It's true. Don't deny it.
When you call me and ask what I've been up to, I'll say, "Nothing." And it's true.
Except for seeing Ken Stringfellow's pink panties, this week's activities have included mainly being a lazy bum and also going to work. Work has even been busy, though not hectic, so it's good. There are even more new people and one of them has been hanging out with our lunch crew. She is also less than two years older than me, so I feel less hilariously young. (I don't know if I've said that about my coworkers, but they are--or were--all at least five years older than me. I don't mean that in an "omg they're soooo old" way, but it does end up making me somewhat the butt of some jokes about how freaking young I am.)
But really, I am a lazy bum. I haven't cooked anything all week. I baked a bunch last weekend, including some really fucking awesome vegan brownies (no, really--they were fucking awesome, and also dinner one night) so I guess I was spent. I discovered that Target sells my preferred mac & cheese for $1.20 less than Whole Foods does, which came as an utter shock, so I bought two of those horribly unnecessary crutch meals. And that was dinner for two nights. And one night I felt shitty and had dressed-up Thai Kitchen rice noodle soup (if I add onion, tomato, carrot, cilantro, lime juice, and copious sriracha sauce, it's almost like cooking). For lunches, I brought shitty sandwiches two days, then got bored and got burrito takeout the next two days. I know most people would read this and think, "Yeah, so? That is the level of laziness most people are at." But I would like to hold myself to a higher standard, and I am failing miserably. I have to expect times like this, however.
And then I come here and write entries like this. Which is boring. I can't believe you're fucking reading it.
I feel the need to be creative, but I don't ever feel like I have a good outlet. Writing isn't really a creative act for me; it's a compulsory and compulsive act of compilation. It's a matter of spitting out the stuff in my head to make room for the new stuff, then, if I'm feeling really fancy, organizing it into something readable.
Here's the thing: I get complacent. I have a job, and to be honest, for as boring as it sounds, it's not that awful. It requires some thought and debate and I learn stuff all the time. I am pretty good at it, even if it's not where my heart is. And I'm sure I've said this before. I just feel sort of defensive about it. Maybe I could do better, but for now, it's more than okay. I'm still feeling out this real world, and in many ways, this isn't a bad way to do it, at least for me.
Anyway, when I get complacent, I get stuck. I know I get stuck. I plant myself firmly in my seat and don't get up without considerable prompting. And the things I should be doing are the kinds of things you don't get prompted for, you have to go out and fucking do them. I just hope I don't sit here my whole life, hoping I'll eventually work up the courage.
Also, music is pretty awesome right now. I have all these TV DVDs and all I want to do is peruse my ancient mp3 collection and think about assembling mix CDs for people I never see and people I've just met. That, and I need to chop off some of my hair and dye it dark brown.
If you want to be free, be free.