So now that I'm in a mad rush to update the online journal before my Dearmweaver demo runs out, I've noticed that there's a lot of stuff about my real feelings (especially concerning the apartment situation) that I'm censoring and just isn't making it online.
A lot of my desperation and my fear about what's to come, certainly, and my anger at feeling out of control.
Amy wants to get an apartment together here at the beginning of January, which would solve a lot of problems but would also, I think, present a lot more. I love Amy, but past history suggests that no plan is ever solid, and follow through is sketchy at best. Her plans sometimes seem to change by the minute, and I'm sure that I'll end up disappointed in the end.
I think that I've got to get on that stick, though. Start prodding her to (a) make sure she's serious and (b) commit to the idea.
I just tried to call her and she was in the middle of something, so she has to call me back.
Which raises, if I may, a pet peeve of mine - if I may digress for just a moment. All you people out there with cell phones: why do you answer your phone when you're in the middle of doing something else? Shouldn't you just let the damn thing go to voicemail? Isn't that what voicemail is for?!?
Somehow, it seems to me, with the advent of cell phones has come the belief that we are required to answer them. I don't feel that way - I refuse to be available to people 24/7. Color me selfish.
There was a group of Avril Lavigne-wanna-be's sitting around at a table over in the corner talking at the top of their lungs, really disturbing the wa of everyone around them. When they finally decided to get up and leave, the loudest of them got her oversized jeans stuck on my shoe as she passed by and muttered "Jesus!" as though I were somehow inconveniencing her.
Part of the reason I loathe teenagers. They have no sense of other people's needs, and a profoundly over-developed sense of their own entitlement and righteous indignation.
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