rock bottom

I. Am. EXHAUSTED.


I knew that at some point the pressure of work, the frustration of not being *totally* unpacked and the loneliness of being low on friends would finally get to me, but I didn't realize how much it would suck when it did. Work has turned into a medley of people telling me why everything I half-learned in Accounting (which I hated) will become an integral part of my daily life, while everything I learned in Marketing (which I liked!) isn't actually applicable in the real world. I'm not totally unpacked because I keep running out of weekend hours to drive the 20ish miles to IKEA and buy the furniture which will finally let me empty what's left of my boxes. And my social life? Aside from choir (in which, as I discovered during last night's rehearsal and tonight's debacle of a solo audition, I am officially too exhausted to find any joy whatsoever) and failed plans to meet up with my classmates (who are equally tired but at least have other friends), not much is going on. I'm torn between longing to sit at home and decompress from work and feeling guilty for not getting out and exploring Seattle -- but who would I explore with? Sure, the food's supposed to be excellent, but unless these excellent restaurants have takeout, I'm out of luck. The myth about computer companies being a ladies' market? Lies, all of them, although in my current state of unhappiness I'd be willing to accept the fault as my own.


Now, obviously part of my motivation for writing this post is the hope that someday I'll be able to contrast this against a yet-to-be-written post singing the praises of Seattle, my job, my over-abundance of friends, and anything else I think of that day. (Another motivator is the prospect of a far-away friend reading this and sending me cheer-up presents. Just a thought.) Maybe I'll laugh and shake my head knowingly at how silly I was to let a couple of bad days turn me into a crochety old lady. As it is, I know things aren't really *that* bad: I have a couple of friends, even if I don't see them very often, and the ones I do have make me do things like leave the house on weeknights and go to concerts by my favorite bands. And yes, I have a job and an apartment and too many possessions and generally a lot of things that a good chunk of the world would kill to have. (With a paycheck has come a lot of guilt. I *could* start paying off my car and college loans, but do I even deserve this money when other people who are doing more honorable jobs need it more than I do?) It would be totally fair for loneliness to be a trade-off for not having to worry (much -- loans, remember) about money.


...but is it fair that the guy living across the courtyard of my apartment complex spends what seems like every waking hour smoking on his balcony and hacking up what must have been at least seven lungs by now? It's not even the coughing that's getting to me; it's that he clears his throat at least twice for every cough, and by "clearing his throat" I mean (sorry) "hocking a loogie into what I assume is a spittoon on his balcony." I'm not kidding. I've watched. It's disgusting. It's worse than Ugly Naked Guy, since I can't escape by closing my blinds. The sound follows me all through my apartment, and I swear one of these days I'm going to lean out of my window and tell him exactly how much the rest of the complex hates him for making these noises day and night.


I'll bet the neighbors applaud.