How is it that I always want to off myself right when O. and I get a day off? I mean, not really, but figuratively… It just seems to work that way. The reason this time is a stupid survey Orpheus took, then had me take, on Tuesday. See, it was all about “your sexual style” (I don’t remember which website,) and included a bunch of inane questions that I don’t believe indicated anything about the interviewee other than that one had to be imminently patient to sit through all those brain-dead questions in the first place. Orpheus, though, when he got to the question asking him to choose between his “current relationship and [his] dream job,” he chose the dream job.
Now, this is the guy that I’m planning on moving in with late this coming summer. The guy I wanted to stay with through job changes and school when he goes back in a little over another year. But he’d leave me for a hypothetical “dream job?” Fuck that. Fuck it sideways in the ass. Unpleasantly. Maybe I should reconsider moving in with him. Maybe I should just can my insecurities and write bad poetry. I don’t know yet, really. I need to think about it. All I know is that stupid question just toppled the house of good-feelin’ cards I’ve built in the last two years. Is my entire life going to just be a series of cycles of good energy being thrown after bad pursuits? I’m so goddamn sick of starting over.
Peh. Fuck life, huh? It always finds a way to bite you in the ass.
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