I've had a bad week at work. Nothing major, just lots of little things.

I tried to vent to my mom, but all she did was tell me what I should have done.  I told her that wasn't what I wanted, and it took her a long time to realize that I found what she said hurtful.  She doesn't know why.  I could go on, and in more detail, but I'm not.

My best friend is in Sri Lanka.  All my other friends are on the East Coast, with a couple exceptions.  It's pretty awful.

I only have Saturday off this week.

My life isn't that bad, but at this moment, it feels like it is.

I'm way too infrequent for this.

So, today was interesting.

I began my first time living alone for more than a couple days.

First I had pictures for work, which was fine, but had the side effect that I looked great and had nothing to do. Naturally, I bought conditioner since I was out, and then browsed Borders since it was next door.

After going home, the cat got her paw stuck in the cat door, and I realized that I am not going to die alone with my cat, I'm just going to die alone.

I went to Olive Garden for dinner, because eating alone with a glass of wine is less pathetic than drinking alone.

Then I went to Whole Foods, just to complete the Tour of Pathetic. I convinced a guy working there to hit on me, so that was good.

And tomorrow I have work.

It's been nearly a month

I really should update this more. Sorry to my one reader.

Work has been in an upswing. I guess that's not entirely true. More correctly, after a terrible downswing, it's back to what I love.

I've realized lately that you can love and appreciate people that you don't consciously think you do.

I've also realized that you can love people you know you love without really realizing how much they mean to you.

I don't think I'm a Romantic or a Sentimentalist in any sense of the words, but sometimes the cliche "still waters run deep" resonates more than it should with me.

I rarely question happiness, or joy, or sadness, or fear, but constantly question romantic love.

I wish I could write about frivolity or everything that's going right in my life, but I don't know how. Thus, this blog has become an archive of trials and tribulations, unhappiness, and introspection, although I am happier than I've been most of my life.

Do you ever wonder if you don't matter to the people who matter to you?

I wish I were rich so that I could afford all the beautiful clothes I adore.

I've been getting back in the habit of reading. Lunch breaks are perfect for the escapism books provide.

I'm slowly talking to more of my college friends. Maybe someday I'll admit that I should go back east.

Vegas needs more culture. Especially culture that isn't designed for tourists.

Sometimes, I think it's odd that I can't write my most inner thoughts and fears. Other times, I think that's totally rational.

I wish I had more backup plans.

I'm entirely too risk averse.

You reading this means more than you'll ever know.

Thought of the day.

Sometimes I think I'd rather be someone's "What if?" than the love of someone's life.

A Conglomerate of Unrelated Things

I update this much more sporadically than I'd like. I guess I just find my life uninteresting.

I'm pretty self-aware. Though my flaws are numerous, if you see one, chances are I know about it, and either have been working on it or, more likely, just don't care.

While I usually take criticism well, it really frustrates me if I don't think I deserve it.

I was looking at the word "musketeer" the other day, and thinking about how some words have completely lost their original meaning. "Awesome" means "good" or "cool" instead of "inspiring awe." "Hopefully" means "I hope" instead of "done with hope." I'm sure most people I know think "prodigal" means "returning" or "long gone."

I miss my friends.

I spent a long time talking to my mom tonight. It was nice.

I think I wrote this entry mostly to obliquely vent about work. I can't remember what the other things were, though, so I guess it's served its purpose.

I like writing for other people so much more than writing for myself. It's probably why I failed at least five times at keeping a diary, but love writing letters.

If you're reading this, thank you.

Living at Home

The worst thing, I think, about living with your parents, is that your ideas of what's good for you vary from theirs, and in your early 20s, both of you have been right enough and wrong enough about that that there is no clear-cut answer as to whom to trust.

At Least One Person Reads This

I was looking over my old blogs awhile ago, and I noticed how many of them include "I'm having trouble sleeping." I started wondering why that occurs so often. I decided that it came down to one of three things: 1. Sleepiness induced delirium makes me want to blog; 2. My sleeplessness is caused by something that's weighing on my mind; and/or 3. I'm always tired. At any rate, I feel confident saying that the majority of my blogs are written while I'm tired and/or drinking. I fit at least one criterion right now.

I got an internship that's absolutely perfect in every way. It's amazing how happy it makes me.

I've been thinking about romantic relationships a lot lately. Well, to be honest, it's not a lot when compared to most people, but it is a lot compared to my normal rate. I'm not sure why. I'm very happy being single. I guess it's because I feel so fulfilled in every other aspect of my life, and I'd like someone to make me even happier. Maybe it's JT's adventures.

A few days ago, after I finished reading a book, a little blurb popped into my head. As someone who is not particularly adept at fiction, I didn't quite know what to do with it. As I mulled it over, I realized it perhaps related to me as much as any fictional person in my head. I have, of course, forgotten it, but I shall try to reproduce what I remember here. "You wonder if you can ever have a normal relationship. You think of the books with love stories that call to you, incite your imagination. They're not the normal ones. Shakespeare, Austen, that Harlequin crap, none of that appeals to you. It's only those Modern and Postmodern tales, with their fucked up romances, that you enjoy. It probably says something about you. You're not sure you want to think about it. As much as you hate Keats, you wonder if he's right that nothing can ever live up to the anticipation." I'm pretty sure it was more poignant when I first thought of it.

I miss having friends. Obviously, I have friends, but they don't live here. Some are from college, and have spread out depending on school and jobs, and most of the ones from high school have had the good sense to move away. The few that remain I rarely see. Some just have inconvenient lives, some are conditional friends, seeing me only when there's no one else, or when JT is here, or when certain things in their lives are not happening. At least I'll see LM this weekend.

ND: Thanks for reading! That goes for other people too, but I'm pretty sure ND is the only one.