God Bless FARK...

Between updating GR and hangin' out in a coupla FARK forums, I feel better than I did a while ago.

But, d'ya see what I mean when I say "sometimes commercials make me cry"?
And, it's not hormones, either.
It's that whole situation.
Just like (goddamned frickin') country music, exposure to it hurts too much.
I'm a wuss.
I can't handle it.
Ever.

ANYway... I've been reading FARK for years and have only in the last coupla months started reading the comments.

The whole width of the FARK page doesn't show unless I scroll it over, so I kinda didn't even know they were there to be read.
Or to be taken part in.

And, it's only been in the last month that I've actually started speaking up in there, but now... I have to admit, it is fun for the most part.

It's filling a void for me, as best it could ever be filled.
Not taking Rob's place (nothing ever could), but the comments feel familiar.

There are intelligent people, people so funny you'll damn near pee yourself laughing, trolls you just wanna cock-punch sometimes, all kindsa people over there and, all in all... it's pretty okay.

Better than the deafening silence.

Hell, even the stupid headlines make me laugh hard enough to snot coffee out my nose on occasion.

I've been spending quite a bit of time in there this week.
Not sure if that's because I'm starting to really like hangin' out there or if it has some weird thing to do with this Jersey Jerkoff shit.

Oh... got the dryer situation rectified.
Swapped the one we had for one sittin' in the garage.
It's not like we put a dead one out there and took a good one, but... this one does work better.

George talked to an electrician today and got a few ideas about what could be causing the main breaker to pop.
Then when he got home, we talked about it and between the electrician's theories and my observations of what caused it to happen, we decided it was the dryer.

First it decided not to dry more than four and half pounds of clothes at once.
I swear to God, any more than two pair of jeans at once is too much.
Either it wouldn't go on and run, would just keep trying to tumble and "catch" (like a car starter), or it'd start, then quit 15 minutes later.
Then, it started this "breaker" shit.

So, screw it.
If trading dryers keeps the house from burning down, I'd say it's worth it.

Now, if I'd only go find out...

I ain't cleaned shit all week.
Thank God it's only, what? Wednesday? And, super early on Wednesday at that.

Since this Jersey Jerkoff shit from a few days back, I just haven't done jackshit.
Except be awake all night, on the computer mostly.

I keep wanting to clean.
I need to clean, but.... feh.
I just don't. Or haven't.

I'm hoping I will (like, in a coupla minutes maybe) if I purge my head here of whatever shit it is plugging it up this (goddamned) time.

Sooooooooo....
What, head?
I'm sittin' here.
I'm typing.
What the hell do you need to get your shit in one sock?

*stares at blinking cursor for a few. lights cigarette. gets up, goes and takes a piss. gets a cuppa coffee. returns and resumes staring at blinking cursor*

Well, goddamn it...
Da fuck's the trouble?

............................

Got nuthin'.

I don't know what's wrong.

Kind of "everything", but at the same time absolutely "nothing".

Make any sense to you?
S'plain it to me, please?

We've done a coupla little DIY jobs here in the house lately.
And, by "in here", I mean the cutting of wood happened inside the house, as well as the actual installion of said "projects".

So, between that and the "normal" wear, tear, and shitty brown build-up, this place is wrecked.
We're running out of dishes.
We are outta clean forks.

[Note to self: Buy more forks.]

I simply MUST get on this shit.
Immediately, if not sooner.

I know that.
I realize it, I appreciate it.
The only thing I don't do is CARE ABOUT it.

Well, okay.
I do care about it, obviously... just not enough, I guess.

That's bugging me itself.
What's bugging me worse is that I can't ascertain WHY I feel like I do. Or don't.
Whatever.

I've been near-to-suicidally depressed before.
So, I don't think that's it.
This is no where near that bad.
That shit made me wish for death every second of every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month for about 20-some years.

As you can see, God pays lotsa heed to what I have to say...
*wry grin*

Whatever this is, it ain't that.

I'm not proactively seeking the sweet release of death.
Anymore.
Much.

(And, for some fucked up reason, that last set of sentences made me laugh.)

I just feel.... blah.

Tired, kinda.
Hair-trigger tears whether they're warranted or not.
A general malaise about the condition of my house.

I don't know if I need a hug or a kick in the ass.

Probably both.
And, several of each, while I'm thinking about it...

Any-frickin'-way...

Guess I'll go re-arrange the dirty dishes.
Again.
Or maybe start to fill about three trash bags at once and never "finish" them, nor close them, nor take them away.
Again.
Or go do one single load of wash, as if that'll make a dent in the Matterhorn of soiled haberdashery that's strewn about the bathroom and the surrounding environs.
Again.

Or something.

Maybe.

*siiiiigh*
(more of a disgusted one than a pitiful one, by the way, and for the record)

Posted by: Stevie at 03:39 AM

Comments

Posted by: outfoxed at January 31, 2007 04:06 AM (S+w1o)

Posted by: Weez at January 31, 2007 12:22 PM (W0Iw/)

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