Sick

I write to you now from my vicodin-induced slightly comatose state. I have the "common cold." It sounds like something mild right? It should be called "common devil illness." It's like the devil has taken residence in my right ear, my throat, my nose, my overall general head area and is flowing through my veins, spreading whatever VIRUS I have infected myself with.

I really gotta stop biting my nails.

In other news, it's a million degrees in new york. I'm slightly sunburned from yesterday's nose-blowing Central Park excursion with Beau, who has become quite unsympathetic to my whines of "I don't feel good." (Granted, I have been saying that phrase hourly for 3 days).

I'm going to go back to watching this millionaire matchmaker marathon instead of writing my two literature reviews, two reaction papers and psychometrics homework. The words are starting to all mesh together and not make any sense. The choices were either: suffer in extreme pain and not see double of everything, or still experience the pain but not really give a shit and see double of everything.

Did I mention I'm also in the midst of a move? And attempting to get an apartment last minute?

Under pressure

I understand that the pressure is just the Light trying to come through. It is just the right path being created for me... but for real? I'm going batty, as in, I could really use a Valium. Please let the Light shine through SOON for goodness sakes so I can stop worrying about AUGUST. Yes, people, I'm worrying about August already in April.

Lots of stuff is going on with me physically, and as far as school goes, I have mountains of work. Mountains, I tell you.

I'm going to walk to the deli and eat a bag of chips while circling the block, contemplating my life and how I'm about ready to give up striving towards a goal. I just want to be taken care of. Like a child, or a baby. These are my thoughts...for today anyway, but then again I think it's the worry/stress/anxiety mountain talking.

When?

I hope I'm not jinxing myself by writing this but...

I was accepted into a program that permits two weeks of study in Vietnam for 6 credits. Two weeks, Vietnam. I leave at the end of May.

Hence, I have begun the moving process back into the parental units dwelling. Not so bad. I also managed to finagle a deal where my tuition is paid for, provided I work June and July.

Turns out my stay in Statty Isle will be longer than anticipated. But technically, I'm making $6,000 by staying. How can I refuse?

I just can't help but feel like my life hasn't started yet. I'm increasing in age and my life hasn't begun. Or it isn't where I want it to be. I want to make money. Enough money that I don't need my parents or Mr. Stafford, or some man. I want to come home at night, lock the door, and know that no one else is coming home.

Someday cannot come soon enough.

Staten Island...I'm a native.

I'm moving...again. Ugh. Yuck. Moving.

I wish I could say that I'm moving into a fabulous new apartment close to Central Park. AAAAAhhhh Central PAAAHHHK in NEWWWW--ORHKKK! But no. I'm not. I could just take the remains of the student loan money still in my grasp and spend it on rent money for a fabulous new apartment close to Central Park because well, rents are ridiculously low (Think $1200 for a nice studio, $1400 for a 1 BR). Low enough that even I can afford. Low enough that I could live below 96th Street. Like, if I had a full-time job I wouldn't even have to THINK about living in Queens or Brooklyn. I could live in Manhattan. Just the job thing is a problem.

So I'm moving...back in with my parents. And to make matters even worse, I'm moving back to Staten Island. I don't so much mind living with my parents like I used to. I kinda miss them....actually, I miss them alot. Just, Staten Island. Just, Staten Island. This means I have to start driving on the regs again. Staten Island is far. Far away from everything. Far from Beau, far from friends, far from all things I love, like pinkberry and walking to starbucks and putting my toes in the grass during an outdoor concert, and running to escape the rain in the sticky Manhattan heat, and getting up on Sunday morning hungover to have delicious french toast with unlimited mimosa's outside, and most of all waking up on a weekend and looking out the window and the day just beckons! In Staten Island none of these things happen.

Sure you can drive or walk to a park but it's not the same because you have to find a parking spot, and you also have to DRIVE or walk to a starbucks but since there are only 3 on the entire island they're always PACKED and people bring their CHILDREN there and there's always some stupid teenagers with nothing better to do hanging out. No one comes to Staten Island to perform, and there aren't really any cafe's to hang out and drink champagne before 12:00 p.m. It's mostly just highway, large streets that are slow-moving highways, and winding too-little congested roads with an occasional golf course next to it. I'm really not joking.

At least I have Ginger...sigh.

I needa finda jobba upon return from 'Nam. More about that later.