I should post more often
Jan. 8th, 2004 02:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pseydtonneMy parents came up to visit on New Year's Day. My dad is afraid of cats, so we kept having to lock Nisa in the bedroom. Then we'd lock dad in the office when Nisa needed to get out. At one point, Nisa snuck out and my dad scurried and screamed. He scared Nisa. I had to yell at him to bring him down. This is a man that can get along with anyone on the planet in a couple languages but he can't deal with mewling furriness. I was never that bad.
On Saturday, we drove from our place to a chinese restaurant in Lexington (net ten miles). My parents were leaving directly from Lexington, so we drove in separate cars. My cousin took the lead and we found ourselves going 40 MPH on I-93.
If you don't live in a major city, it's hard to understand the threat of the far right lane. When you're on an expressway in the middle of nowhere, the right lane is exactly where the slow, the lost and everyone not passing belong. In Boston, the far right lane of route 128 or route 93 is where someone will merge into your car from the onramp. If you really want to space out, you head to the second lane from the right. My parents didn't know this.
So I got tired of the wicked slowness and passed my cousin. For my sins, one hundred cars swarmed behind me and I lost my parents. My cousin knew where we were going (she lives in Lexington) and thus she maintained the lead. I felt bad fast. When I got to the exit, I tried to call either of my parents' cel phones but their cel company marked them MIA.
I walked into the restaurant and they had already arrived. Mom yelled at me, saying I'd "pulled a Farrell". I knew she'd say this. Farrell Is someone I've never met but I'd known since childhood that I should never emulate. He would say "follow me", get into his car, peel out and never look in his rear view mirror again.
I bugged out thoroughly. I was ashamed, pissed off that I was getting accused, then mad that I'd apologized but I was getting yelled at for not apologizing. So I stepped outside to cry my eyes out.
Then I ate, and I felt like myself again. I guess my blood sugar was a little low. Other than this episode, the weekend went very well. I felt such guilt. I felt like I'd failed at something simple -- getting someone to follow me to a place. I'd done this plenty of times before without incident.
The next day my mom called to apologize that she'd bugged out. I still feel like I need to prove that I'm an adult, as if earning bread and keeping a home isn't enough. As if giving people working computers isn't a good start.
That's my story. Not a lot else. People are leaving my workplace, one by one. One of my favorite guys decided to move to Tampa next month because he was tired of wasting his life in New England.
I now have two BP6 motherboards, one of which has matching 500 MHz celerons. I can hardly wait to make a few experiments from that, but I'll have to wait until I build another Windows 2000 machine for a coworker's cousin. It's a fair trade, I'd say.
Why do I need to feel worthy? I do so much but I feel like I'm not doing enough. Perhaps I should masturbate more often.
-wacky nutty, Dante
On Saturday, we drove from our place to a chinese restaurant in Lexington (net ten miles). My parents were leaving directly from Lexington, so we drove in separate cars. My cousin took the lead and we found ourselves going 40 MPH on I-93.
If you don't live in a major city, it's hard to understand the threat of the far right lane. When you're on an expressway in the middle of nowhere, the right lane is exactly where the slow, the lost and everyone not passing belong. In Boston, the far right lane of route 128 or route 93 is where someone will merge into your car from the onramp. If you really want to space out, you head to the second lane from the right. My parents didn't know this.
So I got tired of the wicked slowness and passed my cousin. For my sins, one hundred cars swarmed behind me and I lost my parents. My cousin knew where we were going (she lives in Lexington) and thus she maintained the lead. I felt bad fast. When I got to the exit, I tried to call either of my parents' cel phones but their cel company marked them MIA.
I walked into the restaurant and they had already arrived. Mom yelled at me, saying I'd "pulled a Farrell". I knew she'd say this. Farrell Is someone I've never met but I'd known since childhood that I should never emulate. He would say "follow me", get into his car, peel out and never look in his rear view mirror again.
I bugged out thoroughly. I was ashamed, pissed off that I was getting accused, then mad that I'd apologized but I was getting yelled at for not apologizing. So I stepped outside to cry my eyes out.
Then I ate, and I felt like myself again. I guess my blood sugar was a little low. Other than this episode, the weekend went very well. I felt such guilt. I felt like I'd failed at something simple -- getting someone to follow me to a place. I'd done this plenty of times before without incident.
The next day my mom called to apologize that she'd bugged out. I still feel like I need to prove that I'm an adult, as if earning bread and keeping a home isn't enough. As if giving people working computers isn't a good start.
That's my story. Not a lot else. People are leaving my workplace, one by one. One of my favorite guys decided to move to Tampa next month because he was tired of wasting his life in New England.
I now have two BP6 motherboards, one of which has matching 500 MHz celerons. I can hardly wait to make a few experiments from that, but I'll have to wait until I build another Windows 2000 machine for a coworker's cousin. It's a fair trade, I'd say.
Why do I need to feel worthy? I do so much but I feel like I'm not doing enough. Perhaps I should masturbate more often.
-wacky nutty, Dante
