I'll be your lightning rod of hate!
I’ve only one more lesson with my professor, I might actually miss the man.
The first time I missed having lessons were with a teacher during a festival near Buffalo. That also happened to be during a time when I was a happier person, so getting a similar reaction in the middle of cynicism and bitterness is a bit startling.
Presentation finished today, a group presentation tomorrow, an essay Monday, and a concert Wednesday. This is going to be an interesting week, let’s see how far I go until I faceplant.
On the good news, I’m pretty sure I’ll be spending the summer in Aspen. It feels relieving that I will actually have something to do this summer, though I feel guilty on the grounds that they’re offering to pay for my studies there.
I hate hate hate it when women in video games make sexual noises when they get hit or die in suggestive positions
like women can’t even die in a way that doesn’t exist to turn men on
how dare you sexualise female pain
Arkham City did this with Catwoman a lot, it was so so gross.
So don’t get hit and/or die?
Maybe it’s because the gym at my university is on the Frat/Sorority street, that everyday I show up in the weight room there’s always at least one person I’m tempted to walk up to and comment, “Those are the smallest calves I’ve ever seen.”
My next shrink appointment is Wednesday, but my parents are encouraging me to cancel, and instead meditate. They said it’s cheaper, and more effective.
I’m going to the shrink because I’m beginning to have panic attacks when I’m in a social space of more than two people. When I went to my old Crossfit gym to say hi I left 30 minutes later feeling like I was going to have a heart attack. I cry on Friday and Saturday nights because the neighbor above me is making love. I am frustrated almost every day that my inability to handle alcohol leaves me socially incompatible unacceptable as a person. Now that’s it’s springtime, I walk with my head to the ground so that I don’t creep on hot girls wearing shorts. Every now and then I toy with the idea of jumping off a roof and making everyone around me regret that they took me for granted.
How the fuck is meditation going to change my looks for the better, or turn me into the worshipped socially powerful frat boy that I want to be?
Writing isn’t therapeutic anymore.
Before time ran out with the shrink, I managed to let drip a fragment of the pile of rot that has been collecting in my head, “I feel as if I have been, currently am, and will always be taken for granted.”
What I didn’t tell him, though I don’t find it alarming, is that I occasionally toy with the hypothetical concept of people reacting to my sudden death, and their regret for never taking my existence seriously.
Of course my mother will take me seriously, except when it comes to loneliness. The reply I always get is, “Maybe you’re not friend material” or “Friendship and relationships are distractions when you should be doing something useful.” She’s a remarkable person and I love her dearly, but she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t take that part of me seriously, and that part has evolved to my general bleak outlook on living.
Today a skinny guy at the squat rack was squatting in a way that almost resembled a squat jump. Props that you’re skinny and squatting / squat jumping 245, but please don’t hurt yourself, and please don’t grunt out a loud “FUCK” for every rep.
Panic attacks are coming back, hopefully I don’t have nightmares again.