Title: Monday malaise
Random link o' the day:
Geeks, a journal
entry
Hearing: Perky HR women talking about what, I'm not sure
Feeling: Hungry. I need to eat lunch. Waiting for Cynthia to call.
Back on the Bus, Y'all:
I don't think I've mentioned before that bus stations give me the cold shivers and a feeling of general malaise and angst. It worries me a little, because I'm sure it has something to do with my in-born white girl privilege that allows me to fly or drive my own car anywhere I want to go, so I think I'm all that and act like a snot when confronted with THE BUS. This disturbs me. There's nothing shameful about taking public transportation, particularly if you don't want to drive, or you hate flying, or whatever. Bad Marcie... don't be an asshole. Remember that you too once worked in jobs other than this so-cushy-your-butt-is-starting-to-spread-dangerously office gig and had to scrape change for gas. Right.
I still don't like bus stations, though. I especially don't like them when I have to leave my girl to be sucked up by the Great God Greyhound and spit out fourteen hours later in a tired rubbery heap on the hot Kansas dirt.
Yes, Cynthia went back to school last night. Every time I think I have a handle on us being 600 miles apart, I get slapped across the back of the head with a big ol' reality check. Yesterday I was doing so well. I didn't cry or beg her to stay with me. I didn't get cranky and closed off before she left. I even packed her a little lunch with a fork and everything (yes, even I can pack a lunch when my girlfriend needs it, if it doesn't involve cooking, per se), and handed it to her with a kiss and a smile so she wouldn't starve on the ride back. I saw her off at the station, and I only got sentimental and girly when she took her seat on the bus, crossed her arms across the back of the seat in front of her, and stared at me with those huge dark baby-deer eyes of hers while the bus driver chit-chatted with passengers boarding the bus. I stood there leaned against the dull concrete wall and watched her until I thought I would go crazy, at which point she hopped off, kissed me one more time, and scooted back on when the influx of sleepy Greyhound-riders descending on the bus threatened to take her window seat.
I couldn't watch her get on the bus yet again and have to stare at her through glass, so I blew her a kiss and left.
I couldn't face my empty bed either, so I dropped by Sun and smoked cigarettes with Goose for about an hour and bitched about work, which is usually what he and I talk about. And then I went home and fell asleep on the couch to old Star Trek: The Next Generation tapes. Is that an avoidance reaction? You betcha. Did I want to sleep by myself on sheets that still held the warmth of her body and the imprint of her head on my pillow? Absolutely not.
I did bury my face in her leftover white T-shirt that she left behind, just to get the scent of her in my nose. Then I wore it to sleep and clutched the teddy bear she gave me to my chest. I'm pathetic.
Why Updates Have Been Sporadic -- No, Really:
Okay, the deal is this. As you probably know, I'm separated from Ian and rooming with Goose for now in his spare bedroom. My room is full to the brim with my books, video tapes, DVD's, clothes and cat. It's pretty cool. The only drawback to this situation is we don't have a phone line. Goose and I both have cell phones and he hasn't bothered to order a land line. Hence, no dialup. Which means no 'Net from home, which means no PD entries unless I get them done at work. (I tried ordering a phone line, but Useless West seems to think I owe them money from back in Colorado Springs. Knowing me, I probably do. Oh well.) I'm going to do my best to keep you, my Loyal Minions (to rip off from Rob), all hooked up with entries every other day. But if I don't make it, please don't flog me; my life at this point could easily be described as "Dykes To Watch Out For meets Dennis Hopper's brain in Apocalypse Now" and I'm freaking out on a semi-daily basis. It's not a pretty sight, my children. I'll try to spare you the worst of the messy details while still fulfilling your daily soap opera fix.
Monday, Mon--GGAAAACCCKKKK!!:
Just to show you what kind of Monday it's been, I left my cell phone at home, which is odd since I have it more or less permanently attached to my hip. And I managed to walk out and leave my nicely prepared lunch on the living room table, after telling myself 23524526 times this morning not to forget it. Thusly, my plans for a nice quiet, healthy, non-greasy lunch were dashed, or at least postponed. I'm considering ducking out back to the house and eating it anyway while communing with the main man in my life, Solaris. Cats are good for the soul.
-- marcie.