you've got to let the beat. get under your skin.
Whoever said--and there's been about 18 of you--that turning 30 would be wonderful clearly had no idea that the universe hates me. Seattle was great, Thanksgiving was fun, my fatally spicy Thai lunch today was great. I suppose I can't really blame a birthday, but other than the aforementioned, shit's been really, well, shitty. I don't know how else to say it. Today's meeting didn't go well at work, but that's only the beginning of the problem.
I haven't been able to sleep like a normal person--or a criminally psychotic person for that matter. Last night, I laid in bed until 7 in the morning before I finally fell asleep. Because of that, I didn't get to work till noon. I guess that's all well and good, but I feel like a loser when that happens, especially since no one says a thing to me when I wander in around lunch time. I shouldn't be able to get away with that, but I do, almost every day.
Today's meeting went poorly, and that's probably mostly my fault. I'm not much of a morale booster as it is, but I didn't help matters much with my morbid attitude. I felt really unprofessional, and neither that nor my indifference to regular office hours helps my confidence.
I found out just before Thanksgiving that my dad has prostate cancer. This isn't an excuse for my shitty attitude. It's not even a reason--my attitude's been shitty for some time now. He doesn't need surgery. At least, he's not getting surgery. I hate doctors, pretty much, and I don't trust them at all. He got some kind of medicine thing put in his arm that's supposed to keep the swelling down. He just found out yesterday that starting in late January, he's got to go get radiation treatment five days a week for five weeks, because his prostate is about three times larger than it should be, or something like that. It just bugs me that if it's something so pressing, why does he have to wait three months before he goes into have something done about it. I know that a lot of men end up getting prostate cancer and it's usually not fatal. At least that's what I've heard.
I'm a bit of a wreck. Today didn't help. So I listened to obnoxious pop music.
I mean really obnoxious, so if you know what's good for you, you'll probably not want to watch that video. I don't know what the Vengaboys' deal is. I guess they're British, and they're obviously unaware that they're not, in fact, all boys. Or maybe the girls are "more than meets the eye." Like I said, I don't know. But I'd probably make out with the lead singer chick regardless.
I looked this song up on YouTube because I remember that when we first got Napster back in the Bronze Age of the Internet, my sister had downloaded it, and it'd always play when I turned our Sonique MP3 player on shuffle. The first 40 times, I pressed skip, but after a while, my resolve eroded and I let it play. It's like a three-and-a-half minute lobotomy. It's impossible to think of anything while the song is playing. It's aggressive Nintendo sounds are too pervasive. I'm actually playing it now. ... And I forgot what else I was going to write. So check this out.
I haven't been able to sleep like a normal person--or a criminally psychotic person for that matter. Last night, I laid in bed until 7 in the morning before I finally fell asleep. Because of that, I didn't get to work till noon. I guess that's all well and good, but I feel like a loser when that happens, especially since no one says a thing to me when I wander in around lunch time. I shouldn't be able to get away with that, but I do, almost every day.
Today's meeting went poorly, and that's probably mostly my fault. I'm not much of a morale booster as it is, but I didn't help matters much with my morbid attitude. I felt really unprofessional, and neither that nor my indifference to regular office hours helps my confidence.
I found out just before Thanksgiving that my dad has prostate cancer. This isn't an excuse for my shitty attitude. It's not even a reason--my attitude's been shitty for some time now. He doesn't need surgery. At least, he's not getting surgery. I hate doctors, pretty much, and I don't trust them at all. He got some kind of medicine thing put in his arm that's supposed to keep the swelling down. He just found out yesterday that starting in late January, he's got to go get radiation treatment five days a week for five weeks, because his prostate is about three times larger than it should be, or something like that. It just bugs me that if it's something so pressing, why does he have to wait three months before he goes into have something done about it. I know that a lot of men end up getting prostate cancer and it's usually not fatal. At least that's what I've heard.
I'm a bit of a wreck. Today didn't help. So I listened to obnoxious pop music.
I mean really obnoxious, so if you know what's good for you, you'll probably not want to watch that video. I don't know what the Vengaboys' deal is. I guess they're British, and they're obviously unaware that they're not, in fact, all boys. Or maybe the girls are "more than meets the eye." Like I said, I don't know. But I'd probably make out with the lead singer chick regardless.
I looked this song up on YouTube because I remember that when we first got Napster back in the Bronze Age of the Internet, my sister had downloaded it, and it'd always play when I turned our Sonique MP3 player on shuffle. The first 40 times, I pressed skip, but after a while, my resolve eroded and I let it play. It's like a three-and-a-half minute lobotomy. It's impossible to think of anything while the song is playing. It's aggressive Nintendo sounds are too pervasive. I'm actually playing it now. ... And I forgot what else I was going to write. So check this out.
2 comments:
so...more than that first video made my brain go ooze, I was really sad and a little sick inside watching the once adorable and at least someone creatively inclined Gwenie perform something so...yeah.
Shit, man. Sorry to hear about your dad. My first instinct is to bake a cake. The German in me just knows that a little fat and sugar makes any miserable situation just a smidge better. Or it deludes itself into believing that anyway.
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