In case anyone is wondering (and I know you all are), I found an apartment. The fellow renting it is a sweety, fiftysomething gay librarian whose partner sometimes drops by with their dogs. I like dogs. I like the apartment, too. It’s spacious, nicely decorated, and located about ten to fifteen minutes from campus by subway. The rent is reasonable, too. Not much to complain about there, except that I can’t move in until October 1. My future apartment-mate has offered to let me stay in his guest room once his visiting family is gone, but for the time being, I have to couch-surf. Not fun. Not fun at all. Sometimes I get up in the morning not knowing where I’ll stay that night. Two nights ago, I didn’t sleep at all due to poor stress management. If this doesn’t improve soon, I will kill everyone.
You think I’m joking, don’t you?
4. Not Knowing What I’m Doing
This happens more often than not. A couple months ago, I lost my iPod. What made this especially annoying was that I’d bought it as recently as April. I kept hoping it would resurface. Since I lost it in the building in which I take all my classes, I figured anyone who found it would turn it in. Either nobody found it (not likely), or they found it and kept it (slightly more likely.) So after several months of having to carry my laptop with me on the treadmill so that I can listen to audiobooks while I work out, I set out to buy another mp3 player. For some reason, I decided not to buy another iPod. Maybe I just figured that after pouring all of that money into Apple, I should try another brand. Either way, I soon discovered that there are no other brands with as much memory as iPods, and even when they come close, they’re usually more expensive. Even so, I sunk a lot of money into a Sony Walkman that, as far as I can tell, is basically a smartphone, except that it lacks the ability to make phone calls. It’s pretty cool. It still has a lot of memory, and in addition to the non-audio-file-playing features (which I haven’t explored yet, but plan to), it just has more character than either of my iPods ever did. Maybe that means I made the right choice. All I’m saying is that I’m not quite certain that I did the wise thing rather than the idiotic thing. I wish I were tech-savvy. I also wish I were dating Taylor Lautner, but you can’t have everything.
3. Having Shitty Time Management Skills
My time management skills are probably better than most, but when your goals include world domination, every second counts. Since the semester started, I’ve had time for little besides looking for housing, schoolwork, and resolving the ever-more-pressing issues surrounding my financial aid money, internships, and my job search. A couple months ago, I started watching season four of Deep Space Nine, but at the rate I’m going, I’ll be 50 before I finish the damn thing. It’s not unusual for me to pick up a book, put it aside, then return to it after reading several others, but I wish I could be focused enough that I didn’t have to do that. The last book I read was She’s Not There, a moving and funny memoir about a transwoman’s journey into full acceptance of her gender identity. In the meantime, book seven of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series sits unfinished on my shelf, and I really want to finish what is shaping up to be a weak ending to a promising series before starting on his much-lauded book about the Kennedy assassination. I have friends who seem to have read every book ever written. How do they do that? I’ve seen literary critics make lists of the top 30 or 40 books of the last decade. I don’t know if I’ve even read 30 or 40 books written in the last decade. Maybe critics do it by not having lives. Sometimes, I wish I could join them.
On an unrelated note, the sound quality on this Walkman is stellar. I don’t remember my iPods sounding like this at all.
2. Awkwardly Growing Older
I used to know plenty of married people. They were all parents of my friends. Now, I know plenty of married people, but some of them are my friends and peers. That makes me oddly uncomfortable. I’m 23 and single. Someday, I might like to get married. That day is so far away, however, that I can’t even imagine when or where it will happen. So partying with people who have already gone through the trial-and-error process of dating and found someone with whom they want to (try to) spend the rest of their life is somehow unsettling. I really don’t understand these “married” people and their ways. They are tied down, but somehow free, or something equally poetic and meaningless. All I really know about marriage is what I’ve heard from a million whiny stand-up comics. Is it possible that marriage is somehow more complex and intangible than either comedians or romantic comedy writers make it out to be? No, that would be silly.
1. Being Inspired
I generally hate anything inspirational. I’m on record saying that I love the It Gets Better project for the way that it universalizes the pressures inherent to growing up and accepting who you are by focusing on the incredibly specific and unique experience of coming out. But that’s about it. I hate those stupid self-help speakers who claim that the secret to happiness is thinking positive. No, the secret to happiness is pretending that your life is a lot better than it actually is, if happiness is really all you care about. I care about a tiny handful of things, of which a certain measure of stability is a big one. Half of the reason that I blog is because I enjoy whining. The other half is that the universe seems to take a perverse glee in making my life miserable. I’d sell my soul in an instant if there were anyone offering me good money for it, but I doubt Satan would give me more than a stick of gum.
I’ve tried being nice, but I tend to get what I want more often when I act like an asshole. In a sense, I’m doing the people who know me a favor by doing that. They won’t be misled into thinking that I actually give a shit about anyone except myself.
Well, I give a shit about some people. John Cleese, for example.