The manager of my building -- not the live-in manager, the office manager -- loves my apartment. Whenever I talk to her to bitch about random things, she mentions how my apartment is her favorite in the building. It's on the top floor, so there's no annoying footsteps to remind me that I'm surrounded by people, and on the corner and has oodles of windows that allow for a nice panorama of the Western Addition and lower and upper Haight. She loves it because it allows in so much light, which is the exact reason I hate it. It did not come with blinds or curtains and it took us seven months to make our own (rather, to find cheap enough fabric to have the alterations place around the corner make them for us) and they don't cover the windows entirely. There's nowhere you can go in the apartment except for the bathroom to escape the light, so when I'm feeling particularly pissy I'll steal the blanket from an unconscious Aaron and falls asleep on the cold, filthy tiled floor of the bathroom. Another thing that sucks is that I can't watch tv on non-foggy days such as today because the glare is ridiculous and I can't be on the laptop, which faces the GLOrious pan-o-rama, for too long for fear of burning my retinas.
Whoever said I wasn't a pessimist? Fuck you, sunshine.
The bright (ooo, pun!) side is that San Francisco never gets too terribly hot so I don't have to suffer as a result of being on the top floor, where heat would rise were there any heat to be risen. If it does get uncomfortably warm, all I have to do is pop open one of the nine windows and the neverending wind does the rest. The downside to this is that if I forget to close the windows when the fog rolls in, the smoke alarms go off sometimes.
Ooo! The Muffs are back!
Aaron brought me home chocolate covered strawberries and spinach dip with fried pita points last night but I was too passed out to enjoy them so I had them for breakfast. I'm constantly in between the "Dammit, he's such a great guy" phase and the "THAT BASTARD CHEATED ON ME AND I'M STILL WITH HIM" phase. I think it was Jay Mohr who did a skit about how no matter what a man says, a woman will always dredge up that memory that makes anything she does completely insignificant compared to what he once did. When Aaron and I giggled at the observation, I said, "It's funny because it's true! Go do the dishes, you slut."
I remember a few mornings after they slept together, I noticed scratches on his back. Naive lil ole me asked him where they were from and he said (and his fast thinking in this case is impressive unless it was premeditated, in which case, that asshole) that they were probably not scratches, just markings from the sheets. I accepted it. Thinking about this shit still makes me cringe. I told him I would never get over it and he would have to put up with the mood swings and the bitchiness. When he gets pissy about my pissiness, I remind him that he agreed to it. Sometimes I wish I didn't have that license to bitch and moan and make him, essentially, my emotional slave but most of the time it's sweet. I wonder if anyone else would put up with me, and then I wonder if there would be much to put up with if I were with anyone else. I wonder if I'll ever know how I would be if I were with someone else, if I really want to know, if maybe I should know, if maybe things would be ok if I never knew. That was a completely ridiculous sentence.
I really hope the "It'll never be good enough!" state of mind is a good thing. I think career-wise it is, because you're always striving for an unachievable perfection and sometimes you get pretty damn close. That mindset can often result in a pretty intense case of apathy
When I mentioned that I wanted to lose 15 pounds to Aaron, he asked why I don't just go all Atkins on my ass. The audacity, the sheer nerve! Clearly, he does not know me at all if he does not know about my love affair with his alfredo. It's worth the inevitable heart attack. Even if it means I'll be a size 8 evermore, I will never give up peanut butter and honey toast. NEVAAAA!
My foot is as asleep as it will ever be. Come back to me, foot. Breathe, breathe, dammit! Ah, it tickles....oh man, it's twitching. Eeeee, ehjhejj;d.
one year ago today: "it mostly has to do with the ambivilant nature of my posts, but also, when i Do type in caps, it emphasizes a point. The End."
two years ago today: "wow. morgan's unhappy. there's something new."
three years ago today: nothin.