Little Bill

That exhaustion I mentioned? It’s fully set in. Still, it’s a good kind. Sometimes my life would fall into the kind of rut where it’s a sort of wasted lethargy. Or maybe wasted away. You know, when it’s your get up, go to work, come home, cook dinner, putter around, go to bed routine. Nothing new happens and you’re tired of the life you’ve got. No alarms and no surprises.

Instead I’ve got that sigh-of-contentment, everything’s-done kind of exhaustion. The kind that makes you want to collapse into bed and sleep as the vampires do. I think right now, on the beginning of this new month, I’m particularly excited that I’ve uprooted and found new soil in which to plant myself for the next month. One without a lifeforce-sucking roommate-child, at that! Plus, I just like my new digs. Even my cats are getting along nicely — and that’s no small feat!

I think I’m ready for a new chapter. This is gonna be a good year.

First, I’m gonna get me some shut-eye.

Exhaustion. Completely set in. I’ve just now finished my monthlong move from one apartment to another. See, I gave myself a month buffer to move to my new apartment. It’s a terrible idea, and I’ll tell you why:

First off, there’s no sense of urgency. Moving with a tight deadline is a tough thing and you might think that having the freedom to take your time would be only a benefit, right? Nope. Instead, what you could do today you can put off for another day. Granted, I did the majority of my stuff on the first day I was able. But the stragglers (a box here, some cleaning supplies there, forgot those shoes, crap. Etc.) kept rearing their ugly faces only to remind me how much work I had left to complete before I was Moved Out.

And let’s not talk about the twenty-foot crimson wall I had to paint back to white. Two coats of primer and three coats of white.

Anyway tonight I finished, sorta. All that’s left is my bicycle, a broom, a mop, a bukkit and… I think that’s it. A dustpan. I’m not sure I can ride my bike effectively while grabbing all that stuff. Soooo… two more trips. Yikes.

I guess I’m not done yet. My glass of scotch as a reward may be a bit premature. Alas.

littlebill: Having a better day today?
rachael: meh. How was your brother-visit?
littlebill: it was okay.
littlebill: i have a pain in my neck… like nymph nodes.
rachael: hee. lymph?
littlebill: haha
littlebill: yes, lymph
rachael: yeah, same. I think I have a sinus infection.
littlebill: I think I’d prefer having nymph nodes
rachael: that could be fun.

Lately I’ve been occupied with the idea that your environment affects your mood. This, up until last week, manifested itself in the form of P, my 23 year old roommate. P is a British kid living in the states for school. Over the last five months it’s become my opinion that this is the first time in his life that he has lived without his mother or his aunt taking care of him. The evidence of this being his inability to do his dishes or take out the trash; both of which got to be so bad — I wasn’t about to do the work for him — that living creatures would appear in his wake. Gross insect creatures.

Any of my online friends who instant message me with any frequency will testify to the fact that my co-habitation with P has taken a big toll on my emotional well-being. When I’d come home I wouldn’t leave my room, I would speak to him only when it was absolutely necessary and it took every ounce of my being to not become passive-aggressively resort to Post-Its as a means of communication.

That’s finally changed. I have moved out and found my own apartment. I can’t begin to explain how much happier I am already. Even sleep seems deeper, more restful, and just… better!

Also, I’m no longer embarrassed to bring someone home in the fear that my living room will be littered with greasy McDonald’s bags, Chinese-food menus and empty Snapple bottles.

What’s interesting is how many of my own bad habits were taken care of by living with him. I couldn’t be messy without risking hypocrisy. If I wanted a clean environment, I had to set an example. These good habits are already showing themselves in my own home, where I’d have no one else to blame but myself. Let’s hope I can keep it that way.

Even my cats seem happier.

I think I’m gonna like it here!

"Desire is the grassfire drinking gasoline" — Soul Coughing, Mr. Bitterness

A friend recently commented (in person) about how my recent blog entries have seemed rather bitter. I guess she was right and it’s made me think about why that might be. What is it about me that’s taken so much offense lately? What is it about me that’s thinking that I’m being taken advantage of?

Is it simply that my friends — or acquaintences, in some cases — see me as a valuable resource? Everyone asked me for web design help. Each one offered payment. I immediately went on the defensive and assumed that they’re looking for a free handout, or at least an extreme discount. Could this be the case?

Granted, I told them all (truthfully) that I’m quite busy and unable to make the commitment to do the job. But still, it was all a reaction to that assumption that people only want to stay in touch when they need something of me.

Is that true? Was I overreacting? I haven’t heard from these people since. Well, one tried to touch base, but only after — and again, I presume — having read the bitter entry and trying to make amends? Is too little too late? I was a bit short to her, after all.

Two wrongs don’t make a right. But three lefts do.