it's 16 miles to the promised land/and i promise you i'm doing the best i can

Sigh. Erranderranderrand. Need to get oil changed before I head up north. Shanty Creek this weekend. May or may not be weird/painful. Last year's trip up was the last big trip we made before she died; it even made it into one of those stupid poems I wrote for Creative Writing, this memory of flying up 131 with the sunroof open, listening to some band I liked and her pointing out where they'd stolen bits from music she grew up with, and smoking our last secret cigarettes before we met up with my father, and eating fat yellow plums and spitting pits out the window like they were cherries. Sunflower fields. Things like that. So.

Living alone is making me way more listless, and I should do the job-hunt thing, but it's sort of pointless right now. "Oh, hire me, except ohbythewayI'llbegonefortwoorthreeweeksinSeptember/Octoberokaybye." It might've worked to get the time off had any of the interviews I had back in May/June panned out (fuck you, Old Navy), because then I would've been established somewhere, but my father already booked the tickets et cetera for us to go abroad, and I wouldn't be able to take that time off as a new hire. Sort of makes me regret the trip, but we travel well together and it's unlikely I'll have the opportunity to go back over there myself anytime soon, so may as well go for it. So, blah blah unemployed bored bored running out of money, and I should at least volunteer or something to get myself out of my apartment, but it's hard to work up the motivation to do much of anything right now.

I'm not as down as any of this maybe sounds. I'm just existing too much. Need to be doing more instead.