fuck time off
Friday, Nov. 07, 2003 @ 12:59 a.m.

It's really frustrating, having this week off.

I took it off to go home. McKinnon was involved, so it fell through. I can't get the shifts again, which is the only problem with working at the Sheraton: the money's fantastic so there are always other workers willing to take a shift for you. They run to the bank with greedy smiles. I've watched them.

I feel my body turning into putty. The remnants of Halloween candy have vanished and you can bet it's a positive correlation. I find myself less attractive by the moment. I would have a run and do some errands and make calls. I would plot my five month plan, look into housing for May and take the cat for a walk. But I can't leave. My body is putty. I've no one to see and no desire for anyone to see me. Putty kid. Goddamn it, I should laugh at myself.

Ryan is in bed. He's always in bed when his projects are done and there's work and class in the morning. We had a resolvable disagreement before bed which went unresolved (because I stopped being accomodating) and although it wasn't significant, it adds to my malcontent. Like vinegar would on an upset stomach. I'm sure there's nothing better to do but write it out, so I will. I'll pretend I'm doing it to clear my head and occupy my time. We all know better.

Tonight we rented movies which, although he probably doesn't know, I hate to do. And -- don't judge our social life, but -- staring at a screen is all he's up for lately, so I've come to rely on it for time to spend with him. He hasn't got much energy for anything else. But he changed his mind and while all I want is to spend time in human company (and his company is better than most and closer than all others) I feel rejected. You know. We all felt that way at some point, probably in highschool.

Meanwhile, I can't sleep. I've slept too long. I'll stay up all night, and then tomorrow I'll probably be asleep when Ryan gets home, which doesn't do anyone any favours. Maybe he'll sigh relief to see me sleeping. Not for my own sake, but because it means there'll be no arguments presented for going out and doing things and he will be able to happily sleep away his own Friday night. It's what he wants most of all. And I'm all for this kind of selfless charity, as long as I don't have to put in any effort.

I've been writing for twenty minutes and erasing for forty. If this entry was a race (which it's not, as I'd be completely useless trying to enter any competition at this point) I would, of course, be traveling backward. The ratio is literally one step forward : two steps back. But fuck space and time. Fuck freedom and liberty and all that bullshit. Time off does this to me. So I hate it.