Life has gotten to the point where I think I could be easily content giving up some of the people around me.
That should be depressing, right? It should sting, tear, mean something beyond an ounce of freedom from the utter stupidity, or so I'd like to think.
Things are so genuinely frivolous, I'm coming to find.
I had a nice non-house-meeting talk this evening with my fellow non-housemate, and I couldn't express how much I appreciated it. I've only found a few relatively composed, responsible individuals in the department, and he happens to be one of them. It's nice to spend time with someone I trust who seems to enjoy stepping away from the crap that is consistently thrown out from all sides of life, leaving all involved parties defenseless (and not to mention covered in crap). We reveled in certain levels of stupidity, relative bullshit, and found solace in the fact that not all things are under our control. I definitely owe him for that.
Other people around me have become infinitely frustrating. I feel like I am, once again, a tool to be used at the disposal of those around me, regardless of my needs or desires at times. Not always, mind you, but it's starting to compound. I know that said individuals have concern for my well being, but sometimes mere concern cannot feed my proverbial (and literal) soul. I need to surround myself with something or someone entirely new, I fear.
Have I ever mentioned how much I adore coming back to my dorm to find food-related-trash scattered about my living space, my laptop still partially unlatched, and best of all, crumbs on my bed?
How I love being stable and devoid of reactionary emotion...
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