Monday, June 02, 2008

Chicks are Retarded

As I sit here, in the bedroom I've turned into a studio apartment (seriously, I have a spot for food and drink), on my milk crate of a computer chair (which has to be slid under a table for me to get to my shoes in the morning), I wonder why my inbox is full of messages I've forwarded myself of possible roomies from Craigslist and I vehemently avoid my inbox by doing anything besides emailing these people.

What the ever love'n piss test is the matter with me?? It's just another move, I've literally had 10 addresses in just under 4 years, and this time I don't even have a mattress to haul!!! Half my stuff is already in boxes because I can't fit it in my studio and the 1000 sq feet of downstairs space must be covered in all things Ikea (or, if we refer to the last 5 weeks, whatever Roomie emptied out of his room to make room for his chick to move in, and whatever she moved in that doesn't fit in the half a closet he cleared out for her), I can't make dinner (putting a lean cuisine in the microwave) without intruding on their conversation and space, the AC happens to always be on when I have my screenless window open which gives me a parade of flying insects to go with my ever clogging sinuses... I don't get home til 7:45pm and that I must leave the house by 7:05 every morning means I rarely give a flying love handle about making it to they gym (I am walking 2 miles a day, but it's not walking 2 miles uphill like I do at the gym, followed by intermittent running for the next 2 miles, then crunches and 15 minutes of stretching - its more of a mad dash through crowds to race for a chair to plant myself in), have invested in the biggest case of beer that will fit in my fridge, and can barely muster the energy to fully change into PJs, let alone get my car legal, fix my phone bill, even renting a movie is beyond me.

So, what gives?? Am I finally getting worried about moving the way everyone else did for me every other time? Is my lust for life so devoid that I'm finally just happy to not have as many hours to kill at home? Hiding?? But from what? Or is my breakout, need for all things sweet AND salty, poor mental attitude all weekend, lack of spunk even in the face of fantastic sex, and these welts of acne I'm itching like exposed boils an indication that the worst of me is exhibited during the ovulation part of my month and next week I'll be back on top of my game??
Incidentally, last Wednesday I had a phenomenal day at the office, I've found a great sense of pride in being able to take any of the numerous options of walking from work to my mass transit that 4 lateral and 8 longitudinal blocks can offer without hesitation, enjoyed the offerings of Indian cuisine for lunch today and truly enjoyed my meal... I'm not devoid of good stuff here, I'm just avoiding anything having to do with my personal life.
help?!?

2 comments:

Mom of Three said...

Look, most girls dream of working in midtown Manhattan, k? Riding the subway? Who needs to be home in an apartment in Jersey, for God's sake! It's just a room.

However, you'll never be able to afford an apartment that big where you work, so think of it as a place to keep your stuff until your bosses realize what you're truly worth and pay you enough to cross the river.

Or until you meet a really cute, sexy, rich doctor.

curmudgeon said...

It sounds like you need to move.

"...lack of spunk even in the face of fantastic sex..." Such innuendo!
BWAH!