It's been like this for a couple weeks now. Absolutely nothing to do at work, and so unmotivated that I don't even feel like doing the personal things I need to do. I don't even feel like doing this, but (1), I guess I kind of need to, and (2) it's either this or just fucking leave and go home.
The past couple weeks have been very nice, by my standards. Very relaxing. My birthday was last Thursday, and that was fun. Last year when I lived in the house with the girls, Sarah organized this ridiculous dinner thing that ended up being me and about twenty other people at DePalma's. Not that I didn't appreciate it, but I really do prefer to be alone on my birthday. No one ever believes me when I say that, but it's the truth. I sit, and I think. It's very relaxing. This year I went to Target with Michelle so she could exchange my present, and then I went home. Like I said, relaxing.
Went home for Mother's Day this past Sunday. Ate way too much, watched some movies, came back. I =finally= got my damned bookcase cleaned off and carted back, so now there aren't loose books piled on my floor anymore. And speaking of my bookcase, I noticed Monday when I was cleaning it up that I did a shit job putting it together. Then again, I take that back. Putting it together was about the only thing I did right. I built it when I was in high school, and it's still solid as a rock, but it looks like complete ass. The finish is splotchy and uneven, and there are several places where I laid the varnish on so thick that you can still see where it dripped and ran down. Terrible.
So I've started cataloging DVD's and moving and reshelving books, and I've noticed that my apartment is a lot cleaner than I thought. I need to do dishes, and I've still got to get rid of my entertainment center, but I'm opening the place up a lot. It's starting to look more like I live there and not like I just pile my crap up there so I can have somewhere to keep it.
Which, seeing as I'll likely have to move in a couple months, is just perfect.