Sometimes I forget that other people do not always share my knowledge about stuff. Like, a language I speak but they don’t. Or a book I’ve read but they don’t. Or anthropology (what? It’s a hobby). And then they say something about anything and I look at them like they’ve grown another head. I’ve officially become that person. I mean, it’s not like I’m very into making friends, so I’ll just keep doing that, I guess? Or maybe I could make an effort. But then again, I spent the better part of my life nodding along and pretending other people just weren’t stupid, just misguided or uninformed, when they were being clearly stupid. I’m over that. I’m not taking any chances. Some people are misguided or uninformed. Most people are stupid. That’s the entirety of humanity explained in one sentence.
On an unrelated note, raise your hand if you got stuff done today! I have such a list today. I also have such a headache. Boyfriend told me recently “Man, you really love your lists” while looking over my shoulder at the colourful mess in my calendar. No. Not really. It’s just the only way for me to stay sane. How am I supposed to remember everything if I don’t write it down? Lists are just like aspirin. Who actually likes aspirin? I just need it so my head doesn’t explode. Same thing.
To do lists should be like express checkouts, if you have more than five items it’s too much. But sometimes you just got to cram everything into one single day because the only day you actually have time is Sunday, and if you’re trying to run errands that involve shops? No dice. So everything I have to do somehow accumulates on Monday. Because it needs doing as soon as possible. If only so I can sleep on the weekend.
Everything in my calender is colour coded. Makes you kinda sad seeing that the social event colour is the one that’s used least often. People have been flaking out on me recently at an exponentially growing rate. Everyone around me is always going out and doing stuff, but somehow they always cancel on me and if I want to do stuff by myself I’m suddenly ill. I don’t even feel like doing anything anymore. It’s like the universe is going “Romani ite domum” in my general direction. I’m not even Roman! Let me out of the house!
I mean, I went to the hardware store today. Does that count as a fun activity? No, not really. Every time I go to the hardware store by myself people look at me like I’ve grown another head. Despite all the Youtube tutorials, people still seem to think that women have fuck all business being in a hardware store. I never get these kind of looks when I’m there with Boyfriend, even though he can’t tell a nail from a screw or a drill bit for wood from one for metal. It’s bad enough I have to walk through the depressing industrial area that’s only been part of the city for forty years and still looks like outskirts. Those grey buildings are depressing. Those trees are depressing. Those people here are depressing. It’s like having to wade through a swamp of drizzly afternoons and cigarette smoke to get to the damned hardware store.
But where else am I going to get adhesive insulation strips for the bloody windows? [Tangent: It’s been raining so fucking much recently, and I’m really, really tired of all that water coming in, like isn’t that why windows were invented, to keep like water and wind and insects out? What is this shit? Why is there half an inch of water on the inside window sill every time it rains? Where my new windows at, house management, you said October, now it’s March?!] And some coat hooks would be nice, but of course they’re hidden somewhere in the far back, not, as any reasonable person, aka me, would assume with all the other coat hooks, the ones that need drilling, or even in the bath aisle. Nope. “Well, they’re not here in electronics,” thusly spake the only staff member I could locate, to which my mind went “Duh!” That’s the reason I don’t like asking retail workers for help, those damn snarky answers. “Maybe try it far back, to the right, where the car stuff is.”
Where the car stuff is that’s also where the coat hooks are. No, really. I mean…
No, I mean seriously, they were there. But who decides to stack the coat hooks with the motor oil? I mean…
And thus I was reminded why I hate the offline life, nothing in here makes sense! And the search function is being a snarky bastard!
Bah, humbug. I’m not leaving the house tomorrow. There, happy now, universe?