something about sangria.

never underestimate the power of natural sunlight and fresh air.

i'm sitting on my bed with the window open, and despite the small student-sized apartment i live in, this room just grew a few extra square feet. the sun isn't strong today, it comes in waves, but every now and then i get a burst of light in through the window. the coolness in the air helps, too. it's a way of escaping this landfill i live in; brings some of the outdoors inside. which, at this point, is all i can ask for.

the ambient noise was really beautiful too, until the maintenance guys came along. now they're yelling back and forth, cleaning the decks and breezeways, guessing what stain is from what type of alcoholic beverage. every few seconds they quiet down, and i let myself think that they're leaving, only to shit myself the next second when "SANGRIA!" rapes my ears. good lord. i can't wait until they see the vomit that's been frozen, thawed, and refrozen on the stairs...

oh, and, now someone is using a chainsaw. so much for the tranquil ambience.

every day that i come home, i find another reason to hate this place. to hate the people i live with. to hate the area to which i'm confined. to hate the darkness, the dust, the dirt, the rotting food in the sink, my personal lack of cabinet and fridge real estate that causes me to keep my food, pots, knives, and booze in my bedroom closet. i live in a hole in the ground, under a rock, at the center of the earth. and it's 4,000 miles to the surface of anything representing organized society.

the chainsaw is gone, and we're back to the sounds of a broom on concrete and the passing of cars.
if only it would stay this way forever.