Go, bus, go! Again!
And we're away! Once more, five minutes late, semi-packed bus. Whee. I'm tired and none of this feels particularly right. I didn't go visit my friend, but I figured he would want to rest. I'm sure he would have been happy to see me, but...but. But I don't know. Did I make a big mistake by not finding a way up to his house? Shit. Maybe I just don't grasp the situation enough, can't understand the urgency of it all. Maybe there is no urgency; we're still waiting for the definitive result, after all. But I won't be there. But I will be if I need to be, dammit.
Yawn. Woke up at 9:15am or so after uncomfortable sleep. Shit, it seems like I haven't had a good night's sleep in a couple of weeks. What's up with that? I'm definitely not the type to be able to be comfy no matter where I lie. Guess that's mostly because of my back and bone problems - I can't really do floors or uncomfortable beds for too long, and I sure as hell can't take sleeping on the couch in my mom's living room, considering it's more of a loveseat and, while I'm not exactly Manute Bol, it's still too short for me. Leaves my legs aching. Yawn.
So up I was, up I got, and so forth. Jason gave me a ride to the train station, and I zoomed off to Boston. Deposited some checks, met Carly at the Pour House for lunch and neither of us really touched our food since we had both been out drinking last night, her with some of her friends, me with the family and the Italians. That one shot of brandy just won't go away, godammit.
But lunch was nice, and it sucked saying bye to her again. "You'll be back," she says, not giving me the opportunity for a long, melodramatic goodbye, damn her eyes. I don't think she appreciates just how large a role melodrama plays in my life. Oh, woe! No one understands me! Anyway, I got to the bus station and had the shits like mad. Sucked that the bathroom floor had some kind of unidentified liquid covering it and I had nowhere else to put my backpack. I'll have to boil it later or something.
And yes, I am talking about my bowel movements here. But that's, like, okay. That's who I am, man. When I die, I want my tombstone to read: HE WASN'T AFRAID TO TALK ABOUT POO. I'm kinda serious here too, for those of you taking notes.
Having my last smoke before the dreaded bus ride, a really cute somewhat punk (or was she emo? Alternative? Does anyone call anything alternative anymore?) girl asked me if I had seen someone stealing her cell phone. Of course, she had lost the phone about fifteen minutes earlier (I saw her talking to a cop in the terminal around then), so there was no chance of me seeing the thief. I hope someone picked it up and turned it in or something. Then she said she'd have to use a pay phone and walked off before my molasses-like synapses fired and thought of offering my cell phone. Oh well. She seemed nice.
Yawn. Okay, I'm tired of typing in on this cramped bus seat. Though I must mention that this bus ride - like my first ride down to Hartford just over a month ago - has its own pair of loudmouthed college girls who are yelling to each other about horrendously uninteresting things. Yee-fucking-ha.