ramblings of a tired girl
2003-08-13, 10:09 p.m.

Sorry, I�ve been having glorious sex for the past two weeks and just totally forgot to update. Okay, not exactly true, but I did forget to update. And I did have some bangin� sex.

I went on a small vacation too. Although I don�t think it really qualifies as vacation. Take one hotel room with 2 queen beds, then pack in 12 people including your parents and brothers, then add 2 days of rain at the beach. Sounds like a recipe for disaster, huh? Yeah, it was. We had one day of sun which was nice, even if when I�m forty I may look back on it and say, "Dammit, that�s the day I got skin cancer?" Note to self: Even though you don�t appear red on the beach, if you even think you�re slightly pink, go inside or suffer from the evil wrath of sunburn for days.

This also happens to be the same day that my boyfriend came to visit. I managed to flash him and everyone else on the beach when I got tumbled by a massive wave. This happens to me every freakin� year! Do I ever learn to get a more reliable bathing suit? Nope, instead, I�d rather mortify my brothers by showing them my boobs. My boyfriend must have enjoyed it though. We couldn�t get enough of each other for the rest of the day. Which is incredibly frustrating when you�re stuck with your family. We screwed like sixteen year olds in the back of his SUV in the parking garage next to the hotel. Damn, I am a classy woman. Not only did I have sunburn for the next few days, I also had a nice example of wool blanketburn on my back and ass. Why do guys keep the scratchiest, most uncomfortable blankets in their cars? For your girlfriend�s or whore of the night�s sake, purchase a fleece blanket. Wool hurts. And really guys, when do you use that blanket except in random moments like these?

I realize that my life has become repetitious and boring. It�s been this way for over a year now, but I�ve put off thinking about it until now. It goes something like this: sleep, work, sleep, eat, work, sleep, random encounter with bf, sex, work, sleep, eat, sleep, work, sleep, maybe workout, work, sleep, random encounter with bf, sex, work. And just continues. As much as I love sleeping, the random boyfriend encounters plus the sex are what keeps me from joining the ranks in the mental hospital. Work is even more repetitious than my life in general. And if I wasn�t sure before, I now am positive that I can�t handle filing insurance claims for the rest of my life. One year has been plenty. I really need to get on the horse and ride my way back towards grad school, but laziness and the math section of the GREs stand in my way.

Speaking of which, why the fuck do I need to excel at math to work in the art history field? I took one math course in college, but other than that I haven�t done any equations or theorems in 7 years. Gimme a break. I have to do them now to study Bernini and Raphael? Brunelleschi and Michelangelo may have exercised their math skills periodically, but I can tell you the meaning of any painting on earth with knowing what x - y equals.

Oh and now that we�re on the subject of exciting Italian artists, guess who�s going to Italy next summer? I can�t even think about it without getting overly excited. I�ve already been once, but to the Italian art history buff, this is Mecca and I should make a pilgrimage every other week as far as I�m concerned. There�s no possible way that I could see a Caravaggio too many times. Maybe some people would disagree, but if you�re one of them, then I pity you.

This is getting kind of long, so I�ll wrap up with the one thing that has been bothering me for weeks. How do you help someone who doesn�t want your help, but desperately needs someone�s help? I�m a psych major, I know all the shit about how you can�t help them until they want to help themselves, but it�s saddening to watch someone you love pitching their life towards the gutter and stand by watching. It makes me feel like I�m helping to seal the coffin, but I don�t know even know how to approach the subject without her denying it. I know she knows that she has a problem, but I also don�t think she�s willing to put in the effort needed to remedy it. It just depresses me right along with her.

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