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Oh yes, that’s right; you’re dying, you’re bitter, blah, blah, blah… Fortunatley, I’m shallow, so I’m impervious to that, now eat it.

Evildeb has diagnosed me with ennui, and she is absolutely right. I am definitely suffering from an acute case of the blahs. I told her it was even hard to blog… as I had nothing to say but blah. All I really want to do is lay around and day dream because it’s less blah than real life. blah.

My stepdad is back living in the house for the next two months. The lease on his wee little cabin is up, the ski bum who lives there in the summer is back. For the rest of June he’ll be commuting up north. Which sucks for him. But he’s taking July off to work on the house. What this means is, I do not, currently, live alone. That is hard for me. I’m used to living alone. Not that it’s hard to live with my stepdad, it’s just, I’m spoiled and selfish. My home is my sanctuary, it’s a haven and a hiding place. I don’t answer the phone if I can’t tell who it is. Sometimes, I don’t answer it even if I know who it is, if I want to be alone. If I want to vacuum at 3 am, I do. Not that I vacuum all that much. But you get the point. And if I don’t want to answer to the door for fear of being served with legal papers, I don’t. But my stepdad does. Answer the door, that is. You have NO IDEA who is on the other side of that door! It could be one of those kids who talks a million miles a minute and sells you a dozen magazine subscriptions at once. Which is why I always go to door with the phone in my hand, yelling “No No! It’s 1 breath for every five compressions if you are doing it alone, trust me, I know my CPR, I’ll talk you through it… put the phone up to grandpa’s ear… LIVE GODDAMN YOU, GRANDPA, LIVE!!” My stepdad, however, has a dozen magazine subscriptions. Which sort of shocks me, because he is more than capable of looking at that kid and saying “no.” while shutting the door.

What I’m saying is, it’s me who has a problem. I’ve probably lived alone too long. It will probably be good for me. My grandma is coming to visit us, and I’ll have to clean the house and NOT play the sims2 24/7 while she is here, in my underwear. This is good for me. But, I WANT TO PLAY THE SIMS2 24/7 IN MY UNDERWEAR! But.. .it will be good for me. And maybe, after two months, I’ll know whether I can come out of my cave and have mature relationships with people. Or whether I should just give up now, get some more cats, a ratty bathrobe, and start yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off my god damn lawn.

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