Hot Days From Hell
Ah yes, it's hotter than hell here in New England, I feel like barfing, and there are too many people under the age of 16 in this room. Other than that, life is grand, people, it's grand!
I did manage to eat a nice healthy meal yesterday, and to see The Pirates of the Carribean (sp), which, although o'erlong, was still a lot of fun. Plus, Johnny Depp is hot.
Much like the Doctor I Once Knew, who is probably now halfway to New Jersey, where apparently he hails from. It's never fun to have a crush on someone you will, very likely, never see again. Then again, you never know, and the Wellbutrin makes me less cynical than usual. Or is it less paranoid? I forget what the manufacturers promised!
Ah, manufacturers. At any rate, today has been the day from hell, and that's fitting since that's what it feels like, as the first paragraph of my little epistle indicated. I've spent the day in treatment at the hospital, where I sit in little groups with other depressed people, and then I sat on a bench for awhile. The Benchsitter is a most philosophical creature, I have decided. Then I spent approximately 45 fucking minutes waiting for a bus that never arrived, which pissed me off so bad I nearly spit. So I hightailed it to the bus stop at the other end of the city (or so it seemed) after a disgusting man in a van made a kissy-face at me. Why do men travel in rabid packs and feel the need to harrass women? One of the great mysteries of our time, folks! If you can solve it, do let me know!
I then ate a sandwich while reading in a fairly air-conditioned little restaurant known as Subway, and finally returned to the hostel to get my backpack from the morose Asian man who runs the place. That's a descriptor, not an ethnic attack -- please leave me be, PC police. That aside, I procured said backpack after making polite conversation with the hot foreigner sitting outside the hostel. Unlike me, he seemed not only calm, but cool and collected. Then I jumped on yet another bus (which decided to pick me up at the bus stop next to mine, forcing me to walk with several unwieldy bags) and finally I made it here. My shoulders are aching, my tummy is nauseous, my spirits are low, and yet, I still live! It's enough to make Jesus proud. I still have to make another phone call, get through a night at my parents' house (UGH -- UGH -- UGH), and somehow decide where I am going to spend possibly three or four more weeks before my apartment is available. I am on a housing list, thank God. And I got a response from a resume -- thank God! Maybe there is a light at the end of this vaingloriously unglorious tunnel!
Ah, hot doctors in NJ. We loved you, so.
I wish you well, gentle reader.
I did manage to eat a nice healthy meal yesterday, and to see The Pirates of the Carribean (sp), which, although o'erlong, was still a lot of fun. Plus, Johnny Depp is hot.
Much like the Doctor I Once Knew, who is probably now halfway to New Jersey, where apparently he hails from. It's never fun to have a crush on someone you will, very likely, never see again. Then again, you never know, and the Wellbutrin makes me less cynical than usual. Or is it less paranoid? I forget what the manufacturers promised!
Ah, manufacturers. At any rate, today has been the day from hell, and that's fitting since that's what it feels like, as the first paragraph of my little epistle indicated. I've spent the day in treatment at the hospital, where I sit in little groups with other depressed people, and then I sat on a bench for awhile. The Benchsitter is a most philosophical creature, I have decided. Then I spent approximately 45 fucking minutes waiting for a bus that never arrived, which pissed me off so bad I nearly spit. So I hightailed it to the bus stop at the other end of the city (or so it seemed) after a disgusting man in a van made a kissy-face at me. Why do men travel in rabid packs and feel the need to harrass women? One of the great mysteries of our time, folks! If you can solve it, do let me know!
I then ate a sandwich while reading in a fairly air-conditioned little restaurant known as Subway, and finally returned to the hostel to get my backpack from the morose Asian man who runs the place. That's a descriptor, not an ethnic attack -- please leave me be, PC police. That aside, I procured said backpack after making polite conversation with the hot foreigner sitting outside the hostel. Unlike me, he seemed not only calm, but cool and collected. Then I jumped on yet another bus (which decided to pick me up at the bus stop next to mine, forcing me to walk with several unwieldy bags) and finally I made it here. My shoulders are aching, my tummy is nauseous, my spirits are low, and yet, I still live! It's enough to make Jesus proud. I still have to make another phone call, get through a night at my parents' house (UGH -- UGH -- UGH), and somehow decide where I am going to spend possibly three or four more weeks before my apartment is available. I am on a housing list, thank God. And I got a response from a resume -- thank God! Maybe there is a light at the end of this vaingloriously unglorious tunnel!
Ah, hot doctors in NJ. We loved you, so.
I wish you well, gentle reader.
posted by lakeofthelongsun72 at 12:50 PM
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