This might look like a post, but it’s actually a cry for help
Tuesday, July 13th, 2010My motivational level is at an all time low, and for those of you who didn’t know me in middle school, that’s saying a hell of a lot. I’m home all day long. If I weren’t a lazy ass, this place would look like Mr. Clean’s sparkling genie palace. But I am, in fact, a lazy ass. I do some routine maintenance, both for myself and for our humble abode, but 85% of my day involves large quantities of the interwebz. I put in a few applications, troll craigslist for hours, battle Monster.com in the hopes that someday, they’ll send me my password to the employer account I created two years ago so I can make an employee profile which allows me to apply for positions that I am clearly not qualified for. After a couple hours of this, I realize that my endless searching has yet to garner employment, and the downward spiral begins. One can only refresh Facebook so many times, but that has yet to stop me. Cracked.com could probably take out a restraining order, because there is no reason a normal, healthy adult would spend so many wasted hours on learning which seven Disney characters fall victim to the most gruesome deaths.
I have only three contacts during the day: my mother, Molly, and our new puppy, Wyatt. I try to speak to my mother no more than twice a day, because otherwise she gets antsy about seeing me again, and half the reason I moved out was to get the hell away from those people that created me. The other half was true love. Obviously. Molly is still a pain in my ass, but less so now that she has a new small creature to torture….I mean, love. Wyatt is rounding out the household nicely, and is a much needed source of joy now that our poor Melody is no longer with us. He snorts like a pug, looks like a brown cow, just about dies for a chance at snuggling. I’m also starting to think that he might be a canine prodigy. Seriously, you guys, we’ve had him for two days, and he already knows how to use the dog door. No more pee in the house! Either this puppy is gifted, or I’m an exceptional trainer who is obviously responsible enough to care for small and fragile creatures. Let’s assume the first option is correct, shall we? In spite of their phenomenal intellects, however, they are still not the greatest conversationalists. I’m this close to drawing a face on a volleyball and throwing it a tea party.
There are people I could talk to, I know, but I feel like I’ve missed out on too much to still really be a part of a group. I sent a few emails out to people I knew at COC; one of them replied, but not for long. Faire, it seems, is much the same way, and I’m not sure why I expected it to be anything else. I’ve been a part of theatre long enough to know that missing a single day is enough to put you on the outskirts of the group, and getting back into the thick of it is no easy task. I didn’t miss a day, I missed a season, and now people that I talked with every other day are suddenly not interested. Many people subscribe to the “out of sight, out of mind†philosophy; unfortunately, I am not that way. I had never been invited to parties in my teenage years, and though I was certainly never the Main Event at any faire-related soiree, it was nice to be included, and I miss it. Feel free to send your pity invites via Facebook. I’ll be refreshing the page in a matter of seconds.