Fuck lemonade.

My roomie doesn't know when he's kidding. Sometimes he's like a big brother, and he plays rough, and sometimes he hurts me. Not physically. He just seems to think the best way to get over something painful is to joke about it with the injured party. You would think that by now he would know that I don't respond very well to that tactic. He lashed out at me in front of all our friends about how I should stop following him around and get a life, and then said ha ha ha as if it was supposed to be funny. I ended up in tears in the bedroom. It was awful. How can he be so insensitive? He should know me better than this by now.

My poor Shelly is going to be bored to tears with this journal entry. I already spewed much complaint about roomie to her. I will get on with my life and make some lemonade. Right.

I'm caught in limbo again, and you know how much I hate that. I can't stand being "in the process of" or "waiting to" or "considering". I just want to go ahead and *do* it. I am not opposed to change. I'm really not. I do, however, expect change to be painful. This moving thing already *is* painful. (Just look how many asterisks it has made me use!) My philosophy on pain has always been to get it over with as fast as possible, and to try not to dwell on it. You know, it's like having blood drawn. Used to be they would use three seperate needles, with three syringes to get the three vials of blood they need. So they used to stick you in the arm three times. Now, they stick you only once, and swap out the vial on the other end. They still get the same amount of blood, but they get the pain part over with right away.

I suppose it's a gruesome analogy, but it works.

Here's another analogy. I'm full of them today. When life hands me lemons, I make lemonade. But in this case, I have chosen to buy all the damn lemons in the world, and I really don't like lemonade that much! So if I had it my way, I would take a semi truck and scoop all the lemons up, and put them all in a giant blender, and get all the lemonade made in less than a day. Then I would share it with everyone so I wouldn't have to drink it all. The stupid lemons would be gone *tomorrow* and I could get on with my life.

But it doesn't work that way. I will be in the arduous process of moving slowly toward getting the lemons until I close on the house. Then, while I'm moving and fixing up, I'll be randomly picking up lemons here and there. I won't truly have all the lemons in the world until probably the end of August, when I realize that I have left my life in another town, and have to sleep alone in a strange house. So that's a whole summer of collecting the damn lemons. I really wish I could get it over with.

Well, I suppose that's enough whining for the time being. I really am halfway excited about moving. Honest.