far as I can take right now, which is really pathetic considering I'm sitting here on my butt in the dorm room my parents are paying for, chatting with people on the pookie he bought me, and so full of food I could be sick. It's just that I'm all too aware that, after about May 20, the parental lifeline gets cut. Not like they'd ever kick me out on my arse or anything, but really. I can't justify living off them forever. Even though I guess I'm two years younger than most everyone else at this point, so I can chalk it up to immaturity? heh. It's learned helplessness, Biskit and I decided. They led me around by my hair for eighteen years, and now they want me to take initiative and do everything on my own, and I just kind of roll over and whimper. I was such a daddy's little girl when I got here that I thought my first roommate was DEAD IN A GUTTER somewhere when she stayed out all night the first time. My little brain is like...Dammit. If you pushed me this far, you'd freakin better well push me the rest of the way, cause God knows this isn't where I wanted to be or what I wanted to be doing anyway. if they let me start calling the shots NOW, heaven knows where I'll run.
oh well. And so it goes.
I think we left my car window down, and it rained chunks. sigh. I think it only rains on the rare occasions I take the car anywhere, on the off chance we'll do that. Some putz left a flyer for something under my windshield, too, and I'll be picking neon yellow shreds of wet paper off the poor thing for days.
Lordisa. And now he wants to call, and I am nothing on the phone, especially after about nine thirty. I have no voice. I told Punker today that I'd rather lose my tongue than a finger, because I type more than I talk. Realspace conversations I can handle, but telephones are inhuman and evil. Except when I call Biskit. But then, she's like the honorary quadruplet or something.....
fuck. If Biskie is the DEAD TRIPLET, that explains SO MUCH that I have to go to bed RIGHT NOW.
hee. "it's peachy."
