Lara I.

Now If Only I Could Actually Say It To Shaina...

I. Just had the most horrible experience.

Okay. Not the most horrible. But it was pretty bad.

The ground is covered in ice. Everything is covered in ice. I'm cool with that. I'm really, really careful, it's fine, I've got it. Everyone slides on the ice a little. It's fine.

IT'S NOT FINE.

One of the first things I had done to my house was to have it split into two. The only way to get upstairs is to go up the stairs on the side of the house. The stairs that are, like everything else, covered in ice. AND I LIVE UPSTAIRS.

That little voice, the one that was telling me from the very beginning, Lara, this is not a good idea, Lara, you do not want to go up and down stairs every day, Lara, this is your house, you should fix up the first floor for yourself before anything else, yes, that voice, I should have listened to that one, not the one that said, Lara, you could rent the first floor this winter, you know, you need the money, you can handle the stairs, it won't be a problem...

So there was me, clinging to the railing and making a complete fool of myself trying to get upstairs, it was really... it was completely humiliating, actually. The way the ice had frozen made each step like an incline of ice, and it was, it was, it was... it was completely impossible. I could not do it. I quite possibly have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Nothing says "I'm pathetic" more than knocking on your downstairs tenant's door and asking for help up the stairs. But I didn't know what else to do, and I was practically in tears just from the bitter cold, never mind the frustration and embarrassment and all the rest. I tried to pull it together a bit, but, seriously. I never want to repeat that ever again.

( In which I make use of that thing called a cut, because I am going to unload like I never have before... )

Let me just daydream about my houses a little, or let me just daydream about friends that I don't have, oh, while I'm at it, let me just daydream about someday having a job that doesn't involve continued interaction with idiots, hell, if I'm going to daydream, why don't I go all out and dream about having a body that doesn't play games with me, then, eh?

All right, well, not that I'm terribly happy about turning twenty four and still having a shithole of a life, I have to admit, I'm doing a bit better than I was for my twenty-third birthday.

To make a very, very long and sob-inducing story short, Krissy and I don't see each other any more. I can't say we "broke up" because we were never officially "together," but... yeah. We don't see each other anymore. For one thing, the distance was starting to be a problem. Her driving over an hour to see me was one thing, but her driving over an hour to come pick me up was something else entirely - I don't live anywhere near any kind of public transportation that can get me to Philly. I mean, there are busses and trains in and out of Atlantic City, of course, but, what, am I going to fucking walk to AC? So no. And her coming over here is just... was just, I should say... but, this is a dry town. There are no bars. And the other towns around here, they're tourist towns, really, and when it isn't tourist season, they're just little hick towns and it's just not the same as Philly and she certainly wasn't impressed. And of course my house isn't terribly impressive or even comfortable, either.

I met Krissy's family. I think that was the last straw. We don't belong together, her and I. That was made perfectly clear.

I don't belong in anyone's life.

I still work in the restaurant a couple days a week, cause I get a ride from my downstairs tenants, which is cool. And I have a part-time job at a coffee shop a few blocks from here, near the bayside. That's an okay job. The first floor of my house is rent-able now, which is cool I guess, and I'm renting it to these two Haitian kids who are always speaking French and stuff, I can't understand them half the time even when they're speaking English. I met them at the restaurant. They're cooks. Um, so, I finished the first floor up, mostly, decently enough, anyway, in October, and they moved in right away, which leaves the second floor for me, and I've been slacking on making the second floor rent-able too.

And the second house is totally stalled because of zoning bullshit that I have no clue how to get around. I need, like, some type of knowledge I seem to be lacking, or something.

So, yeah, I live on the second floor of my own house, go me. I have fallen down my own stairs about once every other week. It's great fun.

I, ah, lost my driver's license, also - I don't really want to talk about that. It was my own fault and it was stupid, and I almost went to jail or something. I'm a fucking idiot, to tell the truth. So, anyway, my downstairs tenants drive my car. And drive me to work, conveniently.

I'm so fucking poisonous. I don't know why everyone doesn't hate me. Oh, for all I know, they all probably do. The ones who count, anyway...

Daniel...