Just another quiet Saturday night. I didn't even realize it was Saturday until I heard the neighbors' kids playing outside with their babysitter, and I realized the neighbors, who have two children under the age of 10, have a better social life than I.
Aaron bought me some books last night to keep me occupied, and I've finished two of the three 300 page novels (The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls and Little Children by the guy who wrote Election, which I didn't even realize was a book -- both highly recommended) one day into my official spring break.
My roomate's band is playing a show in Ventura, opening for Silverstein, a band I've never heard of, but apparently they sold out the venue. The roommate's girlfriend was supposed to come home tonight after work because she has to work tomorrow at 7am, but I guess she decided to go to the show, so I'm all alone in a quiet house slowly but surely creeping myself out. I'm trying not to feel guilty about keeping all the lights on, because it makes the house a little less lonely but costs a shitload of money, of which I have none. O tax refund, wherefore art thou?
I have a job interview next week for a retail store and have my resume in to an acquaintance's workplace where I would be in charge of invoicing. My mom's coming to visit next week, and Aaron suggested getting manicures while she's here (an expense I won't allow myself anywhere but San Francisco, where you can get a decent mani/pedi for $15 including tips but here it costs upwards of $50) because my nails are all jagged from boredom-induced peeling.
One random thing people have always said about me is that I have beautiful hands, which is something I used to think people said because there's nothing else beautiful about me, but then I realized that complimenting someone's hands is really weird so they must be abnormally nice. Maybe I should look into handmodelling.
I haven't watched TV for days now. Television, to me, is like going on an alcoholic binge; I can go days at a time doing nothing but watching TV, rearranging my schedule to watch my favorite shows, and then ignore it for a year, like I did in Seattle. Reading books is no different. If I'm reading a book (of my own volition, none of this required reading for classes crap that I'm getting so sick of), it's all I want to do. It's a compulsion; I have to finish this book before I do anything else, if I can help it. Reading's a more respected addiction, but it's also freaking expensive. $45 for three books! I could get my nails painted for that amount of money!
I've already done the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Twice. Three times, if you count me cleaning up after the waffle smorgasbord Aaron and I indulged in this morning. The bathroom could do with a good scrubbing, but for some reason bathrooms have always creeped me out. Even before I knew that there was a movie called Psycho, I would get terrified in the shower while washing shampoo out of my hair, imagining someone lurking beyond the shower curtain. I'd open my eyes and ignore the stinging and throw open the plastic curtain, water spreading everywhere, my heart beating frantically, as I looked in every corner for the serial killer. If I went to clean the bathroom right now, I'd be terrified to come out. God forbid the roommates should come home while I'm in there; I'd probably scream bloody murder when I heard them open the front door.
I guess I'll go watch some TiFauxed shows. I'm saving the third book for tomorrow evening, when Aaron will be at work and the roommates will be home and I'll be hiding out in my room. We all get along just fine, but something tells me I won't be up for meaningless and forced conversation tomorrow night.