4/13/00
Okay, so I'm still alive. There's not a hell of a lot going on. Unless you count the tragedy in Princess's life. (Meghan's whiny-ass spoiled sister.) Apparently, Princess's boyfriend dumped her THREE DAYS BEFORE THE SPRING FORMAL. Be still my freakin' heart. And she just doesn't have any idea why. I'll bet I can answer this one...he found some better looking sorority girl and decided she would look better on his arm in front of his frat buddies. DUH! What the hell are they teaching these girls in college these days?
I haven't taken my happy pill in two days now. I don't think I'm going to take it anymore, period. It doesn't work, for one. And it's expensive, for another. Even with my insurance, I still end up paying out the nose for it. And for what? So I can feel exactly the same as I always have? (The following is a disclaimer to keep me from getting my ass sued.) I'm sure it works for many people--hell, just look at what it did for my mother (it made her a normal person). But it ain't working for me. I want something better, and I want something Dr. Gimmepills has samples of so I can get it for free. Even better.
Last night was just kind of a waste of time. We took Meghan's rental car (her car, Contessa, is in the shop being re-built after some loser rear ended her) out on the fast food circuit (I was craving saturated fat) and I hate to admit it, but I love driving that thing. It's an automatic, which sucks, but it's kind of entertaining to play teenage white-trash boy and see just how fast I can get that sucker to take a corner. Hey, it's a rental, it's not like we have to live with it or anything. That's what makes rental cars so damn much fun! So anyway, after we did our fast food fixing, we went home and just kind of vegetated. At one point we started doing this whole karate-kid thing, which is not only an indication of our declining mental health, but also quite dangerous when one considers our house has hard wood floors (slippery ones). We were caught by J, who came over to borrow our blender. So now everyone knows we're looney. After that we went to the library where I tried to work on this page but the computers at the library are EVERY BIT AS FUCKING SLOW AS MINE. And that sucks. So I gave up. I am sending my computer to the Cess Pool with Meghan this weekend in hopes that her father can somehow add memory and fix all the shit I've fucked up.
I am totally not in the mood to work today. I'm even less in the mood to go to class tonight. I have a test that I have no fucking clue what the hell it is about. I haven't written either of the papers I have to write before the end of the month and I don't know if I can pass the finals. Where did I go wrong? I was doing so well. Being crazy totally fucks with your life. I don't recommend it.
Maybe I need a new job. Maybe I need a makeover. Or new shoes. Or a donut.
I'm listening to Stevie Nicks now. Part of her box set, which Meghan gave me for my birthday last year. (Which was, by the way, my last. I don't care to have any more of them. Ever.) I love this woman. I'm sorry, but no one, NO ONE, wails like Stevie.
I just realized today that there are very few elements of my life that actually make me happy. God knows my job doesn't. School doesn't. And what am I going to school for? To be a lawyer? Is that really what I want to do with my life? I'll probably be a shitty lawyer, anyway. Forgive my lousy work ethic, but I can think of much better ways to spend my weekends than sitting in some fucking office trying to make partner. No thank you. I'd rather be the world's oldest living clerk. So then I start to think that maybe I should do what makes me happy.
But you know what makes me happy? (Incredibly shallow superficial moment) MONEY. I love money. Not world peace, not helping the less fortunate, but cold, hard, green cash. Go ahead, sue me. At least I'm honest. And money is about the only thing you can count on. World peace? Not as long as the GOP exists. Helping the less fortunate? Please--I live with a DFS contract employee, and trust me, the fucking state could give a shit less about the less fortunate. And don't get me wrong, I'm not a total hard ass. I feed people. When I have extra money (which is rare), I'm more than willing to help out. But I do it my way, without the middleman. I just have yet to see proof that these "charitable" organizations really do what they say they do. Just this week I fed Weird Laurie next door. She's quit her job and now thinks she's going to support herself by building trellises from twigs and selling them at the farmer's market. Uh, sure, Laurie, that should cover your mortgage payment. So I told Meghan that we're most likely going to be feeding Laurie for a while, at least until she gets sent to the funny farm or sobers up long enough to get another job...
Okay, that was a fun tangent...anyway, what I mean is that I don't know if law is necessarily my calling. I planned to practice environmental law, specifically water law, and Meghan and I planned to move to the gulf coast area (Louisiana or Florida). But now I'm being told that environmental law is a dying breed and will likely be exhausted by the time I finish school, so I should consider other alternatives. What? Probate? Ick. Tax? Estate planning? Securities? I think I'd rather sever a limb.
But since I haven't got to law school level yet, there's always my other love--teaching speech and theatre at the high school level. Yeah, right. I want to spend all this time and money getting a degree so I can earn as much or less than I make right now. So I can beat my head up against a wall trying to teach the intricacies of communication to a bunch of high school shitheads who carry guns and build bombs in their parents' garages. I used to do community theatre with my 8th grade speech teacher, who ended up becoming a good friend of mine after I left school, and he used to tell me all kinds of fun stories about his classes. Like the students who set fire to his classroom. Or the kid who threw him up against a locker during a fight. And these are junior high kids... The future of America. I'm going to go laugh until I cry now.
One hour, 45 minutes left of working hell. If there were any more than 5 days in a work week, I think I'd shoot myself.
More Later...
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