I'm gonna have to do something about this cursor on my windows box, I can't see it against the dark background. Yeah, I've been fiddling with my color inputs again. Although they say white on black is easiest to read on video monitors.
But that's enough of the technogeekery.
I don't have a lot to say tonight, except to caution myself and others into not biting off more than we can chew. I know, with me, that's a big temptation. I don't wanna do skewlwurk! I can find other cool things things to do! I can fly simulator and actually LAND my plane without crashing (although that's only happened once...).
And it's not just a matter of not wanting to do my schoolwork. I literally can't concentrate. There's a lot else to do, and not enough days to do it. And it doesn't help when I sit down to read my psych book and it talks about seizing the moment...
*sigh* it doesn't help.
Anyway, October was for the longest time my bad month. And then somehow it got shifted to February/March. I'm hoping like hell that all the stress on me doesn't push me right screaming into my worst depression since my senior year of college. But I can feel the pebbles grappling out from underneath me, and I'm scrambling for whatever traction I can get...and I'm not sure how to stop it.
But I did make a few decisions on how to proceed if I don't get news about what I'm hoping to hear sometime soon. Then again, maybe I don't want to know. I'm also trying to figure out how to tell people things they may not necesarily want to hear. That's difficult too. And how to deal with idiots. That's a fun one too.
Anyway, I'm rambling, and since I tend to not give specific details anyway (whee happy fun evil trust issues!), you prolly don't know what I'm talking about. C'est la vie, I guess.
Maybe I am too nice for my own good.
I walk into the post office. Even at this late hour, the lobby's still air conditioned, and you can get to your mailbox 24/7. There's not many people around, it's nearly six pm and the post office has been closed for an hour, but there's a few people, mailing off letters or getting into their own box. I ignore them all, as none are inclined to say hello to me.
My keys jangle from my hand. I pick out the large PO Box key, with its stamp of 'DO NOT DUPLICATE' ground into it, and slow as I approach the bank where my box lives. Box number one five eight oh, the last open PO Box in Anderson, California when I first got it. It's a small box, the smallest the post office let be rent.
I stop and lean down. My box is near the floor, and I have to get onto my knees to peer into it. One letter for the lady who owns the PO Box next to me, whose name is Brenda. That's probably the most interesting piece of mail I've gotten since I opened the box. There's a couple ads for the competing grocery stores in town, one letter for "residents of anderson" and one solicitation from my bank, inviting me to open an account. Of course, my bank doesn't realize I own a PO Box, their records have my street address.
The postal equivalent of spam, these all are. I pile them neatly, intending to throw them away. But again, as has happened every time I've gone to the PO Box, the letter I opened the box for fails to exist. I'm pretty convinced now he was lying to me about what he was going to do, just as he lied about most everything else we've talked about, but it's disappointing to see the perception rubbed in so strongly.
I shut the door to my box and pull my key out. Another trip to the PO Box, another dashed hope. By now, I don't think I'll believe the letter is real, if it ever shows up. So much for that. I throw away the junk mail, toss the letter addressed to my fellow PO Box owner in 1590 back into the mail slot to be delivered tomorrow, and walk back out to my car, thinking of nothing in particular.