A little less than expected

These first two weeks of school have been fairly painstaking, insofar as things not working the way I had envisioned them. Two weeks away does not seem like an inordinately long time, but it is surprising just how much you lose in terms of memory in that short span. I'm not exactly sure if that means that the things I lost from last semester were of no great import, or if I simply did not work hard enough to retain them.

So what that means is continuing the path I was already following, but in some ways it is starting over too. Every new year is like another chance to fix the problems of the past. While that does not always happen, it at least feels like you're given another chance. Lat year was incredibly hard and long. Never have I felt so isolated from people, from friendship, and in no small part, from life. A little lesson from the learned: Never move to a city without sufficient research.

I still find Boston to be a place that is full of ugliness in all its myriad forms. I just don't like it here. Instead of feeling vital and vibrant, a place with a human heart beat coursing through the very veins of the city, all I feel here is death, the void and bad juju. This is one of the most disconnected places that I have ever been. It seems to me that people here are so self-involved and selfish, that it is hard to find valuable human interaction.

While living in Portland, I was close friends with people who were from here, and they missed the directness of this place. But I view the directness, as a means of gain and protection. What can you give me, and how do I get it from you. I know these are gross generalizations, yet this is how I feel in large part. On a recent trip to San Francisco, I remembered just why I miss the west coast, and why it is very likely that I will someday call that coast my home again. There was that missing vitality, that creative spark, that rampant kindness. I do not like how many layers of ice you have to chip through to get to people here.

I know that I complain a lot about this place. It's just that Boston has turned out to be a little less than expected. A little less than expected. A little less than expected.

hearts and daggers,

Scot

A lesson in suffering

It has been a long time since I wrote a blog on this here little thing. And you know what? It is high time that I make this a regular exercise. I guess it could be called a New Year's resolution of sorts, but really it is just an excuse to rant, to rave, to wave my arms in the air like a madman (metaphorically speaking of course).

So far this new year has been a bit rough. I most certainly hope this is not indicative of things to come, so help me....Anyways, here's the haps: school has been in session for three days and the books I need have not arrived in the mail. I won this scholarship for college books, sweet right? But, since my damned school starts almost a month before everyone else's, a mad rush occurred by the kids at the scholarship, they found my books, bought them and had them shipped via next day air. Here it is four fucking days later and still no fucking books. I am totally at my wits ends as far as that goes. I do understand that I should have given the scholarship people my info earlier (I have a bigtime problem with organization), but what the fuck? Fucking Amazon.com is a bastard enterprise. I vow that you will never get another cent from me. I have emailed the president of the scholarship, and just my luck, he hasn't responded to me. I am so fucking full of rage I want to punch babies.

I have a song that I sing sometimes when I'm at work, and the customer doucebaggery exceeds acceptable levels:

Your life makes me want to punch babies!

In this particular instance, that life would be mine, if you have a baby that would like to be punched, for a small fee i would be happy to oblige you.

So here I am scrambling like crazy to find any copy of Norton Anthology of English Literature volume 2. Who would have thought it would be that fucking hard to find a single copy of that book. The obvious place to look would be the school library right? Well, someone beat me to it. Next step: look at the public library. I did that and the online catalog said there were multiple copies in the library. The truth is that there was not a single fucking copy on the shelf. But luckily I found one, only it was in book delivery, which means in library use only, oh how genius! Except, the Boston Public Library is a monument to all things inefficient and bureaucratic. Imagine that, a Boston instution full of idiotic assholes...sigh. So I fill out the little tag, wait for a book from closed stacks for 25 fucking minutes, just for them to ignore it. I question them, and they hustle about, only to give me the wrong damned book. I tell them they gave me the wrong book, and I am informed they don't have the one I need. Perfect.

I hate that place with crazy homeless people huddled at every table in a crumbling building resembling the very finest craftmanship of soviet Russian architecture. Then heaven forbid you need to copy anything there. I searched for a working copy machine for twenty minutes, only to then pay 15 cents for a shitty, grainy copy. I have a new enemy: Boston Public Library. Oh how i despise you....

Hearts and daggers,

Scot