29 May 2001

It never rains, it fucking pours.

People are always wondering why I look so haggard, so weary; wondering why I fall asleep at eleven... Allow me to explain:

Unfailingly, I wake up at seven in the morning when the high school students begin their massacre outside my apartment. If their screams and curses don't wake me up, the bloody bird wakes me up screaming BACK at them. And if I'm at Norman's apartment, Norman unfailingly wakes me up by shaking me and asking, "Babeeeey? Sweetie? Who's the sweetest sweetie I know?" Norman has this nutty ability to be maniacally hyper and then immediately drop back to sleep. I, however, do not. He sees nothing wrong with waking me up without cause and then going back to sleep while I lay there, sort of pissed off.

So I get back to sleep. Unfailingly, the phone rings. It's a telemarketer. But I have to answer it anyway. It's eight in the morning, I'm mostly asleep, but I have to answer. "Hi, this is Triple Cities Credit, do you have a minute so we can bother you?" Whether or not I hang up on them, I am now wide awake again.

Eight-forty-five: I go to work.

Four in the afternoon. After a day of kissing people's asses, doing dishes, and apologizing for forgetting people's salad dressing, I would like to relax a bit. So I go to Lost Dog with a book. I sit down at the counter and a stranger unfailingly asks what I'm reading. I tell them. They tell me they had to read that for a class back in '73. They say, "Yuck, that's a nasty title! What's it about?"

A friend appears. Sometimes it's Jason H., sometimes it's Corrine, sometimes it's Heidi, sometimes it's one of those nameless acquaintances with whom I have absolutely nothing in common, but they think we're best friends because I once told them the title of the book I was reading. Jason H. unfailingly wants to talk about the Holocaust or punk music. Heidi unfailingly wants to talk about finding her birth mother or her church. Corrine is a little more varied, but still... It's NOT that I don't like these people, but dammit, sometimes I'd rather just read.

I usually can't escape Lost Dog without somebody asking, "why don't you come over to my house and a.) see the useless piece of crap I just bought, b.) I'll make you dinner, c.) you can bring over one of your Lynchfilms and we can watch it..." I usually manage to escape the offer if I'm really not feeling like going out.

...But if I don't, and I'm walking home, I unfailingly run into a Java Kid, former or present, who wants to come over to my apartment and use my phone or my porch. (The porch, known as the "Oak Street pot-spot," has an unequaled popularity among Java Kids. The last time so many Java Kids congregated in one building, it was David's apartment and one NEVER knew what one would be coming home to then... Fortunately, I have a secure building.

So I walk home, Java Kid in tow, and unfailingly, Java Kid (and there are several of them that do this regularly) wants to "hang out" with me. They want to talk. About WHAT? Well, not really about anything. Their speech is colored with, "And it's like... you know... I can't really explain, but you know what I mean?" No, I don't know what you mean and I want to take a nap.

It's seven. I go to see a movie. I run into a co-worker, former or present, who wants a review.

I'm walking home again, and run into somebody who's going out to such-and-such bar, and such-and-such party, and wants to know if I want to come.

I walk into my apartment. Either Chris or the building manager either knocks on my door or runs into me on the stairs. It never fails. The building manager can talk until you're unconscious and STILL keep talking. Chris, who is usually fairly concise, gets offended if you cut him off, even by saying, "dude, I'm SO tired..." so it's always best to wait it out.

I check my email. The crazy Ugandan guy is throwing some huge crazy Ugandan fit because I haven't emailed him back, and he's just SO in love with me that his heart is breaking. On top of that, my grandparents are emailing me asking if I don't love them anymore because I haven't emailed or called THEM in *gasp* over a week. I'm too pissed off to respond to either email right away, so I start to turn off the computer -- but not before somebody else catches up to me...

J. usually wants to talk about boys. She's got a collection of them sky-high and I can't keep any of them straight. C. always wants to give me a damned movie review of something shitty like Pearl Harbor, which I haven't got the slightest interest in. Not that these are BAD things -- it's just that it's now eleven or twelve and I've been awake and on my feet and keeping people amused for thirteen hours. And R. -- well, I don't mind talking to R. so much, but I usually have to shut down the damned computer because four people are talking to me at once and I can't concentrate.

I lie down on my futon with the TV on. The phone rings. About 40% of the time, it's Aaron. About 20% of the time, it's Norman. Aaron wants to go hang out, drive around some back hills, and have wings at Denny's. Sounds great, except I'm practically unconscious. Norman wants me to come over. I tell him I'm going out with Aaron and will be over afterwards.

I go out with Aaron. We drive around back hills talking about butt-sex and hot chicks for two and a half hours. It's two-thirty now. I go to Norman's place. Norman wants to play his guitar for just a little while longer. I'm awake until four.

He wakes me up again at six. The alarm goes off at eight-fifteen.

Today, it was Aaron on the phone at 7.30. My bird was screeching his bloody beak off, and Aaron had some dreadfully important reason for calling me at 7.30: something about his car not passing an inspection... Of course, this is important to me, but it's FUCKING SEVEN-THIRTY.

I am working FIFTY hours a week, margin of error +/- five. At LEAST, I am working forty-five hours a week. At MOST, fifty-five. I DON'T have fucking time to be everybody's entertainment. I don't have time for so many parties and playmates. I don't have time to let everybody use my phone. I don't have time to email everybody I've ever known EVERY day. I don't have time to fucking SHOWER anymore, much less give and receive movie reviews. WHY don't people understand that sometimes things are more important than friendship? Like, for instance, sleep, food, and quiet-time? Why doesn't anybody ever just find a way to amuse THEMSELVES?

The week after next, I'll be back down to 35 hours a week, and it's going to be great. The main reason I'm quitting my other job? Because I CAN'T function with so many hours of work AND so many hours of taking care of everyone else.

As it is, as always, I'm unfailingly failing someone.

I think *I* am the one who's being failed right now.

~Helena*