Snow. Is. Bullshit.

Shit. A snow storm is coming this weekend. I guess a big one. It better fucking be huge, since I am going to have to stay overnight at work tomorrow. ON MY DAY OFF, just so I am sure to make it to my shift the next day. I stocked up on essentials this morning. Rum, Coke, beer, snacks. I plan to do my homework, drink until I'm stupid, listen to music, mope, and write some shitty poetry. And maybe a good poem, but that is not likely. At all.

I don't know how to be alone in a hotel room. It's always lonely and uncomfortable. Last time this happened, I brought productive things to do, a book, things I don't have time to do at home, or things that require more concentration than I can muster at home. But did I do anything productive? NO. I drank, sat around feeling mopey, drank more, looked at facebook, drank more, wondered how many of the hotel guests were fapping in their rooms at that very moment, drank more, flipped on the TV, found a stupid movie that I did NOT want to watch, watched it, bawled like an idiot because that's the reaction that movie was designed to induce, fell asleep feeling like the only person alive, and then me and my hangover woke up in the morning to the music of slamming doors.

In a shite mood. My Ethics instructor emailed me this evening, concerned that I'm not participating in class. It's an online class, and far as I know, I have not missed any deadlines. So really. Fuck that guy. I'm doing the best I can. The first real assignment is due on Sunday before midnight. This is, hmm, FUCKING THURSDAY. I appreciate his concern, but...no...no, I actually don't.

I'm on a Depeche Mode kick tonight, so I will leave you with this:

New Year, Same Me

I think if I didn't have school or family, I would sleep most of the day, stay perpetually drunk, and do nothing but listen to music and write. I'd finally have the time to write book after book of horrible angst which I keep insisting qualifies as poetry. If I even stayed alive long enough. I had a conversation with my boss the other week about how she thought, minus family and school, I would still find something constructive to do with my time, because I'm just 'that sort of person.' This woman obviously doesn't know me at all. Not that I plan on doing anything to deprive myself of family or school. But I know me. I am, at my core, an alcoholic sloth.

This is the first year I've started in awhile that wasn't tinged with just a smidgen of optimism. I think that's because all my heroes and suddenly dying. Life is letting me know NO ONE IS SAFE. YOU ARE NOT SAFE. I CAN TAKE AWAY EVERYONE YOU LOVE, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF. Bowie, though. That was like a punch in the gut. Really, though, it was just him and Alan Rickman dying within days of each other. They were the top two in my list of Older Men I'm in Love With. I'm afraid to list the others for fear of jinxing them.

Also new: I got an Amazon Echo recently. So now my house is always either full of badass music or my family screaming "ALEXA STOP" over and over.

Saint Jareth