Premeditated Misconduct

...I yelled at one of my roommates last night.
Not just yelled, but flat-out screamed and waved my hands and cried in frustration/discontent/upsetness/irritation for a full five to ten minutes.
I was so wound up and/or distracted for the rest of the night, the emotional pain of what I did didn't hit me until I tried to sleep, and then I laid there mentally smacking my stupid self upside the head, cussing myself out, and crying some more.
I had no right to do that. It wasn't fair; it wasn't mature; it wasn't responsible... It wasn't helpful. It was, in fact, very wrong of me to do. It didn't resolve anything or make anyone feel better. No matter how frustrated or irate or hurt I get, there is still no reason for me to lose my temper that completely with someone I love. I was a fucking jackass last night, and I should have known better. I should have acted better.
Damnit, I'm a better person than that most of the time!

I'm sorry; I'm so sorry.
So sorry.
If it's possible, I'll make it up to you, I swear.


In other, unrelated news, there's a rather giddy note from Tom on the 'fridge that makes me wonder if he's finally found someone masochistic enough to want to date, or something.
I wish that thought could make me feel happy; I mean, Tom's been single for a really long time now, and I think he does deserve a chance with someone... But really, all I feel is vaguely annoyed and jealous at the idea.

...
Yeah, I'm acting my age, aren't I? [/sarcasm]
God, when the fuck do I get to stop being so goddamn dumb all the time? Soon, right? Please?

Updated/revamped my Christmas wishlist thingie, and corrected my snail-mail so that it is my new address.

Almost finished with my annotated bibliography, thank God. I just need one more resource article and a book review for one of the books I've already used, and then I need to finish writing up my annotations.

Looking up shonen-ai fanfics at school when I should be doing something much more valid with my time. (Man, I realize suddenly, almost desperately, how much I miss good smutty slash fanficcage. I can't wait to get internet hook-up at our new apartment... maybe then I'll start writing good smutty slash fanficcage of my own again, then. I've got a listing of pairings I'm, yep, just crazy enough to try...as soon as I can sit someplace private with a big ol' bottle of schnappes until 3 AM, giggling as I try to fit in that one adjective that makes everyone go, "Oh!" or "Eek!" ^_~ The world needs more good slash/shonen-ai. I was made to fill this niche. Maybe that's what I'll sit down and do on Christmas day.)

My new roommates are taking a while to get out here because of financial problems, and Tom and I have spent the last two nights running boxes of stuff we know for certain that we don't need over to the new place. It's kind of frustrating, because I look at my small collection of stuff and think how easy and fast it would be to move me in almost completely-- except for my desk, and the few pieces of furniture I need, like a dresser and a futon-- and then I see how slow and long it's probably actually going to take.
I'm so excited to have more space so I stop feeling like Tom's hovering over me all the freakin' time ('cause he tends to stand in the kitchen-- staring, incidentally, at my couch-- or play with the cat-- who, incidentally, spends a lot of her time on- where else?- the back of my couch). It will be nice to be able to lock Baka out of my room, so that everything I own isn't covered in cat hair. I'm so excited to have a door. (Actually, I have two.) And a closet.
Life is good when you have a closet.

I'm still a little worried about money, but I figure the only things I'm letting myself spend on besides bills-- after sending a big-ass check off to Jenny-- is a monthly allowance of 30-40$ at the beginning of the month. I'm trying to remember everything so that I can work out a real, tight budget.
(Hmm... RoadRunner Premium internet includes multiple connections and networking, which is good considering at least two computers are going to be hooked up, and the listed price is 85$, but is that per month? I guess it must be... Well, if we divide that out through three people, that's not that bad...)

I think I'm going to work on that now.

So...

I was feeling reflective last night, talking with Tom about how I feel that, while my personality was great and helpful and useful at Northland, I don't feel that I'm the right kind of person to function in the Real World. I just feel...wrong...somehow, like an incorrectly-sized cog in a machine, grinding down into powder. My persona is too... well, too something (real, maybe)... to mesh well with common society, and I'm not interested in changing to suite the world; I don't feel that I should have to.

Tom kinda followed me, but I lost him again when I said that I thought maybe the problem lies in the fact that I have no "feminine mystery." He really didn't get that, so stumbled around for a while trying to explain.
I said, "You know that commercial that's been playing on the radio, like, every five minutes, about the 60 mile breast cancer run? It starts out with a guy saying that his wife is the most beautiful person in the world, right? ...I can't imagine anyone saying that about me (and not just because I doubt I'll ever get married). I'm not-- as the standards of the world would have it-- a beautiful person, especially once you get to know me. I'm not kind, gentle, or sensitive; I speak my mind, sometimes sarcastically, sometimes causticly; I cuss; I'm aggressive and confrontational; I snap and shout and rave and get so angry I cry and kick things. I nag and bitch, and my-oh-my, no one likes a nagging bitchy woman. I want things to be my way."
He still didn't get it.
So I tried the word "charming."
As in, "You know, women (and by this I mean "nice date-worthy girls" as opposed to " taken-em-home-and-screw-em sluts") are expected to be charming and gracious. It's an old-fashioned concept, but in some ways it's still in effect. Women are supposed to look nice and be nice and defer to others, care about when everyone else thinks and says, be reluctant to speak of themselves, and refuse to speak forcefully at all. And I just don't honor that."
Tom still doesn't get it, but I moved on.

And asked him what constituted a successful life.
Tom feels that if you find your vocation, what you are meant to do, and through that, if you manage to change even one other person's life for the better, you have lived successfully.
Fabulous.
I'm not sure what I am meant to be doing; by Tom's standard, my life is unsuccessful thus far.

And for the sake of curiosity, I'm throwing the question out to y'all:
What do you think constitutes a a successful life?
Because I realize that I myself have no idea how to define success.

Tom.
Tom, Tom, Tom.

He drives me nuts. Some days I wish I could throttle him.
It's more than the fact that he giggles like an unhinged lunatic, squeals like an anime fangirl on speed, occasionally and unexpectedly grabs my breasts, and sometimes has absolutely no sense of personal boundries-- physical, mental, or emotional (i.e. he just doesn't know when enough is enough!).

It's more than the fact that he never does the dishes spontaneously, or takes out the trash, or cleans any part of the house at all without me nagging.

It's more than the fact that he's so not-together, constantly losing things, misplacing items, forgetting events, and not sure if he even took his medication on any given day.

It isn't even the fact that his driving scares the hell out of me, or that he takes hour-long showers (what in the name of God does he DO in there?), or the fact that he whines every time he has to get up any earlier than 11 when I am usually at work at 8.

It's just plain and simple that I see Tom living an unsustainable lifestyle. He's got to weight over 300 pounds, but he won't cut the oil and butter and chocolate out of his diet; he won't but a bottle of water when he's dehydrated instead of a bottle of soda. He won't even reduce the amount of salt he eats. His shrink said that he could probably go off of his mood stabilizer if he would only lower his sugar intake and stop all caffeine-- simple enough instructions when your mental health (and wallet) is at stake! But he won't. He simply refused.
While giggling.

This is particularly frustrating when I know that most of his other health problems are weight-related-- his arthritis: no kidding he's got arthritis, he's carrying twice the weight he should; his irritable bowel syndrome which he claims will act up if he eats anything remotely healthy, such as salad, but doesn't bother his at all after a greasy-spoon style breakfast because he's "trained" it that way; his poor immune system, which can't function at it's peak when the rest of his body is straining; his insomnia, which troubles obese people more than moderately heavy people... This is a mix of common sense and basic biology-- you know, what Tom minored in college?

I'm not saying that I'm in perfect health, and God knows that I could afford to drop some pounds; HOWEVER. I don't breathe like I just finished a quarter-mile race all of the time, I can walk miles without feeling tired, and 70 degrees with no humidity does not feel unbearably hot to me.

But it's not just his eating habits and completely lack of exercise (the most of which he gets is walking from his car to the apartment), it's also the fact that he's living almost completely off his student loans. LOANS. Loans need to be paid back at some later point, but he doesn't seem to be at all worried about that future point in time. He doesn't even consider working more hours and cutting back on his loans (or saving them for a real emergency, such as the dental surgery he needed in August), which is disturbing to me. He keeps claiming that he's too busy to work more, but some simple calculations revealed that work, sleep, school, homework, travel-time, etc, bite a humongously larger chunk out of my week then they do his, and I'm doing fine. He's got, according to my calculations, almost three full days of spare time once everything else I could think of was factored out.
Ug.

He drives me crazy because he will not take any (even simple, baby steps) toward fixing any of his problems. He will not keep a written monthly budget (like I've started doing) to figure out where his money's going; he will not write down a time schedule or even a list of daily things to do to help manage his time; he doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with his weight, much less think of doing anything about it; he won't go out and hang out or try to make friends or join clubs, organizations, or groups to meet new people even though he claims he's so lonely and wants a boyfriend (interestingly, and strangely, he praises me to high heaven whenever I go out and join something or attend an event as though I'm the one that doesn't get out of the house enough).

Man.

By the way, if anyone cares, I am currently simultaneously bitching about Tom, and looking up dirty doujinshi on the seminary computers.
Yeah, I rock.

Heh, I was window shopping dvds in Target yesterday, and I realized they had an anime section. Idly looking over the racks, not really compelled to buy anything for such outrageous prices, I saw that they had the first Hellsing dvd for twenty bucks. And I laughed, came up here to school, downloaded the right codecs, and went home and watched an episode.

Geez, I love you guys.

By the way, Jen, that "Rose in the Wind" Inuyasha amv is really good, and the song is sublime! I have it running through my head almost contantly.

I have the house to myself and that makes me a very happy puppy.

So Tom and I went and blew my entire paycheck on groceries the other day, and now we have things like pickles and hummus and ground beef, and life is good. (I refuse to feel bad about spending money on FOOD. Refuse.)
I don't know if it's the better nutrition, or the pleasently cool weather or what, but I've been out jogging for about twenty minutes for the last two nights. I head down to the park that's just a block or so down the road and run on the series of trails winding through it, glancing up at the moon and wondering if I should feel nervous about being by myself in the dark this close to a city. It feels good, but now after two nights of it, I'm starting to get sore. Stupid body.

I called Tom's clinic this morning and am now on their waitlist of six to eight weeks, and I called Judith (Scoville) and asked her if she couldn't help me work out a better budget or something. I have an interview with Person to Person tomorrow afternoon about doing adult GED tutoring, and then I have to bust ass over to Judith's. I also got an email back from Scout (of Manitou Mischief Rattery), and might be picking up three girls from her on Friday.

I keep trying to get in touch with a friend from high school-- Jeremy Fisher-- but he works nights and I work mornings, and when in the afternoon we both might be free, Tom has the phone with him on the Crazy Farm (at work). *sigh* Well, I'll keep trying.

I don't think there's much else to report. *ponders*

Oh! I made some collages that I might be mailing as rather demented letters as soon as I get stamps. I don't know what got into... yes, I do. Two pots of coffee had gotten into me. I blame the kohii-youkai for any mad mail you guys may get.

Right.

I am suddenly remembering why I've been using the seminary library instead of coming here to use the computer.
1) The seminary is free.
2) The 'puters aren't Macs
3) The 'puters have working keyboards.

*sigh*

Got out of work early; they didn't need me to stay for my last hour. On one hand, I'm glad to be out of there. One the other hand, I desperately need the money.

Goddamm money. I hate it lots.

I bought a cd the other day, and am hiding the fat from Tom. I'm OK with this. I desperately wanted something new to listen to.

I have nicknamed Tom "captian Obvious".
Sometimes I use it patiently, as in yes, captain, I know that already. Sometimes I use it playfully. And sometimes I use it cause he's driving me buggy.
Like last night.
Because the bus doesn't run on Sunday and is limited on Saturday, he knows that he has to take me to work and pik me up most of the time. When I pointed out to him last night-- after listening to him bitch about needing to be working for one of his clients by 11-- that I needed to be at work by 8, he responded with, "Icky."
"Yes, I know. I'm the one who atually needs to be working then." Eaggerated patience.
And he wandered around repeating, "Icky," for like, 5 minutes, while I dreamt of shouting obsenities at him.
I have to be at work everyday I work at 8 or 8:30. I fucking know that getting up earliy sucks, thank you. You don't need to repeat it over and over like a five-year old on an annoy-mommy kick.

I feel bad. When Annie and Marybeth were here, I spent a lot of time bitching about Tom, and how he's always sick, he doesn't do the dishes, he doesn't take the trash out, he seems incapable of balaning his bank account, he annoys me simply because it amuses him, he's slow to react to things (which is terrifying in the car) and he doesn't seem to think or do as muh as he should (I multitask, Tom sometimes seems to struggle to unitask).
And after all that, I don't feel any better. Usually getting it out helps... this just makes me seem to notie it more.

I need to get my bus.
I might make some phone alls tonight.v

So, I have taken the bus into downtown Minneapolis and back twice now, with moderate levels of success. I have done more walking than any sane person should do in three days, registered with a temp agency, submitted more applications, have an interview at caribou coffee on Thursday and one with PetsMart tomorrow. I have a few relevant bus schedules, a raging headache that the coffee isn't killing, and a semi-working computer in front of me. I've spent my free time looking through the classifieds, laughing at the personals, watching Gundam Wing with Tom, listening to Gackt at ear-shattering levels (if your guts aren't vibrating, it's not loud enough), and studying hiragana.

I'm making good progress with the hiragana learning, if not with the job search. I've started reading my Hellsing manga... really reading, not just skimming the pictures. I read, saying the sounds out loud and figuring out word-breaks, then look up the words. Hira-phonics works for me!
My handwriting is atrocious. Truly terrible. Even I can't tell the difference between my "ro" and "ru"; there's no way I could count on anyone else being able to read it.

I'm really hoping to get the job in caribou coffee; I think I could handle making lattes for the rich jerks who shop the Saks Fifth Avenue beside it for 6-8 hours a day. No problem there.
Or Borders, where I dropped off an application today. That'd fuckin' rock! I'd get so many miles out of my employee discount...
I've even collected... *cough*... adult ads, just in case. Hell, for $80 an hour I'll do damn near anything you want. Yeah, even that. ^_^;;
The temp agency all but told me that I'm incompetent. *sigh* My typing speed, or rather, my copying speed, is ridiulously low; my math skills are poor; I am also, apperantly, not very well aquainted with Word, either, despite using it almost every day for the past three or more years. Add in the fact that my resume is on disk and I don't have access to a computer to get it online... *smashes head into wall*

I need to pick up a nice button-down shirt and maybe another pair of slacks, not to mention a good pair of black work shoes. I really don't have "professional" looking clothing... especially not comfortable professional clothes. Time to hit Target, and spend as little money as humanly possible.

On the up-side, maybe tonight I'll call David and just chill with him (if possible) tomorrow. My fucking head hurts for nearly constant dehydration (yes, I am drinking lots of water!), and I'm getting really tired of being off on my own all day in a strange place. It'd be nice to spend more time with people... particularly if they can help me out.

Tom's about as helpful as a heartattack most of the time: he works most of the day; he doesn't know the bus schedules; he doesn't know where the temp agencies are; his phone has a limited number of minutes... Almost everything I've been doing, I've been learning from scratch. Go me. I'm like, god, or something.

AHA! That's the song I was looking for!
Looking up lyrics for a song in another language for which you do not know the title can be tricky... however, I have listened to the song so damn much it just was a matter of clicking through the listing for the right album.
"Fragrance" by Gackt, on the "Moon" album... You wanna see Jess melt into a puddle of daffily smiling idiocy? Play that song real loud. I drop everything just to listen, a pole-axed expression on my face. (Or I writhe on the floor/couch as though in extreme pain / pleasure) I gotta look absolutely retarded.
It's so freakin' hot. Haaaawwwtt... Oh m'God. It drives me to distraction.
Mmmm... Gackt = tasty-yummy-good.

Speaking of that-- heh-- I would like to point out that Dinkytown, the area near the UMN, is full of yummy Asian boys. Fabulouso. I mean, I was minding my business, waiting for Tom in a coffeeshop, and this guy sat down in the booth opposite me and I couldn't help it-- I just stared. For about an hour. Very tasty.
Tom wasn't sure of its gender, but I was, and I liked it a lot.
Note to self: must spend more time in Dinkytown.

I also found a shop down there (in Dinkytown) that I can't wait to go gift-shopping in once I can afford it. It was a very Angela store. ^_^ (Though I saw a few things there that a number of other people would like.)

One of these days I'll get down to the Mall of America or seriously set out to explore the Nicolette Mall without the distractions of time or looking for work.

Right. Well, I think that's everything for now. I may be making some phone calls home later this week, just so that I can actually talk to people. Depends on how generous Tom is feeling about the phone.

Sitting around the seminary library, waiting for Tom to get out of class. (Eee... an extremely in-depth look at the Biblical book of Numbers does not sound like a fun class to sit-in on!) Kinda worried about Angela, considering her last journal entry and the fact that there's been nothing posted since then (Angela-chan, if you're reading this, please email me or something...just don't be dead or anything, for the lovagod.) Reading about the hoops you have to jump through to be ordained as a UU minister, and occasionally amused by the curriculum here: thinking about taking a class named "Worship" cracks me up every time.

I have some tasty loose-leaf white-tip oolong tea and some tastes-almost-but-not-quite-like-coughdrops Herb Grass candy, both of which I picked up at a Oriental food store in downtown Minneapolis. Still looking for some sake and trying to get Tom to take me to a comic book store, so I might have more goodies to share by the time you next hear from me.

The grass is green, the dandelions are blooming, and it's Earth Day. (Which I totally forgot about until the cafe put out little cards celebrating it-- I'm a bad Northlander, forgetting about our "official" campus holiday like that.)

No one else is in here, so I don't feel bad monopolizing the computers, especially when I've been writing the whole time. First my vocational statement, and now this.

Wow...the UU's demand a high level of competence in their ministers! I suppose it's not unreasonable, but I just didn't expect the Unitarians to demand that their ministers were competent in Hebrew (among other things, including Anti-Racism and and Multi-Culturalism, pastoral care, worship, music, and preaching)!
Hmmmm... looking at this, I realize that if-- and oh, it's a big IF!-- I ever want to be ordained, I pretty much have to begin planning now, and that I will need to take classes at another school in order to cover some of these requirements laid out by the UUA. Damn.

Righty-O. I've still got another hour forty-five to wait, but I think I'm going to go pillage the library now.