(Originally written last night late, but Blogger was down.)
Things I currently hate:
• Any TV show that uses the phrase "ripped from the headlines"
in the promo. (Sole exception: The West Wing.)
• Creed.
• This flatlined economy.
• Cereal that cuts the top of your mouth.
I had other things on the list earlier today, but it's getting late and my memory isn't what it used to be. I used to have a photographic memory to the point where I could remember excruciating detail about Transformers plotlines, but nowadays I have trouble remembering what I had for my most recent meal. It's like the old joke: What question can stump any stoner? "What were we just talking about?"
Maybe I should start watching Transformers again.
I'm a little bummed, honestly. I did everything right today. I got to bed at a reasonable hour last night (thanks in no small part to some Tylenol PM), got up, was mildly productive during the day, even did my running at a decent hour as opposed to the past-midnight thing I usually do. (Then I ate a hamburger and a Ding Dong -- separately, thank you -- and completely nullified my workout, but that's another entry.)
I'm a little fuzzy on what happened next (the memory thing again). It's nine o'clock, dinner's done and cleaned up, the night is fresh. Next thing I know it's 2:30 in the morning and I've done absolutely nothing. What the hell?
Undoubtedly, part of the problem comes from my idiotic habit of needing to be in a particular physical state before I can write. I need to be perfectly awake and thinking clearly or else I won't even try to start something. Inevitably, this means naps, but naps require preparation and recovery, so even a twenty-minuter can eat up an hour. However, back when I had regular deadlines, I wasn't always this picky about my mental state. Sometimes I had no choice, I had to write, and that adrenaline was usually enough.
I guess I need regular deadlines again. Not the easiest thing to come by these days.
In other, less navel-gazing news, my ex-girlfriend from college showed up in town unexpectedly yesterday. When she called, she was evasive on exactly why she had dialed me up. After a little conversational dancing, she slipped this in: "I've only slept a half hour in the last two days," and then continued on talking about other things, I guess expecting me to get the hint. She needed a place to crash, which I was willing to provide, but why the verbal evasiveness?
Giving her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she wasn't looking for a couch to crash on, but agreed since it was offered. My intuition tells me otherwise, though. Her passive-aggressive behavior was one of the things that drove her and I apart, and years later I still pick up on it. Why can't people just be direct?
Directness -- or rather lack thereof -- is definitely one of the main reasons my relationships have inevitably failed. No one wants to speak what's on their mind for fear of offending the other, an act that usually ends up hurting feelings anyway. I try to make the proclamation that I won't be like that next time, but as soon as I get involved, I find myself doing the same verbal tango again and again. I'm getting better at trying to be up front, but I still find myself making concessions. Concessions to her feelings, to my ego, to my habits. In my last relationship, I knew going in it had a limited shelf life, if only because I was prepping an out-of-state move when I got into it. Rather than saying just that, I said, "I've had plans in place to move at the end of the year for some time, but now that I've met you I'm not so sure..."
Excuse me, but what the fuck?
Okay, so to be brutally honest, I was hedging my bets slightly because I didn't want to spoil my chances of still seeing her naked occasionally. But if I'd been direct, maybe things would have turned out different. Then again, hell, maybe I would have got dumped even sooner than I eventually did. "Babe, you're great, but I'm moving in a few months. Can I still get into your pants until then?" Not exactly romance novel material.
Maybe that's how people know they're really ready marry someone: when you finally meet that one person that you can cut through the bullshit with, but they still let you get in their pants.
Things I currently hate:
• Any TV show that uses the phrase "ripped from the headlines"
in the promo. (Sole exception: The West Wing.)
• Creed.
• This flatlined economy.
• Cereal that cuts the top of your mouth.
I had other things on the list earlier today, but it's getting late and my memory isn't what it used to be. I used to have a photographic memory to the point where I could remember excruciating detail about Transformers plotlines, but nowadays I have trouble remembering what I had for my most recent meal. It's like the old joke: What question can stump any stoner? "What were we just talking about?"
Maybe I should start watching Transformers again.
I'm a little bummed, honestly. I did everything right today. I got to bed at a reasonable hour last night (thanks in no small part to some Tylenol PM), got up, was mildly productive during the day, even did my running at a decent hour as opposed to the past-midnight thing I usually do. (Then I ate a hamburger and a Ding Dong -- separately, thank you -- and completely nullified my workout, but that's another entry.)
I'm a little fuzzy on what happened next (the memory thing again). It's nine o'clock, dinner's done and cleaned up, the night is fresh. Next thing I know it's 2:30 in the morning and I've done absolutely nothing. What the hell?
Undoubtedly, part of the problem comes from my idiotic habit of needing to be in a particular physical state before I can write. I need to be perfectly awake and thinking clearly or else I won't even try to start something. Inevitably, this means naps, but naps require preparation and recovery, so even a twenty-minuter can eat up an hour. However, back when I had regular deadlines, I wasn't always this picky about my mental state. Sometimes I had no choice, I had to write, and that adrenaline was usually enough.
I guess I need regular deadlines again. Not the easiest thing to come by these days.
In other, less navel-gazing news, my ex-girlfriend from college showed up in town unexpectedly yesterday. When she called, she was evasive on exactly why she had dialed me up. After a little conversational dancing, she slipped this in: "I've only slept a half hour in the last two days," and then continued on talking about other things, I guess expecting me to get the hint. She needed a place to crash, which I was willing to provide, but why the verbal evasiveness?
Giving her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she wasn't looking for a couch to crash on, but agreed since it was offered. My intuition tells me otherwise, though. Her passive-aggressive behavior was one of the things that drove her and I apart, and years later I still pick up on it. Why can't people just be direct?
Directness -- or rather lack thereof -- is definitely one of the main reasons my relationships have inevitably failed. No one wants to speak what's on their mind for fear of offending the other, an act that usually ends up hurting feelings anyway. I try to make the proclamation that I won't be like that next time, but as soon as I get involved, I find myself doing the same verbal tango again and again. I'm getting better at trying to be up front, but I still find myself making concessions. Concessions to her feelings, to my ego, to my habits. In my last relationship, I knew going in it had a limited shelf life, if only because I was prepping an out-of-state move when I got into it. Rather than saying just that, I said, "I've had plans in place to move at the end of the year for some time, but now that I've met you I'm not so sure..."
Excuse me, but what the fuck?
Okay, so to be brutally honest, I was hedging my bets slightly because I didn't want to spoil my chances of still seeing her naked occasionally. But if I'd been direct, maybe things would have turned out different. Then again, hell, maybe I would have got dumped even sooner than I eventually did. "Babe, you're great, but I'm moving in a few months. Can I still get into your pants until then?" Not exactly romance novel material.
Maybe that's how people know they're really ready marry someone: when you finally meet that one person that you can cut through the bullshit with, but they still let you get in their pants.
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