Why am I the only one leading a grownup life?

Though I'm not really. I think being an adult means taking responsibility, heavy and uneasy in your palms. But it also means being responsible for people besides yourself, looking at their needs first, and I don't do much of that.

Balance is so hard - how do I control my finances, my weight, my job, my hobbies, my friends and not huddle in the car at night, tears and cloying terror of never being in control. Everyone with families - husbands and children and parents close by, it's so commendable to maintain that. I'm so tired I feel it in my skin, in my eyes.

And I remembered to set the VCR for West Wing, but forgot Angel was on tonight. Which means I'll have to call M. and beg. Although the clever boy, watching the preview, said, "Hey, you should be happy. You still get to see Spike." He does listen. ALthough then I had to explain the hierarchy of fictional leather pants wearing chacters, which he understands pretty well after living with me for this long. But early Spike, bad ass and bloodthirsty always, always turned me on. Lovelorn and tortured, not so much. I prefer my tortured boys stoic and broken, and baby blue eyed.

1:30 in the morning, and M. is eating shrimp and cocktail sauce, not understanding why I wanted to go to bed and not watch Cowboy Bebop. A disconcerting number of my friends right now do not have to get up for work. I'm trying not to be resentful since I do like my job.

And more challenge fic. fbf's this time. A moment in time, omnipresent, 200 words. Snerk. It's three moments, pretty John-centric, and 211 words. I tried, really I tried. Still sounds like me, sigh.

( Bite and Swallow )

Ladies and Gentleman, as my final showstopping number

I will back into the UPS truck in the alley and smash out my left turn signal and break the plastic covering the lights. Thank you, thank you. No applause are necessary.

Thus completes my not even close to over week. I have to drive to Del Mar for a conference on Saturday. Perhaps I'll be able to hit a deer or wound a small child. Gah.

And the fuckers (sorry about the language) who fixed my radiator didn't even replace the dome light, which I had authorized, as opposed to trying to sell me a rear air deflector, which I did not want!

I will quit with the whining now. But there's just nothing like making your life more difficult and not being able to blame anyone but yourself.