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Brownies Should Be Chewy
Jun. 12th, 2002 12:37 amMy mom came in a while ago saying, "Want to take a trip down memory lane?" and handing me a photo album. They're all pictures of me, mostly from elementary school and thereabouts. I hardly recognize myself. Well, it looks like me, or a younger version, and they are of things that I remember having done, but it's still like a different era, a different lifetime.
Something I find quite annoying about the radio show Lovelines (other than the hosts' overall jerkiness) is that someone who mentions having been on drugs once automatically has a drug problem, according to the doctor on the show. Furthermore, having done acid once causes substantial brain damage. I wouldn't doubt that there's some brain damage done, but not to the extent that he seems to imply. It's ridiculous the huge distinctions made between illicit methods of killing brain cells and legal, socially accepted methods of doing the same (i.e. drinking alchohol). And using an illegal drug once does not constitute a drug problem. Even habitual use of a drug doesn't necessarily constitute a drug problem. When use, or more accurately, abuse or need for a drug interferes with daily life or normal functioning, that is a drug problem. There is a difference between recreational use of a drug and chemical dependency.
Anyway. After looking through the pictures my mom had, I looked at some of my pictures from Reed. There's a picture of Meg sitting on my bed in the German house at the very end of sophomore year. You can tell that it's the end of sophomore year because Meg, honey, in that picture, you look like hell.
I feel like hell.
The day started off at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I'd been sleeping for about seven hours. Dad comes in and yells at me, "This is ridiculous" and bitches about me sleeping all day. Then he left the house, taking the truck. So things just didn't get off to a good start at all. Then I got my financial aid award. I think I got less this year. It'll probably be enough to help with tuition and fees, but not really anything else. I'll have to check on that, though. But even so, it would be helpful to get a job, so I looked through classifieds and stuff online. Job hunting has got to be one of the most depressing things I could possibly do. The vast majority of jobs listed require some kind of training or experience that I just don't have. Or they're things that I won't do, like cleaning up after other people or calling strangers to be pushy. Maybe I'll sign up with a temp. agency, or something. But I need something. For one thing, rent money is a good thing to have. And for another, three people in the house, all not working, is a bit much. My dad's unemployed, and my mom has the summer off, since she's a teaher's aide. No wonder I sleep the daytime hours away. The only time I have to myself, really, are the middle of the night.
So again it's after midnight and I'm not one bit tired. The good mood I was in for a couple days has fled. The medium-to-dark gray mood from the rest of the day has faded a bit, since I've been doing something useful. I proofread Lex's website. Now there's some work I don't mind. Anyone know someone who wouldn't mind paying me to edit things?
It would be nice to not feel like a waste.
Something I find quite annoying about the radio show Lovelines (other than the hosts' overall jerkiness) is that someone who mentions having been on drugs once automatically has a drug problem, according to the doctor on the show. Furthermore, having done acid once causes substantial brain damage. I wouldn't doubt that there's some brain damage done, but not to the extent that he seems to imply. It's ridiculous the huge distinctions made between illicit methods of killing brain cells and legal, socially accepted methods of doing the same (i.e. drinking alchohol). And using an illegal drug once does not constitute a drug problem. Even habitual use of a drug doesn't necessarily constitute a drug problem. When use, or more accurately, abuse or need for a drug interferes with daily life or normal functioning, that is a drug problem. There is a difference between recreational use of a drug and chemical dependency.
Anyway. After looking through the pictures my mom had, I looked at some of my pictures from Reed. There's a picture of Meg sitting on my bed in the German house at the very end of sophomore year. You can tell that it's the end of sophomore year because Meg, honey, in that picture, you look like hell.
I feel like hell.
The day started off at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I'd been sleeping for about seven hours. Dad comes in and yells at me, "This is ridiculous" and bitches about me sleeping all day. Then he left the house, taking the truck. So things just didn't get off to a good start at all. Then I got my financial aid award. I think I got less this year. It'll probably be enough to help with tuition and fees, but not really anything else. I'll have to check on that, though. But even so, it would be helpful to get a job, so I looked through classifieds and stuff online. Job hunting has got to be one of the most depressing things I could possibly do. The vast majority of jobs listed require some kind of training or experience that I just don't have. Or they're things that I won't do, like cleaning up after other people or calling strangers to be pushy. Maybe I'll sign up with a temp. agency, or something. But I need something. For one thing, rent money is a good thing to have. And for another, three people in the house, all not working, is a bit much. My dad's unemployed, and my mom has the summer off, since she's a teaher's aide. No wonder I sleep the daytime hours away. The only time I have to myself, really, are the middle of the night.
So again it's after midnight and I'm not one bit tired. The good mood I was in for a couple days has fled. The medium-to-dark gray mood from the rest of the day has faded a bit, since I've been doing something useful. I proofread Lex's website. Now there's some work I don't mind. Anyone know someone who wouldn't mind paying me to edit things?
It would be nice to not feel like a waste.
