I have decided to cut off contact with one of my real-life friends. Or I should say 'friends' rather than friends because of the reasons that pretty much made my decision for me.
This friend, sorry 'friend', has made being her friend an almost impossible task. She makes me feel like a whiny bitch everytime I call her to try and organise spending any time together. She calls me melodramic whenever I complain about the state of our 'friendship'. She forgot my birthday... again. She cancelled the last two times we were supposed to watch some DVDs together for no reason she was willing to share. She doesn't seem to understand how selfish she truly is. She is selfish to the point of cruelty. She is automatically closed to a hell of a lot of topics of conversation.
I doubt losing my friendship will affect her very much because she has made it plain that it means less than nothing to her which really sucks because I am so angry at her that I want her to feel regret or loss or anything but I really doubt she'll even notice I'm gone.
And so... I'm done.
I think I need motivation.
For hour I've been home
for hours I have done nothing
I need some force to move me
something with unresistability
once I find that imaginary thing
my days will fill with things
things I don't now do
but things that will get done
I have recently bought a small unit which was built in the 70s not far from my work. I've got my computer set up in the area I have designated as 'dining room' since I currently have no table and have had to use my desk. I am not connected to the net in my unit and I've been doing my web-junk at work.
I've just been told that my table is ready to be picked up but, in opposition to this good news, my chairs won't be available until the end of October. Which is fine because I knew that they'd be around that long but I am getting heartily sick of eating in front of my computer.
I'm getting a new phone plug in the room designated as 'study' on Wednesday but it may be a drama because of the way things are laid out in the unit. Without becoming an electrician between now and then I'll just have to wait and see.
And I'm still not writing anything. I believe that I'm probably not the kind of writer that will end up with a solid cohesive book with intricately woven subplots and interesting characters. It's far more likely that I'm the kind of writer that will end up with half a billion tantalising tidbits of terrible tales.
But without actually writing anything, I'm never going to be either of them. I used to write almost continuously but, unfortunately, it seems that things change.
So, if I'm not a writer, who am I?
Separate names with a comma.