An Ode to Daylight Savings Time-A Narrative in the Second Person

You drive five miles out of your way to go to a grocery store because last week's circular advertised an electric tea kettle. Owning one is taking on great importance. Probably because you can't find one.
Your whole body aches. Some of the typical, persistant pain that you should be used to by now, but--stupid pain threshold-you just aren't.You blame the matress, a misstep, a torn muscle. There's enough excuses. You're clumsy and well on your way to an early diagnosis of arthritis. If you ever have health care so that you can go to the doctor, that is. That spot where your head collided with the desk is tender, you reach up and touch it-press your fingers on the developing bruise. The sensation is comforting, in a twisted kind of way.
You realize you don't have a quarter for the cart. That depresses you worse than your choice of music on the ride up here. You really should have a quarter. You really shouldn't be shopping at a store that makes you pay for the honor of having a cart and doesn't provide bags for the purchased groceries. Again, why are you here?
You walk down the warehouse style aisles looking for the electric tea kettle, picking up items as you walk. Box of cereal, bagels, cheese, romaine lettuce, coffee. You wonder if off brand coffee from an off brand grocery store could be as bad as it sounds like it should be. Guess you'll find out tomorrow. If you could find the damn tea kettle you wouldn't have to worry about coffee. You could just drink tea. Tea's better anyway. Trash bags, batteries, a frozen pizza for dinner one night this week when the urge to create a healthy meal fails to outweigh the urge to not.
The realization that you're doing your week's worth of grocery shopping on a Monday night-and that it would seem the only meals you're going to eat is pizza and maybe a toasted cheese sandwich or cereal makes you even less pleasant than you were when you got here.
The cherry tomatoes fall off of your precarious stack of groceries and roll helter skelter across the aisle. A Mexican family steps over you as you try to pick up the soft, red fruits. You could be more pissed off but conveying that emotion properly might require opening your eyes fully and the headache isn't allowing you more than a half-mast view of the world at the moment. Why was this so all fired important?
They're out of the tea kettle.
As if you expected anything else.
The cashier throws your groceries into the cart. You pay and begin to push the cart away. She says you can't take the cart. "Well, of course not," you think, "I didn't bring a quarter."
You struggle to fit your purchases into a box that held canned soup in a previous life. You remember you meant to buy some canned soup. Shit.
On the way home the cheap CD player skips constantly and overamplifies the bass on any song with a stronger beat than Poor Boy by Nick Drake. That thing is such a piece of shit, why don't you just break down and pay the stupid iPod, you're $75 from your goal. Live a little, spend your rainy day fund. You're so boring and sad and lonely at least you should have a decent soundtrack to your crappy life.
It's dark and you struggle to see as you drive home. You should carry your glasses with you. If you insist on bg vain and wearing contacts at least keep your glasses handy so that your ego doesn't kill you.
You reheat last night's roast beef, making that three of the last four meals that were exactly the same. You flip open your laptop and plug in the speakers. You sit on the floor and eat leftovers with your dog watching your fork's every movement. In a minute, you'll turn on the TV and waste the rest of the night right where you are.
Tomorrow, you promise yourself, tomorrow you'll come up with something else to eat. If nothing else exciting happens, you'll at least mix up the menu a bit. And maybe you will order that iPod.
You take your dish into the kitchen and pull the pill bottle out of the cupboard. For a brief moment you wonder if you should be taking pills prescribed for something completely unrelatd to hitting your head on a desk for pain caused by hitting your head on a desk. You opt for the Tylenol.
You make yourself sick with your caution.
It's going to be like this until Spring.

Another pleasant valley Sunday

This is just a crazy thought-but I think there might be something wrong with my washing machine. Nothing that takes away from its ability to clean clothes-just that it is so bloody loud the spin cycle sounds like I'm being invaded by ancient tanks with machine guns blazing.
Is that normal?
Oh-thank the heavens the cycle is over. And that was my last load of clothes.

Thoughts on stuff that popped into my head during the course of CD burning and file compressing...

How is it that I can go to the store 5-7 times a week and consistently forget to buy clothespins and trash bags? Do you think it's some kind of aversion to laundry and properly bagged trash? Or am I just flaky?

Why do I always make a Sunday dinner that could easily feed a family of four hungry carnivores? I am a single carnivore with a tendency to spoil my dinner with candy and chips. There is no need for 2 pounds of beef, several potatoes and whatever other kind of side dish I may put together. I could, however, use a cupcake right now. But I am way too lazy to actually make any. And I don't have any of those papers or frosting or sprinkles. That pretty much kills my dreams of cupcakes. Maybe a stop at the coffee shop is in order soon.

My sister and her man jetted down to Houston this weekend. Certainly must suck to be her. With a new house in the Rust Belt, a job lined up (or so I've heard) and a new man with money enough to fly them both to TX for a weekend. You remember when I called her emotionally vampiric? I don't think I ever finished the thought. It's not an insult-as much as it sound like one. So I'm going to justify the statement now. She has been known, in the past, to be kind of soul sapping in her neediness. To cut a long story short, I think that's kind of entirely my fault. If she hadn't spent the first 17 years of her life the younger sister of a histrionic lunatic I suspect she would have been far less interested in directing people's attention in her direction. But, since she did live with me, and I sapped everyone's energy and will to live for most of a decade with my--let's call them, unfortunate--actions she adapted. I mean, for G-d's sake, look at her chosen profession. One would certainly hope that, much like my lunacy, her need to be needed has matured to a level where it is useful as opposed to a hindrance.
And just a note, I'm not sure why I'm leaving out the vowel in the name of the Supreme Diety--it's a thing I'm into this week.
More notes--I would like to emphasize that I am insulting myself with this analysis. I'm the ass here-other people might have strange tendencies but I'm the fuck up.
That should be obvious if only because of the fact that you don't see me swinging to the Lonestar State to attend a wedding with my squeeze.

Ever notice that Dish talks to you sometimes? For example, I was just given the option to press "Select" to get a CD on some kind of car or thing. Why would I do that?

I realize it seems a lot like obsession. And maybe not in a good way. But that whole working in a library and having tremendous amounts of free time to browse the card catalogue and the interwebs contributes to the focus. If I worked in a factory I wouldn't have near the amount of time to acquire knowledge about whatever is my main topic of interest of the moment. Though I've always been this way. Available sources of information. Did you know you can happily read IMDB, shop on Amazon and surf message boards and just by pressing Alt-Tab your screen will switch from the Internet to something that appears to indicate you're acually working? It's very useful information. That and the fact that October is World Series month and I'm not interesting enough to do anything that involves leaving the couch just adds to what appears to be an unhealthy focus.
I'm not good with healthy focus. That's why Mum made me promise to not stalk Stephen Colbert even though I totally could. I promised because I'm a good daughter and don't want to bring more shame to my family. That-and I'm lazy.

How much time did you spend in the car-driving to and from yr house to mine compared to the amount of time spent watching the Tivo'd SNL and taking our dogs to the dog park? Not that I didn't have a good time and appreciate the visit. It was quite fun. Coupland loves to show off for the ladies. And he loves being the big dog. I'm just curious which took up more time.

Does my landlady ever even stop by the house? Not that I want to visit with her or anything-but there's been no sign of her for well over a month. Since I pay my rent with money orders I don't even know if she got my October payment. Maybe working the day shift is saving me from crossing paths with her.
What made me so mean?


Another thought-which me is actually me?
What?
There's at least two versions of me walking this planet.
Version 1-The horrible, unpleasant, mean and entirely unlovable person I think I am. The person that has to be alone-that deserves nothing else. The person I see when I look in the mirror.
Version 2-The funny, friendly, caring and endearing individual people seem to see when they look at me. The person that makes people laugh and is enjoyable company.
It makes sense that we are different people in different situations (that is a side effect of being part of humanity) but how can those different sides of one person be so diametrically opposed?

Why don't I keep cupcake wrappers in the cupboard? I have fennel! I have three different types of curry! Why don't I keep a back stock of dessert making stuff?
Because you'd weigh several thousand pounds if you had sweet snacks available at all times...You do realize you have Milky Way bars right?
Ooh! I'd forgotten that.
Shut up and eat some damn candy, would you? You're boring people. And how much have you had to drink?
Two beers since---4.
So, that's approx. 1/4 a beer per hour for the last almost 4 hours.
You are a math genius.
I just thought maybe you were drunk.
No-just thinking.
Stop it. You'll give yourself a headache.
Fine. I'm stopping. Just because I'm going to stop typing doesn't mean you're going to get out of listening to my ramblings.
At least no one else will have to.

Pick up the phone and just call me

Episode 295-in which our heroine buys a new phone and can't figure out how the hell to work the damn thing.
Which I did-$50 dammit. But it's purty and shiny and supposedly plays music.
I need to figure out how to get a swell ringtone. Tho I can't seem to locate Incarcerated or You Can't Always Get What You Want.
That brings the sad right there.
I am plying myself with caffeine to stay awake for RHPS. Dunno if I'm goign to make it-I am so damned boring I hate me.
And then there's this:
You are a miserable jerk.
That made my afternoon.
Now, I will soon be kicked out of the coffee house. So I will end this enlightening update.

ETA: I just spent WAY too much money to make "Teardrop" my ringtone. I mean, like more than a damn gallon of gas for G-d's sake.
But I'll always know when it's my phone that's ringing.
Unless I'm in a room full of people that are lame in the exact same way as I am.
Now, somebody needs to call me so I can enjoy the musical interlude.

Karma police, I've given all I can, it's not enough

Oh pets. Allow me to share with you my day.
Today was my first experience as a children's librarian. The Irony Police are camped out on my lawn, SRSLY. I know nothing about children. I don't know a single damn game. When I was a kid (like 10-11, past story time age, anyway) my favorite game was "Act Out Cat on a Hot Tin Roof A couple years later I moved on to the much more typical "Play Edmund in Long Day's Journey Into Night.") That should give you an idea of what my childhood was like. Pre-teens quoting Tennessee Williams and Eugene O'Neil aren't normal. When I was four, I was still a fairly typical child. Other than my refusal to pretend that my ears hung low-because really, what's humorous about physical deformity? Nothing. That's what.
I am so not cut out for children's librarian-ship. Oh, I can do it-but if asked if I thought it was a good idea I'd have to go with no. Still, I'm a big fan of employment and food and shelter. So-bring on the kiddies!
One valuable lesson, should you ever run a story time: Read the long story first. I have the attention span of a gnat-by the time I got to the long story I was bored. The kids must've been miserable. And don't rely on late night viewings of Pee Wee's Playhouse for game inspiration. Turns out not too many pre-school teachers get excited about "screaming real loud" whenever someone says today's word. Great. I'm out of ideas.
The funny thing (as if it isn't all kind of funny) is that I wasn't nervous until after the kids had left. Somehing about having time to reflect on how the thing went was worse than the thing itself.
The kids were adorable. Tiny and trusting and just sweet all around. I had to help one little guy get into his coat (he was trying to put it on upside down) and they all waved bye-bye and thanked me for the story. Still, I wasn't as amusing as I should have been.
The youth of America were not entertained by my dry wit and snarkasm. A lesson learned.
Otherwise-the story is finished and you can read it here:

http://community.livejournal.com/housefic/767371.html

The ending is relatively happy. At least re: my view of life. That is to say-most of the main characters remain pretty much sane and no one else dies. But no one's spontaneously breaking out into song either. That would just be silly.


What can I say, my dear, to make it clear
I need you badly, badly, Madam Librarian...Marian
If I stumbled and I busted my what-you-may-call-it
I could lie on your floor
'Till my body had turned to carrion....Madam Librarian

Erm, what? Where was I?
Right-well, big weekend ahead. Rocky Horror on Fri AND the Guilty Pleasures are gigging that night, too. And then Sat there's that record release thing at the Wash. Also HUGH is HOSTING SNL!!!!!! Live from New York! Teh Sexxy!
As things stand I'm going as PC (as in "I'm a Mac" and "I'm a PC") for Halloween or maybe as House (as in I wear the same clothes I wear everyday but carry a cane--I wanted to get Coupland a white jacket and a pocket protector, but I've been busy) or maybe I'll do something really wild and crazy and go as a Mary Hatch in the world where George Bailey was never born (a spinster that works at a library.)
Stretches all.

Could you try to keep it down?

I have made the very well thought out decision that I will not do anything but possibly the rest of my laundry today.
Thanks for getting me drunk last night-it was fun while it lasted. Maybe I should have the ole hair of the dog that bit me.
Speaking of dogs-Mum seems to think that I need to do something with my time other than go to work and come home and walk the dog. She wants me to meet people and not be so "mean" I pointed out that I'm only mean to people that deserve it-like that guy that was stalking me through the library the last couple of days. She kept saying that I have to take chances-be friendly. Give the bald guy with glasses a chance. (Actual comment not just a theoretical phrase.)
She's just excited cuz the sister has a pleasant fellow at her side. Everyone needs one of those apparently. I have Coupland...but I think that is exactly the Mummy's point.
She's jealous of my new t-shirt and wants one for herself. Said something about being a pot smoking porn watching lazy ass hippie before I was even born.
So, yeah, I'm eating corn chips and sitting on a half stripped bed because I just totally dread having to fold the laundry so I'm putting off the actual washing of the sheets. Course, I have to do ssomething or I'll be wearing a retro pink sundress to work tomorrow.
Blah. No really, I mean it. It's cold. I don't want to do anything I have to go to the store to get stuff for dinner and since I was feeling ambitious for 15 seconds now I have to make the damn bed.
Mmmmmm....Noon beer.....

What's the Buzz? Tell me what's happenin'

I'm crashin' on the ole Queen size listening to Jesus Christ Superstar: A Resurrection. I suspect I am the only person in the state to own this CD. I think I bought it whilst high on the Mary Jane one day. It's a dream production, really-"Hey everybody! Let's get together and act out Jesus Christ Superstar!"
"Ooooh good idea!"
"Hey! And let's cast a lesbian as Jesus!"
"Brilliant!"
But then, I act out this play in my living room in my spare time. So, what do you expect from me? A thoughtful review? I think not. When I get me some money, I'm going to get some East Nashvillians together and we're going to Resurrect the Resurrection. I'm hoping to play a member of the chorus.
I think we all know who gets to be Our Lord.
I've been reading spoilers again. I really shouldn't do that. It makes me want to listen to musicals and Nebraska.
All this talk of Judas has me wanting to betray someone with a kiss.
Hell, I could use the thirty bucks.

Meanwhile, in the land of hot adorkable oncologist on smoldering curmodgeon action someone is spamming h_w on LJ with references to Pink Lemonade. I don't get it either. My brain is melting-but I keep refreshing. It's offensive on a lot of levels and for that very reason I can't look away.
Which reminds me-new season of Breaking Bonaduce starts on Sunday. That was the best time ever last season. I kept waiting for him to die-that would've been compelling television.

Since you've been gone

Wander over to the dark reaches of the interwebs-click on the link to explore LJ.
(Cue Scary Music)
This is why I haven't been updating much here. I've been writing a long (really, really long dammit!) story that's been filling my evening online time the last few weeks.

It's right here:
http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/712726.html

Actually, it would seem you have to copy and paste into your browser window to get there.

For some reason blogger dislikes linking to other blogsites.

Scroll up to the top of the page for the first three chapters.

If you've never seen House (HI! You know who you are! Person that asked me where the hell I'd been!) this will still make sense as it happens completely outside of canon. If I changed the main character's name it could easily be original fiction instead of fan fiction. But it wouldn't have been as much 'fun.'
If you have seen House (HI! You know who you are!) this wouldn't have been possible without the first 2 season DVDs that I was able to refer back to in case I thought I had something wrong. And yet I still forgot that Sat is the Sabbath in the Jewish religion. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Oh well. There's that. There's two more chapters going up soon. I'll add them all here so you don't miss the thrilling conclusion.

Deleted because blogger is being a bastard.
Trying again later.

Face down in a puddle of pudding wearing a pointy hat and singing a song about goblins

First thing, the comment to the last all song lyric post, I must state that the maybe was a genuine maybe and I was not being coy. One can only assume in such an instance that the inference is a correct one, but unfortunately the old bean has failed to log that particular piece of information.
So, that taken care of, moving on.
Friday, went to the Wash for beverage and musical pleasurement. As is the usual course of events an old, unattractive, boring male made attempts to enamour himself into my good graces. As is also the case, he failed. I nearly knocked him off his chair when he sat and unabashedly stared at me throughout the course of an entire song. I was watching the goddamn performance. I did not wish to engage in conversation. But, in typical idiot male fashion (as if there is another kind-appealing tho I find some of them I give men no greater mental capacity than I give most women--I find all sexes equally dull) he watched me like I was the bloody seventh game of the bleeding World Series and the Mets were tied 5-5 in the bottom of the 9th with 2 men down and bases loaded. Made me want to beat him upside the head with a blunt object. Y'know, like a bat or something.
Right, so that was fun. The show was quite good really. Not too many people there, but what do they expect playing under that name?
First chance I saw I dislodged myself from the conversational grip of the suitor of the moment. Thank goodness for T coming over to say hello. I hadn't seen her in a lifetime, and yet she lives in the hood. Well, everyone that is cool does.
The rest of the evening I sat at the edge of the bar. Nursing beer after beer, picking at my veggie shepherd's pie.
"Do you mind if I have a bite?" he asked, digging his fork into the potato topping.
"No, don't suppose I do," I said. "I always liked the veg best." I added the comment for no logical reason.
He ate a couple of bites. "Mmmm," he said through a mouthful of pie. "What is that, sage?"
"No, rosemary," I said. "I grow rosemary. It makes everything better."
"It does."

"It's all very Last Days of Disco this. Don't you think?"
The restaurant was nearly empty, everyone that was there knew everyone else. We were stragglers waiting for a revival of a long disbanded production. Drinks were tossed back, laughter floated softly and landed with a 'thud.' All pretense of propriety crumbledt in the face of the reality of it all. Everyone had a real good time.
"Yeah, it is," he said without question.
"I'm totally claiming Chloe Sevigny as my parallel."
"Really?"
"Sure, she got screwed over by people she trusted, but she got the promotion and to sleep with Robert Sean Leonard. Even if he was an unrepetent bastard." Rain on your wedding day irony fully intended.
"That's important I take it?" he asked.
"Well, you know I've always been a sucker for foxy...Even in the face of reason."
Oh, look, a black fly in my chardonnay.

The chairs were stacked on tables. Tabs were settled, parties had moved on. I was having a conversation made entirely of Black Adder quotes. Your typical Friday night. Make it Monty Python. SNL when it was funny. Beatles movies. It's all been done. It's all the same. Over and over, the same discussion. Simultaneously comforting and unnerving. Like deja vu without the gut sensation. Such.Is.Life.

He said I shouldn't walk home.
"It's a block. This is my 'hood. I think I can handle it."
"It's no big deal."
He drove the truck to the end of the street and turned towards my house. We were two doors away from my destination, "Do you still live in the same place?"
No, I recently moved to Brentwood. I was on foot! What do you think? Le sigh.
"Yeah," I said, "See, there's my truck." We sat for a moment in the driveway. "Well, guess I'll see you sometime around June of '07...if that soon."
"It seems that way." Why does he pretend like we will ever see each other any time other than when it's convenient? How nostaligic of him. Or something quite like that.
"I'm glad you're still alive," he said. There's a vote if ever I heard one.

Saturday, my poor, precious brain throbbed. I gained some joy from Lump's non-presence. And more joy when the pieces of his disappearance (the idiot had nearly certainly gone to a footfuckingball game of all things not worth losing a job for) came together. Hell, I was bleeding ecstatic when the word came from on high that he was not going to be welcomed back on Monday. (My glee will be compounded exponentially if he shows up and is sent home, but that's just because I'm evil.)
Dad asked if maybe the reason Lump was so-well, Lumpy-was racism. I never thought of that. See, I'm color blind. I don't see race. I just see American. But it would make a certain amount of sense that the dumbass thought himself superior to the rest of his co-workers (other than little ole me) due to the amount of melanin in his skin. He seemed like the sort of person who was just that special kind of stupid.
Call me a cockeyed optimist but I hate people based on the content of their character, not the color of their skin.
Anyway, he's gone and there was much rejoicing. I believe we heard an hallelujah. And someone gave me an amen.
I have fought too many battles (cue Oprah Winfrey's speech from the Color Purple) to idly watch someone like that get paid the same amount of money as I do and do no work whatsoever. Yes, I overstepped my boundaries when I Cuddysmacked him. But some boundaries are just meant to be crossed. Maybe it was that moment that pushed him to make that call to the temp agency and say he wouldn't be available to work on Saturday that led to his demise.
I doubt that. But the idea makes me smile.

You're still the same

You always won, everytime you placed a bet
Youre still damn good, no ones gotten to you yet
Everytime they were sure they had you caught
You were quicker than they thought
Youd just turn your back and walk
You always said, the cards would never do you wrong
The trick you said was never piay the game too long
A gamblers share, the only risk that you would take
The only loss you could forsake
The only bluff you couldnt fake

And youre still the same
I caught up with you yesterday
Moving game to game
No one standing in your way
Turning on the charm
Long enough to get you by
Youre still the same

Drop me in the water

"So, what are you doing?"
"I had to stop at the UPS store to drop off the old Dish reciever and now I'm turning in my time card and then I'm going to go buy an iPod."
"What?"
"Yeah, I works hard. I pay my bills. I'm buying a goddam iPod."
"I thought you were waiting until the 90 gig came out."
"80 and I was. But I want a new toy now."
Sounds of grumbling from Dad. "I thought we talked about this. Why now?"
Because I'm manic, Mum. People in the grip of mania love the Apple store. Trips to the Apple store are actually listed as a sign of mania in this post-post-modern society.
"When everything goes to shit at least I'll have an iPod."
"It's up to you," (I'm telling you not to do this) "but I think you should save $50 dollars a week for a couple of months and buy the 80 gig. Instead of wasting your time with last years model. You like your toys new."
"I should." (Thank you for answering the phone.)
Fast-forward a few minutes. Most of which is spent complaining about Wes the sub-human. Abridged version: he fell asleep at the front desk. He pisses me off. I deal until after he gets back from lunch he installed himself at one of the public computers (he is no longer allowed on the staff PCs). I only realized this because T (the page) told me that he was over putzing in the lab---Idiot Boy disappears for lengthy periods of time and I call it a respite. I don't look for him. I'm kind of hoping he gets lost and wanders out of the building..and into traffic.
Upon hearing of his new trick, I went all Cuddy on his ass. It was so cool. Ever so quietly, I walked over to where he was sitting and pulled a chair away from the table. BANG! I shoved the chair against the wood. He didn't look up. I put my hands on my hips, "WES! You are not being paid to putz around on the public computers." Before he could answer I turned and walked back to my post at the front desk.
I'd make an awesome dictator.
So, ANYWAY! Mum called me old. Since I fail to see the charm in a spoiled brat getting paid the same as I do for doing fuck all and also because (even when I hear a crowd singing 'Sweet Caroline' the sure fire good time song) I don't party like I used to.
"I beg to differ. Why just yesterday I bought a box of Boo Berry cereal. That's not something an old person would do."
"That just sounds disgusting."
"It turns your milk a pretty blue-y purple color."
"Yum."
"And the other day I found a yo-yo at work and spent the whole day perfecting yo tricks."
"There's a difference between old and mature."
"So you're saying I can be a bitter, cranky, curmudgeon AND hopelessly immature?"
"Clearly."

So, gentle reader, I am iPod-less even now. Despite all my working and paying my bills and shit.

If they knew how I felt they'd bury me alive

Not much to say tonight.
That Lump sumbitch is still destroying company morale with his presence. We have to have three people at all times. I don't think he counts as a person, but I guess my opinion doesn't count for much.
My anger issues are flaring up.
I was dangerously close to a panic attack last night and most of today. That tightness in my chest, the violent flashing pangs of anger. It was all there. How I've avoided a full fledged episode I'm not sure.
The fact that I am being forced to work with an idiot should not cause me to want to go out to Circuit City and blow every dime in my checking account on some new, unnecessary electronic device.
But it does.
It's all so very healthy.
I hate not being in control.
The funny thing is that I am in control. There's nothing I need to change about my behavior. I just need to not kill the dumbass and everything will go back to normal when J comes back to work.
Still, the urge to wrap my hands around his scrawny, priveleged throat remains. I am not sure how to drown that desire.
My landlady is on my shit list as well. She means well, I'm sure that in her twisted brain every bit of spying on me she does is to protect me. She called to find out why I'd turned off my phone (Landlines are archaic? That's a good reason. But so is she, so she wouldn't realize the obvious.) And she wanted to know why the satellite people had been at the house. She wasn't here when that happened. She's having me watched. That is just bloody lovely.
Real Man That Loves Jesus wrecked his truck on Saturday. Took the turn too early is my guess. Happens a couple of times a year. I don't think another car was involved. I looked outside to see who was the cause of the screeching brakes. Recognizing the car I decided I didn't care and shut the door. I decided I hadn't seen anything. That's what he gets for being a loser.
These emotions seem irrational.
Am I reacting in an inappropriate manner?
I'm more than a little concerned.
I won't admit that out loud until I'm so mentally fucked that I can barely dress myself.