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As those who follow my twitter know, I recently broke up with my boyfriend. Or not so recently. Time these days has become intensely subjective due to the snow-darkened day-to-day routine of life at Miskatonic. Events that actually happened a month ago can feel like just yesterday, and one's recent midday meal may seem to have occurred in another millennia altogether. It's not easy to deal with. At any rate, I am single again. It wasn't a necessarily easy decision, but it *was* one that had to happen. Due to a multitude of issues (my grandfather, who inspired me to pursue my study of history, died, and I've been sick a great deal, with both of those problems compounded by the fact that I've been ass-deep in work), I'm not in a place where I can deal with a relationship. I have to get back on my feet as a daring and decadent aristocrat before I can even consider romance, and even when I do I know I'm not interested in hopping back in the saddle of love. After all, I have, in theory, a limited amount of time to enjoy a single life, uncomplicated by the responsibilities of a significant other. So I'm going to enjoy it, put my energies into my studies, both in school and personally (I'm teaching myself Sumerian and studying mycology when I have a moment), and have the time of my single life.
My friends, however, are having a considerably rougher experience where Cupid and his thoughtless arrows are concerned. Simply put, two of my friends who were dating each other broke up, in one of the more spectacularly melodramatic ways possible, made worse by the fact that they had been cohabitating at the time. As a consequence, sides were drawn up, banners were raised, and what amounts to World War III broke out among mes amies. The worst aspect of all this? I'm the only neutral party in the group. So, like poor Switzerland, I'm forced to watch every move I make lest I find myself bombed (metaphorically speaking) off the face of the earth by either party. The stress is horrendous, and I'm thoroughly sick of it all, but as yet I have found no way to extricate myself from the proceedings. It's at times like these that I wish I could break up with *friends* as well as with lovers, because if any paramour of mine ever gave me this much trouble I'd have kicked them to the curb long ago. Nyarlathotep on a unicycle, what I do for friendship, let alone love....
At any rate, a new review should appear in a week. Presuming I don't just spontaneously combust and end all the drama in one fell swoop.
Showing posts with label bad mood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad mood. Show all posts
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
In which I am deported back to Miskatonic
Well, after yet another long absence, I'm back. Back to writing (hopefully), back to studying (reluctantly), and back to school (unwillingly). After four weeks of rest and recuperation with my family, being dropped back at Miskatonic is like being dragged out of the Ritz Carlton and thrown in a dumpster more generally used by a hospital, a lab for the study of nuclear isotopes, and a Chinese restaurant. The temperature is miserable out here, as is to be expected, and I am in so many ways not enjoying my sans-boxsprings bed, which makes my lower spine want to pack its bags and leave me for a more caring human being. Feelings on the subject: Annoyed
The social scene is also far from enthralling at this juncture. There was a point for me where partying seemed like the be-all and end-all of social life at Miskatonic, but after attending a Ke$ha themed party at a friend's house yesterday I was left thoroughly disenchanted with the whole process. The only way to enjoy oneself was to get falling-down drunk, something that has ceased to appeal to me in the slightest. After watching the mess of people in the living room attempt to dance (those who were still sober or only slightly buzzed wobbling back and forth uncertainly, while the thoroughly smashed specimens often just gave up their hold on being vertical and let gravity do the work), I opted to head outside to converse with the would-be intellectuals standing on the stoop smoking their pipes and cigarettes and arguing about Nietzsche. This, however, proved detrimental on two fronts: For one, it became abundantly clear that all anyone wanted to do was impress each other rather than discuss anything (and my being one of the few if not the only female there at any given time, this meant that all the straight men just HAD to do their damnedest to impress me above all else. Victoria was decidely less than awed by their supposed epiphanies and infallible arguments.) For two, the smoke got in my eyes and mouth and just generally made me feel gross. So it was back inside, where I got cornered by an old aquaintance who attempted to give me profound life advice that might have been relevant to him but when applied to me was like trying to convince a shark to become a vegetarian for the good of its soul. At this point I vacated the party as fast as I could and walked home. Or attempted to walk. While I had been trying to enjoy myself while wearing too much eye makeup, the heavens had opened and unleashed freezing rain, which coated everything and led me to slip and slide most of the way home. Feelings on the subject: Disgusted
So now I'm sitting in my dorm room, suffering withdrawal from functional civilization. I'm also a tad depressed on account of the fact that the awesome book I was reading - Snow Crash - finally came to an end, and though I absolutely adored it start to finish I now cannot find anything else that I want to read. I JUST WANT MORE SNOW CRASH, DAMMIT. Feelings on the subject: Morose
And I have to do my laundry. Feelings on the subject: !@#QR(*U*(#T&*(QA#RPU ARGH
The social scene is also far from enthralling at this juncture. There was a point for me where partying seemed like the be-all and end-all of social life at Miskatonic, but after attending a Ke$ha themed party at a friend's house yesterday I was left thoroughly disenchanted with the whole process. The only way to enjoy oneself was to get falling-down drunk, something that has ceased to appeal to me in the slightest. After watching the mess of people in the living room attempt to dance (those who were still sober or only slightly buzzed wobbling back and forth uncertainly, while the thoroughly smashed specimens often just gave up their hold on being vertical and let gravity do the work), I opted to head outside to converse with the would-be intellectuals standing on the stoop smoking their pipes and cigarettes and arguing about Nietzsche. This, however, proved detrimental on two fronts: For one, it became abundantly clear that all anyone wanted to do was impress each other rather than discuss anything (and my being one of the few if not the only female there at any given time, this meant that all the straight men just HAD to do their damnedest to impress me above all else. Victoria was decidely less than awed by their supposed epiphanies and infallible arguments.) For two, the smoke got in my eyes and mouth and just generally made me feel gross. So it was back inside, where I got cornered by an old aquaintance who attempted to give me profound life advice that might have been relevant to him but when applied to me was like trying to convince a shark to become a vegetarian for the good of its soul. At this point I vacated the party as fast as I could and walked home. Or attempted to walk. While I had been trying to enjoy myself while wearing too much eye makeup, the heavens had opened and unleashed freezing rain, which coated everything and led me to slip and slide most of the way home. Feelings on the subject: Disgusted
So now I'm sitting in my dorm room, suffering withdrawal from functional civilization. I'm also a tad depressed on account of the fact that the awesome book I was reading - Snow Crash - finally came to an end, and though I absolutely adored it start to finish I now cannot find anything else that I want to read. I JUST WANT MORE SNOW CRASH, DAMMIT. Feelings on the subject: Morose
And I have to do my laundry. Feelings on the subject: !@#QR(*U*(#T&*(QA#RPU ARGH
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Today's forecast: Fair travel, foul weather, crops-blightingly-bad temper
Well I'm back from a lovely trip to Chicago to see the opera Macbeth at the Lyric Opera. Said trip began with me boarding a train and spending upwards of five hours on the thing, contemplating my life and going on a sort of vision quest to regain some of my lost vim and vigor. After a multitude of stops, starts, slow patches, and rattling rails, I was disgorged in the belly of Union station where I met up with my aunt and uncle, whose home I occupied during my stay. The next day we attended the opera (I wore full kimono because I bloody well could and because kimonos are easily packable, as opposed to full bustled Victorian gowns. One must 
make allotment for small luggage), which proved to be decent but unremarkable, leading me to doze off as Lady Macbeth ranted about her unclean hands and I mentally suggested she just buy some damn Oxiclean already. Then it was off to dinner at an absolutely SPECTACULAR restaurant where I enjoyed the best meal I've had in months, all the while gazing on the Chicago water tower. Said tower is a portion of the cityscape that has been engrained in my mind ever since, while on vacation with my family at a young age, I turned a corner and was greeted with the sight of that gorgeous, gothic structure jutting defiantly out of the modern surroundings. My father then told me the story of the Chicago fire, relating how the town of my birth had been burnt to the ground, which lodged firmly in my imagination and has never left.
The next day, however, I was once again on the train and jouncing and vibrating my way back to Miskatonic. I was reluctant to leave, as you might imagine, but I took it all with good grace, unpacking cheerfully and savoring my memories of my time. These overall good spirits lasted till the next morning when a tornado alert led to my being yanked out of bed at an ungodly hour and having to throw on a robe over the gigantic t-shirt that serves as my nightwear. My compatriots and I were then bundled into the basement lounge where we spent an hour and half, doing absolutely nothing, all the while waiting for a tornado that never came. The most exciting thing that occurred during the time was when we were informed via walky talky that a group of students, deciding that up with this they would not put, escaped the confines of whatever bunker they'd been herded into and were triumphantly marching across campus.
And now, bringing us up to date, I am in a foul mood. After taking an art history exam that I'd studied hard for I treated myself to a meal at the school cafe. There was a bit of a line, so I queued up dutifully and waited, trying to ignore the stifling heat of the student union, which made me itch and perspire in my ornate clothing. Finally I was next to be served, a fact for which I was rewarded when the bimbo at the head of the queue slammed me with her enormous blue-patent-leather-hobo-bag-monstrosity that probably cost more than the whole of my outfit (and allow me to say that the money could have been put to better use buying her some clothes that weren't made out of sweatshirt material). She also did not bother to apologize or even acknowledge that it had happened, adding insult to injury while I suffered silently after having what felt like a text book or laptop slammed into my sternum. So, dear readers, I'm in a snarlingly bad mood, the sort that leads me to want to run home, turn out all the lights, curse humanity up one side and down the other, and then throw myself melodramatically on my bed with a hot compress over my eyes.
make allotment for small luggage), which proved to be decent but unremarkable, leading me to doze off as Lady Macbeth ranted about her unclean hands and I mentally suggested she just buy some damn Oxiclean already. Then it was off to dinner at an absolutely SPECTACULAR restaurant where I enjoyed the best meal I've had in months, all the while gazing on the Chicago water tower. Said tower is a portion of the cityscape that has been engrained in my mind ever since, while on vacation with my family at a young age, I turned a corner and was greeted with the sight of that gorgeous, gothic structure jutting defiantly out of the modern surroundings. My father then told me the story of the Chicago fire, relating how the town of my birth had been burnt to the ground, which lodged firmly in my imagination and has never left.
The next day, however, I was once again on the train and jouncing and vibrating my way back to Miskatonic. I was reluctant to leave, as you might imagine, but I took it all with good grace, unpacking cheerfully and savoring my memories of my time. These overall good spirits lasted till the next morning when a tornado alert led to my being yanked out of bed at an ungodly hour and having to throw on a robe over the gigantic t-shirt that serves as my nightwear. My compatriots and I were then bundled into the basement lounge where we spent an hour and half, doing absolutely nothing, all the while waiting for a tornado that never came. The most exciting thing that occurred during the time was when we were informed via walky talky that a group of students, deciding that up with this they would not put, escaped the confines of whatever bunker they'd been herded into and were triumphantly marching across campus.
And now, bringing us up to date, I am in a foul mood. After taking an art history exam that I'd studied hard for I treated myself to a meal at the school cafe. There was a bit of a line, so I queued up dutifully and waited, trying to ignore the stifling heat of the student union, which made me itch and perspire in my ornate clothing. Finally I was next to be served, a fact for which I was rewarded when the bimbo at the head of the queue slammed me with her enormous blue-patent-leather-hobo-bag-monstrosity that probably cost more than the whole of my outfit (and allow me to say that the money could have been put to better use buying her some clothes that weren't made out of sweatshirt material). She also did not bother to apologize or even acknowledge that it had happened, adding insult to injury while I suffered silently after having what felt like a text book or laptop slammed into my sternum. So, dear readers, I'm in a snarlingly bad mood, the sort that leads me to want to run home, turn out all the lights, curse humanity up one side and down the other, and then throw myself melodramatically on my bed with a hot compress over my eyes.
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