Alive, lethargic, disinterested

Today was interesting, if I’m going to be polite about it. I was called a concubine to The Bestest Friend, apparently fucked up parts of friends’ lives twice in under seventy-two hours, got harrassed, spent only a whopping thirty minutes with The Boyfriend, and ate too much — hah! Too much, I thought that was a myth! — come evening, at Leira’s small Dean’s List celebration with her mom. Needless to say that the entire day’s proceedings drained me of my store of social interaction tokens; I’m broke, and will probably be on hermit hiatus tomorrow. I’m holing up inside the sleeping bag, taking out my knitting needles, and resuming my post as resident office caterpillar. While we still have the office. Gotta enjoy the last few moments, I guess. Maybe even pull off a LeRoy Jenkins somehow.

On another note, I suck at receiving compliments. When I get the money, I’m gonna take self-help classes, even though I know it won’t work and even though I know it won’t happen because 1) self-help classes means I’m the teacher and the student and that won’t work ; and 2) the oxymoron in the name is just too awful. I’ve said it so many times now, but I’ll write it down anyway: I’ve reached my annual compliment quota. Any more and I’ll explode.

Unless, of course, there’s a way to turn the extra compliments into Auditing Problem grades. That way I’ll reach my two quotas for the year.


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