I feel like I live for the weekends, but, when they come, I waste them doing nothing. Which sounds really lame. Because it is.
Take tonight, for example. Friday nights are meant to be spent with friends, partaking in questionable activities. Not sitting in your room listening to your roommate hiccup endlessly, with no indication of stopping. Actually, that may count as a questionable activity. But not an enjoyable one, by any means.
I mentioned in an earlier post about how my school survival instincts have kicked in, and how that was a good thing. But, at the same time, it makes for an uninteresting life. One without risks, unless you count ones involving upcoming Spanish quizzes and the time I will spend studying. Enthralling, I know. Basically, I don't feel like I'm "surviving" anything at this point; I just feel like I'm existing.
Which is perfectly fine with me, at least most of the time. I wouldn't call myself a loner, but I enjoy spending time by myself. It gives me time to organize my thoughts. Time to convert necessary tasks into manageable entities and begin plotting ways to knock them out one by one. Time spent preparing my current self for becoming my future self.
But tonight I don't feel like doing any of that. I don't feel like sitting alone. Or with a hiccuping roommate. Tonight, I feel like going out with friends, and maybe coming home with cool survival stories. I feel like having an absurdly long conversation, like the one Collette and I had with the nice Mormon guy yesterday, except perhaps with a touch more rationality.
I feel like the girl at the computer next to me is my antithesis. She's staring at her monitor clicking away madly, engrossed in "Farm Town." Words can't describe how sad this makes me.
I can't take another second of sitting here. It's bringing me down. If you are reading this, trust that I have found something better to do than listening to the sound of a virtual crop harvest. I've still got half an hour of Friday night left, and I intend to use it.
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