To Expatiate (Spill on Aisle One)
So, I'm back in college for the semester, and already the rage I have mounted inside is enough to obliterate the average horse from the pure, brunt force of it. Work is Hell, put shortly; to be a bit more explicit, working for I.T. Services for a college during the Move-In Week for residents is the exact opposite of fun—literally, by the Webster definitions.
Also, the Financial Aid office is trying their absolute best to fuck me in the asshole with a rusty rake, raking end first (I honestly just spent about a minute trying to conjure up words for the end of the rake with which you . . . Rake. I settled with the obvious). Dirty, lying bureacrats and their filthy, red tape and heaps and heaps of bullshit. Seriously, I wonder what it's like to actually work inside a building constructed purely from bullshit. It must be smelly. I know I smell the bullshit when I get near or (worse yet) go inside the Administration Building of college.
Also, some of my classes are going to be painful, I imagine. Especially since I have an Art Studio course with a professor who seems to think having a project due the second week of classes is an awesome idea. Fuck . . . Granted, it's an easy enoiugh project, but I'm used to Art Studio courses where you just turn in a portfolio at the end and that's that. None of this . . . Timeliness shit.
And, as always, I've been doing a lot of contemplation, for no reason. I'm debating, right now, between the idea that I am too stressed out to be properly sociable, or that I am, truly and honestly, anti-social. One way or the other, it will always hold that I am the sort of person who does not make exceptions for the sake of anything unless I absolutely feel they are meritted, and if I don't like you, I don't like you, and I won't be around you, I won't acknowledge you, and I won't help you. This attitude has caused me to exit a few social circles, voluntarily and involuntarily, but always without much argument. I've just reached a point in my life where I'm done dealing with people who are full of shit and seem to think that's it's acceptable to treat others like shit.
Unsurprisingly, I remain single . . . Because, per normal, women seem to find a sick pleasure in treating me like shit. I should append my statement: women who I am interested in romantically seem to find sick pleasure in treating me like shit. It never fails that the women who pay attention to me and seem interested are the ones that I either never notice or can't stand. I partially blame myself for that.
My conclusion is that there's just a narrow margin of human beings in existence who seem to have a grasp on how to consistently deal with other people in a fair and honest way, and that, for the most part, people are poorly trained in socialisation and do no have a solid handle on how to treat others. I am not exempt, of course; I must come to grips with my inability to stay entirely together when it comes to women. I can not shift all the blame off myself, and I have come to realise how utterly and totally I lack the experience and arsenal necesaary for dealing with women.
On a random aside, I don't like physical contact anymore. I find that being spontaneously touched really pisses me off. Agian, I haven't decided whether or not this is due to be overly stressed, or actually being anti-social. As it stands, I really don't want to be touched. I find the sensation irksome . . . as though every bit of contact with others, physically, is a manifestation of a lie on the material plane—a lie that they want to stay close to me, or be near me.
I am a straightforward man, but I am not a confrontational man. If I do not wish to speak with you, I do not come to you and discuss this, because, well, I do not wish to speak with you. That's how I operate. I decided, and, then, I act. But, me not speaking with you is not always a sign of not wishing to speak with you, but, instead, I may just believe that you do not want me to speak with you; as a result, I am not a conversation initialiser—it's not the kind of thing I do, if given the option. I enjoy talking, but I don't go to others to talk, unless I really need to do so, and I think that has happens on less than five separate occasions.
I need to have fun. This past few weeks hasn't been fun. I haven't logged onto Narfell because of extenuating circumstances that don't make that viable as a fun roleplaying experiences, and my job has been hectic and dreadful. The start of classes is always a worrisome time, because it involves a lot of getting shit together, as does that carry over to the fact that I am the President of the Anime Club. Shit to do, and not enough time to do it.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
Also, the Financial Aid office is trying their absolute best to fuck me in the asshole with a rusty rake, raking end first (I honestly just spent about a minute trying to conjure up words for the end of the rake with which you . . . Rake. I settled with the obvious). Dirty, lying bureacrats and their filthy, red tape and heaps and heaps of bullshit. Seriously, I wonder what it's like to actually work inside a building constructed purely from bullshit. It must be smelly. I know I smell the bullshit when I get near or (worse yet) go inside the Administration Building of college.
Also, some of my classes are going to be painful, I imagine. Especially since I have an Art Studio course with a professor who seems to think having a project due the second week of classes is an awesome idea. Fuck . . . Granted, it's an easy enoiugh project, but I'm used to Art Studio courses where you just turn in a portfolio at the end and that's that. None of this . . . Timeliness shit.
And, as always, I've been doing a lot of contemplation, for no reason. I'm debating, right now, between the idea that I am too stressed out to be properly sociable, or that I am, truly and honestly, anti-social. One way or the other, it will always hold that I am the sort of person who does not make exceptions for the sake of anything unless I absolutely feel they are meritted, and if I don't like you, I don't like you, and I won't be around you, I won't acknowledge you, and I won't help you. This attitude has caused me to exit a few social circles, voluntarily and involuntarily, but always without much argument. I've just reached a point in my life where I'm done dealing with people who are full of shit and seem to think that's it's acceptable to treat others like shit.
Unsurprisingly, I remain single . . . Because, per normal, women seem to find a sick pleasure in treating me like shit. I should append my statement: women who I am interested in romantically seem to find sick pleasure in treating me like shit. It never fails that the women who pay attention to me and seem interested are the ones that I either never notice or can't stand. I partially blame myself for that.
My conclusion is that there's just a narrow margin of human beings in existence who seem to have a grasp on how to consistently deal with other people in a fair and honest way, and that, for the most part, people are poorly trained in socialisation and do no have a solid handle on how to treat others. I am not exempt, of course; I must come to grips with my inability to stay entirely together when it comes to women. I can not shift all the blame off myself, and I have come to realise how utterly and totally I lack the experience and arsenal necesaary for dealing with women.
On a random aside, I don't like physical contact anymore. I find that being spontaneously touched really pisses me off. Agian, I haven't decided whether or not this is due to be overly stressed, or actually being anti-social. As it stands, I really don't want to be touched. I find the sensation irksome . . . as though every bit of contact with others, physically, is a manifestation of a lie on the material plane—a lie that they want to stay close to me, or be near me.
I am a straightforward man, but I am not a confrontational man. If I do not wish to speak with you, I do not come to you and discuss this, because, well, I do not wish to speak with you. That's how I operate. I decided, and, then, I act. But, me not speaking with you is not always a sign of not wishing to speak with you, but, instead, I may just believe that you do not want me to speak with you; as a result, I am not a conversation initialiser—it's not the kind of thing I do, if given the option. I enjoy talking, but I don't go to others to talk, unless I really need to do so, and I think that has happens on less than five separate occasions.
I need to have fun. This past few weeks hasn't been fun. I haven't logged onto Narfell because of extenuating circumstances that don't make that viable as a fun roleplaying experiences, and my job has been hectic and dreadful. The start of classes is always a worrisome time, because it involves a lot of getting shit together, as does that carry over to the fact that I am the President of the Anime Club. Shit to do, and not enough time to do it.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.
posted by c.Jay Wrong at
10:55 PM
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