scylis

i'll not get to see her again. it's like she was a dream, and nothing more. but my heart still breaks a little.

it caught me off guard. i used to live here and i should have know better. i used to be good at seeing, at feeling the super storms coming on.

"better get back home," she said, "it's going to get here soon. already been starting up some huge fires out east."

"huh?"

"the fires. out east of here. see?," she points.

i look. and curse....
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there. i finished me book. and have proved meself not to be a true friend, it seems. heh.

my work for the day, as they say, is finished.

i feel rather defeated by "the man" and "his" institutions. they threaten with leaving me alone for all intents and purposes. it's bad enough that when i finally find myself caught up with interest in someone else, they're here for what seems like only moments. but on top of that... meh. whatever. i concede defeat.

...not that it really matters, i suppose, the little time...
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it's the interweb! HOORAY INTERWEB!

i have the net on my own. in my own apartment. with only me as the current occupant. i am happy!

i can so not wear pants and get away with it, now.

it looks like i've found and will be getting a place of my own, for a change. i don't know whether to be excited or horribly depressed. it's going to be just me. both the bonus and the rub. it's going to be boxes, a mattress, and a desk. devoid of other furniture for some time, most likely. and quiet. i'm not used to so...
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i find it interesting to note that most of the apartment listings here like to advertise as "Section 8 Welcome." i don't know if that's amusing or sad, but it is rather interesting.

Klinger wouldn't have a problem finding a place to rent here, i guess.

i hate having to do community service. because there's a 200ml bottle of JW Black Label i've been itching to down in my hand, but i need to go to sleep so i can be used as slave labor tomorrow.

gah, i'm too tired to really appreciate being drunk and too broke to frivolously down my limited supply of booze anyway. damnit.

sometimes people don't seem real to me. i see them, i hear them, sometimes i smell them, but all of that just doesn't quite cut it without tactile reinforcement. i don't like touching people, you see. it bothers me on an utterly subconscious level for reasons i really can't explain. it just does, that's all i can tell you.

i feel so isolated because of...
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my roommates are watching wrestling. it hurts my head.

and now i don't really know what to do for living space when i move out at the beginning of October.

did you know that in Anchorage, they make you pay them $85 just to have the honor of doing court-ordered community service? that's right, they charge you to clean their parks here. i guess doing yardwork for free isn't quite good enough for the government.

i find myself staring at people's icon, wanting to say something. sometimes i even open up a window to do so. but i can't think of anything.