Half-painted

So I'm frustrated again, and not being very productive. I hate that. I could have watched some movies tonight, but chose to play with the dog and troll the internet all night. Also should have finished my homework, but haven't, so far. I suppose there is still time to do it tonight. I hate it when I do this to myself.

But back to being frustrated. I don't know how to manage my time. I seem to have zero free time, even though I know full well that I have plenty. The dog is getting some of the blame, since I feel like a jerk every time I leave the house and he freaks out. I've been putting off going to the grocery store for about 4 days, now. I'm guessing I'll finally go when I run out of toilet paper, which will probably be tomorrow or the next day.

I'm also irritated that my house isn't painted yet. That moron painter did 75% of the house (said he'd have it done before Thanksgiving, but of course, that was a lie), and now won't answer my calls. It's really starting to piss me off since I have random paint buckets sitting around the house, and I have put off unpacking until all the painting is finished. So I'm still living in a house that has no books unboxed, no furniture in its right place, and plenty of clutter just waiting for its permanent home. And yes, his girlfriend is in town, but that is no excuse to not answer, or even return my calls, or send me some sort of text. My guess is that he is doing his best to portray himself as a guy who doesn't have girls calling him all the time, but to me, that smacks of someone who is guilty guilty guilty. Which, of course, he is. And yes, I know this for a fact. Too bad his gf is such a fucking idiot. You'd think she'd figure it out after 5 years of not being around. But, I suppose, the lies are easier to believe when its what we want to hear. Good luck with that one, dumbass.

Anyway, that's my venting for the day. Irritated about the painting. Asshole.

Spinster

It's a Saturday night and I'm home on the couch drinking vodka and watching movies. Basically, I'm working. Which means things are the same as always: pathetic. Today I was at the community college with the dog, and I couldn't find my keys. My cell phone was at the house. I only had one number in my head, so I borrowed a phone from someone and called the boy. He has a spare key to my house, I thought. He'll come and rescue me. Voice mail. Well, nevermind, because I ended up finding my keys buried in my bag, and ended up feeling like a complete moron. At any rate, I would have thought that a frantic call would have prompted him to at least call me later to check and see that I was okay, but nope, that would be wrong. And even though I really don't have any right to be angry, it still stings quite a bit. On the way home, I tried to think of any other people whose phone numbers are committed to memory, and other than my parents, there are none. This is a problem, for a couple of reasons. Obviously, if I get in a bind, that doesn't work. But also, it mean that there are few people who call me often enough that I see their number and know it. He is literally the only one. Not that he calls me a lot, but he has been calling me for several years.

I think about all the years I wasted taking his calls, thinking he cared, thinking our relationship was going somewhere, and it really irritates me. I feel like an idiot. Now I'm getting to the point where the realization of time is stronger and stronger, and I'm seeing that I have nothing to show for all these years. I'm a spinster. Childless. Single. Broke. I sound like such a winner. I guess I always assumed that things would just happen and fall into place, and they haven't. And now I don't know what to do about it, since it was just supposed to happen.

So I got a dog. It's like an admission that this is the only way anyone will ever love me and look forward to me coming home. An admission that my life is so boring that coming home to take care of the dog is all that I need to do. No chance of impromptu sleepovers, or crazy last minute trips. I guess in a way I've given up. Now I have a little guy to lick my feet and wag his tail when he sees me and mope when I'm gone, but his English isn't very good, and he'll never be able to build anything for me. I guess this is it. The time when I finally admit defeat and start living like the spinster that I always was.